“Great to meet you,” I said.

“Nice to meet you too,” he said slowly and deliberately as he let his eyes trail from my head to my shoes and back up again. He smiled in a slow way that made a soft “Ew” fall from my lips, and I froze, my hand still in his. If he heard me, he ignored it and gripped my hand tighter, leaning in. “I love artists. The ideas that must go on in there…”

He used his chin to gesture up toward what I must assume was my head. Then he just stared at me and continued holding my hand. I pulled it away quickly and nodded.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, watching as Emma turned to walk toward the kitchen, where I could see two women in uniforms pulling items out of large insulated bags. “Lots of thoughts and…things like that.”

“Where do you get your inspiration?”

“Well, I do portraits for the most part, so…” He continued to watch me, and I cleared my throat. “My inspiration for those is, um, mostly the faces of the people…that I’m doing the portraits of.”

A woman walked out of the kitchen toward us, with Emma right behind her, and I was happy for the interruption.

“Chris, this is Beverly, my friend and neighbor from upstairs. You met Bev’s husband, Andrew, on Monday at the park,” Emma said.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand.

“You too,” Beverly said. She was shorter than me—maybe five foot six or so—and she had thick, dark-brown hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She watched me with something that felt very much like suspicion. “You’re the artist, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How long have you done that?” Her question came out abruptly—more interview-like than conversational—and I blinked.

“My whole life, in some way or another,” I said. “But professionally, since I graduated top of my class from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.”

That came out more defensively than I’d planned, but Beverly didn’t seem to notice.

“We’ll need to talk about your rates,” she said. My eyes widened slightly, and she continued. “I’m Emma’s lawyer, and I’ve also been handling a lot of the finances for the company in the startup stage. No sense in beating around the bush. We’ll want to get that part sorted out pretty quickly. Since I’m sure you’re not here to do charity.”

“Geez, Bev, let the woman have a glass of wine first,” Emma said with a laugh. “I’ll go get you one. Red or white?”

I considered turning her down, but I was too tense; maybe it would help. “White,” I said. “Thank you.”

Beverly opened her mouth to ask another question when I heard a man’s voice behind me.

“Hello again!”