I swallowed hard and nodded. And I knew, I just knew that we had to have that dreaded talk about expectations and limits and what we wanted from each other. There was no going back now. Because there, while the world spun around us, surrounded by white walls and priceless art, holding hands and hearing him talk about the correlation between art and books, well… that was it for me.

Like I took a miscalculated step or like I missed the last stair, I fell headfirst right into love with Hennessy Lang.

Motherfucker.

When we left the art gallery, we grabbed some lunch at the Pavilion, then set off for a stroll through the Botanical Gardens. It wasn’t long before Hennessy slipped his hand around mine. “So how was it? Did you really like the exhibit, or were you bored out of your mind? You can tell me honestly.”

“On a scale of one to best second date in the history of ever, it was a nine.”

“Just a nine?”

“Well, it’s not over yet.”

He smiled. “True.”

“I liked how much you liked it,” I admitted. “The fact you find beauty in art tells me a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” he mused. “Do I want to know?”

I saw a bench seat in the sun overlooking the park and pulled on his hand to lead him toward it. We sat, almost touching. “It’s a good thing, don’t worry. It tells me that you have great visual awareness; you notice smaller details others might overlook. It’s probably why you’re so good at your job. But also that you can appreciate things you find beautiful, simply for what they are.”

He was quiet a moment. “You got all that from one visit to an art gallery?”

I laughed. “I’m a librarian, remember? I can tell a lot about a person by what books they choose. Like you said, artwork is like a novel, yes?”

He nodded. “I guess.”