Robin finished answering emails then started looking for a place to live in Seattle, but caught herself when she opened the first website. She was getting ahead of herself. And why the hell did she think Seattle was a good idea? Jill was there, after all. And in the bad future, Robin had ended up in that city. But why had Magnolia said what she had today? And why had Decker told her to ask Jill out and then told her that Jill being in Seattle was a perk of the job posting?
Was the Bureau messing with her? Maybe this whole thing was a test, to see what she’d do. She frowned. That didn’t make sense. The Bureau was supposed to help you find your better self. Why would it deliberately put stuff in your way like this that you weren’t supposed to do? Robin sipped her coffee, thinking.
God, she wanted to go home. Seattle would always be that to her. And it was a big city, so she probably wouldn’t run into Jill. Much. All these revelations were making her sentimental. She toyed with one of her earrings and thought about how it felt as if she’d been entombed in a massive ice floe for several years and it was finally thawing all around her. Her thoughts wandered to Jill again and the evening’s event. Fortunately, Jill would be really busy tonight, and that would definitely help Robin maintain boundaries.
Finishing a couple of work projects would help keep her mind off things she probably shouldn’t be thinking. With an effort, Robin picked up her business cell. She still worked for Frost, after all, and she had calls to make. Sighing, she settled herself more comfortably on the couch.
Nine o’clock rolled around, and Robin texted Caroline before she bundled up for the trip to the gallery, a little nervous because Caroline hadn’t checked in. Caroline could be a little flaky—but tonight, it irritated Robin. She needed a clear boundary between her and Jill, and Caroline was meant to serve as that, though she didn’t know it. Robin didn’t want to bias the outcome of their meeting by telling either woman why she’d really invited Caroline.
She grabbed her keys and left her apartment. The opening was slated to start at nine, but Robin didn’t want to arrive too early because that would mean fewer people, and less of a buffer between her and Jill. Since lunch on Sunday, Robin had been dealing with a slow, delicious burn when it came to her thoughts of Jill. Normally she enjoyed an attraction, and normally she’d act on it. But she was trying to change her approach to lots of things, and that meant Robin had made herself vulnerable to sticky things such as feelings and emotional attachments. And this heat she carried for Jill was clearly a gateway drug to the future she’d seen with Krampus.
So why the hell was she going to this event? And why the hell did it feel so good, thinking about seeing Jill? No matter how much she tried to fight it, the connection between them remained, and there was something poetic about being with her on New Year’s Eve.
She remained standing on the subway, though there were seats available. Most people were in a festive mood and probably on their way to parties somewhere. One guy in the corner had his headphones blaring so loud that Robin could have danced to the song. Times Square would be emptying after midnight, and Robin dreaded the ride home. Maybe she’d get a cab after the event. Or maybe she’d leave early, which was probably the best course of action.
The train lurched, and she held on to the metal bar, staring down at her black leather motorcycle boots, so much a part of her years ago. Why Robin had kept them, she wasn’t sure, but she was glad she did. They still fit, even with thick socks. Old, forgiving friends. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a casual button-down black shirt. She’d put a dark purple sateen vest on over her shirt and Robin felt more like herself than she had in—well, in a while.
The closer she got to her stop, the more revelers packed the train, until she was pressed against the doors. A couple of half-drunk young guys wearing goofy red glitter top hats talked about a party nearby and bumped into her. Repeatedly. She exhaled with relief when the doors opened at her stop, and she tripped her way onto the platform, free of the train’s pungent combination of winter sweat and alcohol. It had been a while since she’d been out on New Year’s Eve. Last year she’d spent it at a small gathering of friends, and the year before that she stayed home. The year before that—was she working? Robin walked up the steps to the cold night air. Yes, she’d been working. Christ.
Once at street level, she moved out of the way of pedestrian traffic and dug into her back pocket for her phone. Caroline had texted about twenty minutes ago, saying she’d be late. At least she was on her way, but Robin was ambivalent about her attendance, torn between the future she’d seen and her own feelings for Jill, coupled with what Magnolia and Decker had said earlier. Robin started walking the five blocks to the gallery, actually enjoying the expectant, celebratory mood of passersby.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she checked it. Caroline again, saying she’d be later than she originally thought. Robin took her glove off and texted back, asking her when. She held her phone in her ungloved hand and shoved both into her pocket. The wind between the buildings blew raw across the exposed skin of her cheeks and nose, and she hunched deeper into her scarf and coat collar.
A few minutes later she arrived at the gallery. A small group of people stood outside, smoking and talking. Robin’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she stopped upwind before she entered the gallery to check it. Caroline again. She wouldn’t make it after all and she was sorry.
Robin frowned. The Bureau at work? Or really just a coincidence? One of the women who was smoking looked over at her, and Robin forced a smile. She texted a quick acknowledgement back, trying not to seem pissed.
Caroline responded seconds later. Her ex had some kind of emergency and needed Caroline to watch her kid. Robin replied with hopes that things would be okay, and she understood. Hell, she might actually have been relieved, because she’d feel obligated to hang out with Caroline all night.
The gallery was already busy, which meant Jill would be busy, too. Robin should just relax and see how things went. For all she knew, somebody was here who Jill was already interested in. Or somebody else would take an interest in her. So just go in and enjoy yourself, Robin remonstrated herself. She liked art crowds, and she’d had a good time at the last event. And she could always leave early, which was probably the best idea, since she wasn’t really sure what she was doing in terms of Jill.
A sleek white limo drove slowly past on the street, and Robin froze. No. Not another ride with Lady Magnolia. Not tonight. The car kept going, and she relaxed. The Bureau should probably implement some kind of program to help people get past their damn visits. White limos would forever make her think of Lady Magnolia. Another white limo cruised slowly past, but Robin couldn’t see through the tinted windows no matter how many streetlights were burning. She relaxed. There were lots of limos out tonight. New Year’s Eve, after all. She took her other glove off and shoved it into her coat pocket with the first and glanced through the windows into the gallery’s interior.
At least forty people milled around, some looking at Jill’s pieces, others chatting. A guy in a white tuxedo shirt and bowtie was walking around with a tray of wine. Robin didn’t see Jill right away, which was probably good. God, she was really nervous about seeing her tonight, and it was like the first time she’d ever asked Jill out, this jittery anticipation, wondering if Jill liked her that way—Christ, she wasn’t twenty-one anymore, and Jill was an ex with a future riding on decisions that happened here and now.
Robin entered the gallery with a couple of the people who had been smoking. She took her hat off and added it to her coat pocket, then ran her hand through her hair before she took her coat off. The din of voices and laughter filled the room, but underneath she heard some kind of electronic chill music, and she wondered if that was Jill’s choice.
The wall to her left featured the four large mixed media pieces Jill had texted to her, but she’d added a few smaller ones between them. The lighting in here definitely made her art s
tand out. Jill apparently also did art in picture boxes—found objects and photographs in wooden boxes with glass fronts.
Robin moved to that wall first and studied the first of these, about two feet square. Jill had painted the background of this piece, a nearly translucent Chinese pagoda, and over that she’d arranged clippings from Chinese- and English-language newspapers from Seattle along with black-and-white photos of a small Asian girl, dressed in American clothing. Robin leaned in a little closer and realized the photos were of Jill as a child. At the bottom of the piece was a pair of chopsticks with a fork lying haphazardly across one of them, as if pinning it to the bottom of the picture box.
“It speaks to the artist’s dual ethnic identities,” said a stuffy male voice behind her.
Robin looked at him, a squat, balding guy wearing round glasses and a light brown suit. “So I gathered,” she said, more amused at his pronouncement than annoyed. She took a glass of white wine off the tray of a passing server and sipped. Better than the stuff at the last opening. “And I’m pretty sure she has a hell of a lot more identities than just two,” Robin added with a smile.
The man sniffed and moved away. Robin watched him as he tried to impress another woman checking out one of Jill’s large mass media pieces, and clearly, he got shot down again. She smiled and caught sight of Jill a few yards away talking to a tall woman dressed in black wool trousers and a matching blazer, her long dark hair pulled into a bun, two long ivory hairpins holding it in place. Attractive.
But then the woman moved, revealing more of Jill. Oh, God. Sparks skittered down Robin’s spine and heat rolled through her chest and thighs. Jill wore a form-fitting red evening dress that left her shoulders and the very top of her cleavage exposed, along with part of a tattoo across the top of her right shoulder. A simple silver chain hung around her neck, but she’d kept the studs and gems in the multiple piercings in her right ear, and she’d spiked her hair up like the night they’d first run into each other. The incongruity of the classic, almost vampish lines of Jill’s dress and the art girl hair, piercings, and tattoo made Robin’s heartbeat speed up.
Jill was saying something animated, and then she suddenly looked over toward Robin, as if she sensed someone was watching her. She held Robin’s gaze for a beat, and a strange, deep longing pulsed at Robin’s core and in her chest, and then Jill smiled. She said something to the woman, made a gesture as though she was asking her to wait a moment, and then Jill moved toward Robin, who was transfixed by this vision, this exuberant, grounded woman whose smile set all manner of Robin’s parts ablaze.
“Hi,” Jill said. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Likewise. And you look absolutely stunning,” Robin said, relieved that she sounded calm. Hopefully charming.
Jill touched the top button of Robin’s vest. “Why, thank you. I like this look on you much more than corporate. Very nice.”
“Oh?” Robin’s gaze remained locked on Jill’s, and it seemed that the two of them were the only people in the room, the only two people in the entire city.
“Definitely. In Chinese symbolism, purple represents spiritual awareness, and physical and mental healing.” Jill let go of the button.
“Huh. Appropriate. And black?”
“Several meanings, one of which is delving into the depths of something. Other meanings are adaptability, spontaneity, and power. Emotional protection, too.”
“But I’m trying to get rid of my armor.”
“You don’t need it for emotional protection. Can I take your coat? I’ll put it somewhere safe.” She smiled again, and Robin fought the urge to kiss her as sound and light returned to the moment. Christmas Future, she reminded herself, but it was much harder to convince herself that taking a vow of chastity with regard to Jill was the best way to go.
“Are you sure? This is your grand soiree, and I don’t mind carrying it around. Or I’ll just take it to the coat check.” She figured there was one in the back, since nobody else in here was wearing or carrying winter wear.
Jill rolled her eyes and took Robin’s coat and scarf as she leaned in and gave her a quick hug. As brief as the contact was, she left Robin on the verge of trembling. Robin clenched her teeth as Jill’s cologne triggered another round of heat. She transferred her wine to her left hand.
“Come on,” Jill said. “I want to introduce you around. We’ll start right over here,” she said as she led Robin toward the tall woman she’d been speaking with earlier. “Danielle,” Jill said, “I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Robin Preston. Robin, this is Danielle Paredes. Be right back.” She walked away, carrying Robin’s coat, and Robin got a look at the skin of Jill’s upper back and more of the tattoo, partially blocked by the top of Jill’s dress. A stylized Chinese dragon across her shoulder blade, exploding with primary colors. Robin couldn’t see its head, hidden by Jill’s dress, and the idea of seeing the rest of it added to her very clear and very strong attraction. Somehow, she managed to smoothly redirect her attention to Danielle.
“Hi. Pleased to meet you.” Robin offered her free hand, and Danielle shook it. Not too hard, not too soft. Neutral.
“Preston,” Danielle said in a warm, well-modulated voice. “Your name sounds familiar. How do you know Jill?”
“We were both doing art at the University of Oregon back in the day.”
“Are you still involved?”
“I was, but switched to business and ended up doing a master’s in that. I’ve recently been engaging with it again.”
Danielle sipped from her own wine glass. “Are you trained in a particular medium?”
“Photography, pastels, oils, charcoal, watercolors, mixed media. Jill and I have a history of found object hunting.”
Danielle laughed, and Robin decided she sort of liked her, because the laugh was genuine. “That sounds like Jill. She loves going on those. Maybe that’s why your name is familiar. She’s talked about someone she went to college with who got her started in that activity. Was that you?”
Robin remembered the first time they’d gone on a hunt, in an abandoned farmhouse near the Oregon coast. She’d finally persuaded Jill to come along. Robin smiled. “Yeah, it was.”
“So you haven’t seen her in a while?”
“No. We lost touch after college but recently ran into each other and reconnected.” Robin took another drink of wine, realizing that might sound a little too intimate, but she liked how it sounded.
Danielle didn’t appear to take it that way, though. “That’s nice to hear. She’s a fabulous artist and an all-around wonderful human being. Our foundation has provided grants for her work, and we’re always so pleased to do it.”
“I’m glad you have. What foundation?”
“North by Northwest, in Seattle.”
Robin stared. “Wait. Are you D.L. Paredes, then? On the North by Northwest Board?”
Danielle smiled, surprise in her eyes. “That would be me. Are you familiar with us?”
“Not as much as I would like to be.” Robin gave her one of her most winning smiles. “I applied for the directorship.”
Both of Danielle’s eyebrows raised, and her smile broadened. “That’s it. The reason your name is so familiar. I just read your materials this morning. Jacob—Burns, the current vice-president—forwarded them as soon as he got them.”
“Well, I don’t want to make this awkward for you. I’m sure there are plenty of applicants you’re considering. We can discuss something else.” Robin handed her now empty glass of wine to a young woman carrying a tray.
Danielle cocked her head, a thoughtful expression in her eyes, as if she was assessing Robin with a different perspective. “Jacob is very selective about résumés he forwards to me.” She paused. Then, “Tell me more about your own art.”
“I have a particular taste for pastels and charcoal. Pen and ink, too. But I don’t have anything that
’s public. I enjoy doing art, but I also enjoy being around it and thinking about ways to support it. One of the projects I did while working on my master’s was to develop a funding plan for an art cooperative. It worked pretty well. I have a knack for things like that.”
“I can tell.” Danielle took another sip of wine.
Robin wasn’t sure what she meant by that, and before she could say anything more, Jill returned.
“Sorry for the delay. I was accosted,” Jill said with extra dramatic flair.
“Hopefully in a good way.” Robin raised an eyebrow and sipped her wine, trying to look innocent. Danielle smiled.
“If only. Can I borrow Robin for a bit?”
Danielle nodded, still smiling. “Certainly. A pleasure to meet you,” she said to Robin. “If things don’t get too busy in here, I’d love to chat more.”
“Great. Take care.”
Danielle moved away, and a server approached. “Wine?”
Both Jill and Robin took glasses.
“Danielle is on the board of one of my funders,” Jill said as she started toward another group of people.
“So she said. Maybe I should pick your brain about how you go about getting grants and funds and all of that.”
“Improving your business acumen?”
“Branching out.” Robin smiled and took another quick swallow of wine because Jill’s shoulders were proving a major distraction. She’d better go easy on the wine, she thought as Jill introduced her to a few more people. Robin had seen a table filled with food toward the back, and once she was done with this group of people, she’d head over there.
Jill left Robin to chat with a woman named Tasha or something like that, with maroon streaks in her blond hair. She said she’d just finished art school and was working with a writer friend on a graphic novel. They were joined by two young men holding hands, who introduced themselves as Matt and Derrick.
The Bureau of Holiday Affairs Page 19