I give up on tying my tie and leave it dangling around my neck. Wrapping my arm around Alyssa’s waist, she scolds me for trying to wrinkle her dress but still loops her arms around my neck and allows me to help pull her off the counter. She links her hand with mine and looks at me.
“I love you, Daddy.”
My eyes mist and I crouch down, so we’re the same height. “I love you, Alyssa. More than anything in this world. You’ll always be my number one girl.”
“Forever?” she asks.
“And always.”
When Alyssa and I arrive at the gallery, there is a line of people waiting to get in. It’s damn cold out, and they’re waiting for Bree to open the doors to see what artwork she’s acquired for this event. Bree told me to walk right in, despite the sign on the door saying she’s closed. As soon as I set my hand on the door handle, panic sets in. These people are going to look at my photographs and judge me. They’re going to frown or smirk when they don’t like one, and I’m going to see their expressions because I have to be here. I have to stand there and pretend like I’m not full of nerves each time I see someone standing by one of my images and pointing. Of course, there’s the off chance that someone in this line will like my work, even love it. The few pictures Bree put out earlier sold instantly, which is surprising. In a million years, I never thought someone would find my vision through a lens worthy enough to pay for it. Bree has proven me wrong.
“Are we going to go in?” Alyssa tugs on my hand, bringing me back to reality.
Are we? I look over my shoulder, and through the front window, I can see the line of people. No one is focused on me. They’re huddled together for warmth or looking at their phones. I don’t understand why I’m afraid of them or what they might think, but I am. It’s a feeling that I hate. I’ve never been scrutinized before, at least not like this.
“Daddy?”
With my gaze back on Alyssa, I realize this is when I can set a good example for her. I can show her how to overcome fear, no matter how small or trivial it might be. “Yeah, we are.” My thumb presses down on the handle, and we walk in. The gallery is inviting, with some music playing, the perfect lighting, and the right amount of heat. Instantly, my chilled bones are warmed. But my body temperature changes when Bree struts toward us in a royal blue wrap dress with a silver bow tied on her hip. She’s like a present waiting to be unwrapped.
Earlier, when I was with her and doing things I haven’t done to another woman in many years, I expected guilt to take over, but it didn’t or hadn’t at least. I wanted to make love to her, but in her office or on her desk gives off the impression I only want to fuck her, and that’s not the case. I want to lay her out on my bed, one that hasn’t been shared with anyone else, and ravish her. I want to learn every inch of her body and discover what turns her on and what will drive her absolutely insane. Most of all, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that I want to be with her. I know people will have a problem with me moving on, but everything about Bree and us feels right. It feels perfect, and I’d be a fool to let these feelings go because someone out there thinks they know what’s best for my daughter and me.
“Wow,” Alyssa mutters.
“I know,” I say in agreement.
The seconds tick by slowly as Bree approaches us. I suppose I shouldn’t be jealous when she takes Alyssa’s hand and twirls her around. Alyssa’s giggle warms my heart even more. “Alyssa, I love your dress.”
“Thanks, Daddy bought it for me, and he says he picked it out all by himself, but I’m not so sure. I think you did it.”
Bree kneels and clutches both of Alyssa’s hands. “Your dad did it all by himself. He didn’t even show me until he bought them.”
“I love it,” my daughter replies with another spin. That’s when she sees my parents and goes running after them. Bree stands and straightens her dress. She eyes my tie, loose around my neck, and reaches for it. “I didn’t take you for a man who couldn’t tie his own tie.”
“I tried. It never looked right.”
Bree loops and pushes the fabric through the hole, then she tightens and wiggles it until it’s in place. “There.”
“Thank you,” I say before stepping closer. “I’d like to kiss you.”
She grins. “I’d like that as well, but the last thing I want is for the people outside to see us embrace. I don’t want there to be any doubt in their mind that you’re on these walls because you deserve to be here, not because you have something going on with the gallery owner.”
“Fair enough.”
“Are you ready?” she asks. I’m not, but I nod anyway. “I’m going to open the door and invite everyone in. All you need to do is mingle and wander around. If someone has questions or wants to compliment you, they’ll come up to you.”
“How will they know it’s me?”
“That’s my job,” she says. “I’ll greet every person who walks through this door tonight. I’ll find out what they’re looking for, direct them to the right painting or print, and when the time is right, I’ll ask if they want to meet the artist. You’re not the only one here, so don’t worry about being alone. Ross Sanders is over there in the corner, sipping a glass of champagne. He’s a retired police officer who started painting to deal with the things he saw when he worked in New York City. Talk to him. I think you two will hit it off.”
I glance over my shoulder and find him looking at one of my pictures. “Maybe when he’s done,” I say, shrugging. Bree rolls her eyes, takes me by the arm, and leads me over to Ross.
“Ross, I’d like you to meet Caleb, the man behind this image.” We shake hands, and before I say anything to Bree, she’s gone. Ross and I maybe get three words out before the doors open, and people flood into the gallery.
“First time?” he asks me.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.” He laughs and takes two flutes of champagne off the tray when a waiter walks by. “This will help. Just sip, no gulping. The only time you gulp is when some pompous ass comes up to you and tells you how you could’ve captured the moment differently.”
“How do you deal with that?” I ask.
“You grin, thank them, and as soon as they walk away, you turn around and greet the next person. It’s their opinion and theirs alone. There isn’t anything you can say to change their mind, so don’t even try.”
“Got it.”
My parents come up to us, and I introduce them, along with Alyssa, to Ross. He and my father start talking sports almost instantly, and I take this as my cue to wander like Bree said I should. I’m the first to admit, I know nothing about art, but some of these paintings are beautiful. That is until I look at the price tag and gasp. I could never afford to put one above my mantle.
“I did the same thing when I saw the price, but I have the perfect place for a piece like this.” The woman says nothing else as she raises her hand and hollers out for Bree. I watch their interaction. Bree is soft with her, places her hand on her arm, and laughs at whatever the woman says. Within a minute, they’re walking toward the back, giving off the sense that Bree just sold this twelve-thousand-dollar piece of art.