Love at Large (7 page)

With a last check of her appearance in the mirror in the foyer, she answered the door.

“Hi.” She ushered Martin into her living room.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, handing her a small bakery box. “I picked up some muffins on the way over. I didn’t get lunch today and thought we might share these before we started my class.”

Darby smiled. “That was thoughtful of you.” They stood smiling at one another for a long moment. The spell was broken by Nathan’s appearance from the kitchen, laden with what appeared to be much of the content of Darby’s fridge, including a large bottle of soda under his arm and an entire bag of apples in one hand.

“Hi.” He plopped on the sofa, depositing his loot on the coffee table.

“This is my little brother, Nathan,” Darby said, watching as the teen propped his feet up on the table and dug into a half of a submarine sandwich. “Nathan, this is Martin Thomas, my new student.”

“Cool,” was all he said. Darby rolled her eyes but Martin just laughed.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Well, shall we leave the brat to his feast,” Darby said with a grin, “and have a cup of coffee before we start our class?”

“Wonderful.” Martin followed her into her kitchen.

Spotting the basket of muffins on the table, he said, “Oh, I see you were a step ahead of me.” He leaned over and sniffed. “Mmmm. Blueberry. My favorite.”

Darby opened the bakery box. “And you brought banana…my favorite.”

“Well, then, I guess we both win,” Martin said with a grin.

Darby made herself busy pouring coffee, hoping Martin didn’t see how his tiny words of praise had affected her. She set the mugs on the table and gestured for him to sit. She was suddenly aware of how tiny her kitchen was because he seemed to be sitting so close.

“I like your apartment.” He looked around at the cheerful kitchen painted in muted green and bordered in ivy. “You’ve made it very cozy.”

“Thank you. I know it’s not very big but it suits me.”

“Tell me, do you work in other art mediums besides your computer art?”

“Yes. Acrylics, and clay.”

“Would I have seen your work anywhere?” He sipped his coffee and gave her his full attention. His stare was making it hard for her to concentrate.

“Um, yes. There are a couple of my acrylics at the Griffith Gallery. I hope to have a one-woman show of my fractals there sometime in the next few years.”

“Really. Good for you.” Martin said. “Have you and the owner made plans for the exact date?”

Darby shook her head. “No.” She reached for a napkin. “Actually, I haven’t met the owner personally.”

“I thought you had some work at the gallery,” Martin said, adding cream to his cup.

“I do,” Darby replied, “but I dealt with old Mr. Griffith, the current owner’s grandfather. I was in a show at college, and this dear sweet old man was there. He bought my showpieces. I didn’t know until later that he
was
the Griffith Gallery.”

“You must have been thrilled.” He took a sip of coffee.

“Oh, I was,” she said. “I meant to thank him personally for his encouragement, but he passed away shortly afterward, and I never got the chance.”

“That’s too bad.” Martin picked up a muffin and broke off a chunk. “So, what about the new owner? You said it’s the old man’s grandson?”

“Yes, he took over the gallery.”

“And you haven’t contacted him about the show?”

Darby stirred her coffee. “No. The show is my dream. I just haven’t figured out yet how to convince Mr. Griffith to schedule one.” She picked up a muffin, tore the cap off and started nibbling the edges.

“This Mr. Griffith, is he a tough customer? Hard to approach?”

“I don’t think so. If he’s anything like his grandfather, then he’s really nice. I guess I’ve just been avoiding it. I mean, what if he flat out said no?”

“But what if he said yes?” Martin carefully set his cup on the table.

Darby picked up both mugs and moved them to the sink. “I suppose you’re right. Nothing ventured…”

“Nothing gained. Say, we never discussed fees for the classes.”

She thought for a moment. “Tell you what. Today’s lesson is on the house. If you decide to continue it’s twenty-five dollars an hour. Does that seem fair?”

“Absolutely. So, shall we start, ma’am?”

The afternoon flew by, and Darby was disappointed when Martin sat back in the computer chair and stretched his arms above his head.

“I think my brain is going to explode.” He rubbed his temples.

Darby laughed. “We covered a lot of territory today.” She stood and stretched her limbs as well, and was flattered to find Martin following her movements with his eyes. It made her feel warm all over. “Actually fractals look complicated, but if you start with the basic structure, you can create something really beautiful with ease.”

“Maybe you can,” Martin said, also standing to stretch, “but…” and here he turned and gazed into her eyes. “…I think I’m going to need many, many lessons to begin to understand all this stuff. I hope you can bear with me.”

She smiled and returned his intent gaze. “I think I can manage.”

They stood a moment, neither one speaking and yet saying volumes, then walked in silence from her office. Darby was intensely aware of his closeness. They entered the living room to find Nathan sprawled asleep on the sofa, the remnants of his attack on the fridge spread around him. The two adults laughed and moved toward the front door.

“I love my brother,” she said with an affectionate glance to the sleeping boy, “but he is a slob.”

“I think all teenage boys are,” Martin said. “Goodness knows I was.” He reached up and ran his hand down Darby’s upper arm, sending a thrill through her body. “Thank you, Darby. It’s been a lovely day.”

Then he was gone, and Darby shivered in her now so cold and empty apartment.

T
HE NEXT FEW
weeks flew by. Each Sunday and an occasional Wednesday evening were filled with Martin’s lessons. A quick study, he was beginning to create some really interesting simple fractals of his own.

“You’re doing great, Martin,” Darby said one evening as the two sat hunkered over the computer screen. Their heads and shoulders were almost touching, and she could feel the heat of his body, and smell his spicy cologne. “This is one of your best so far. I like the glowing effect at the center, and the almost filament-like structures on the tips of the arms. It reminds me of a sea anemone.”

“High praise, indeed,” Martin said, giving her a grin. “You’re a wonderful teacher. You’ve made this so easy, and it’s fun…” His voice lowered in volume. “…especially with you.”

Darby’s breath caught in her throat. “I….” She stuttered and began picking imaginary lint off her sleeve. “Thank you. You’re a good student. And I’ve had fun too.”

The two sat not speaking for an electric moment.

Darby cleared her throat. “As much as I hate for the fun to end, I think you’re ready to branch out on your own. There’s really nothing more to teach you. You just need to practice and design on your own.” Having said the words, she slumped back and looked down at her hands. She felt Martin stir and glanced up. He had a strange look on his face.

“If you really think so,” he said.

“I can’t take your money anymore. It wouldn’t be honest.”

Martin sat back and seemed to gather his thoughts.

“Darby, may I be frank?”

“Sure, I guess.” She swallowed and braced herself for…what, she didn’t know.

“I think you should put together a presentation of your fractal art and go see this Griffith guy.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. “What?”

“Well, it seems to me that if you’re going to get this one-woman show you want, then you’re going to have to be assertive.” He leaned forward and took Darby’s hands in his. “You have talent, Darby, real talent. And you have such a wonderful personality.” He grinned. “And you’re so darn pretty. Ol’ Griffith would probably fall all over himself to give you the show of a lifetime.”

“You really think so?” She couldn’t stop herself from looking at the way their hands seemed to melt together—a perfect fit.

“I feel very strongly that you should do this. Something tells me that if you approach Griffith personally the show will happen.” He squeezed her hands for emphasis.

“But I don’t know if I have enough pieces ready.”

“So what. Show him what you have, then work on more if they’re needed.”

“And I have a couple of commissions to complete.”

“Again, not a problem. Plan the show for after the commissions are finished.”

“But what if—”

“Come on, Darby,” Martin said. “There are plenty of reasons to put this off longer, but one really good reason for doing this now.”

“Oh?”

“You’re good. It’s time to take this step.”

She glanced up, and when her gaze connected with his, her mind was made up. “All right, I will!”

“Excellent!” Martin stood and pulled on his jacket. “I’ll be waiting to hear how it turns out.” At the door of the apartment, he turned and cupped her chin with his hand. Her skin tingled where his fingers touched. “Now I don’t want you to chicken out once I walk through this door.” She chuckled. He read her very well. “Tomorrow morning, you call and make an appointment, okay?”

She smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

The next morning, Darby found herself watching the slow crawl of the clock’s hands, waiting for nine a.m. when normal business hours would be starting and she could call the Griffith Gallery. At five minutes past nine she punched out the number.

“Griffith Gallery.” The slightly nasal, feminine voice pierced her eardrum.

“Hello, this is Darby Marshall. I was wondering if I might speak with Mr. Griffith.” Her hands were cold and sweaty, but her cheeks felt hot.

“I suggest making an appointment, Miss Marshall. Mr. Griffith is a very busy man.”

“Of course.” She felt stupid. Martin had told her to do that before he left, and she’d promised, so she made an appointment for the following Friday afternoon. By the time she hung up the phone, she was shivering from a mix of excitement and fear.

F
RIDAY CAME TOO
quickly, and yet not quickly enough. Darby arrived early at the gallery, her large black portfolio making her arm ache. She had dressed to impress, wearing her power suit of charcoal grey.

“Have a seat, Miss Marshall,” the receptionist said, with the merest glance up from her computer screen.

Darby sat on the edge of the chair and stared at the door that marked Mr. Griffith’s office. Beyond that door was her future, whatever that might be, and she was overwhelmed at the thought. She fidgeted in her seat and tugged at the hem of her skirt.

Minutes seemed like hours, and she almost decided to leave when the receptionist spoke.

“You may go in now, Miss Marshall.”

Darby hadn’t heard any buzzer or phone. It was as if this woman had channeled the information. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her portfolio and went to the massive wood door. The artist in her took a moment to admire the intricate relief carving that made the door quite special. With one last mental prayer, she turned the knob and entered the office.

At first, it didn’t appear that anyone was in the room. She took in the lush carpet, the rich, deep wood of the furniture, the muted light grey of the space, and the astonishing array of artwork on the walls. Vibrant color danced around the room. Darby’s eyes went from one piece to the next, dazzled at the talent residing there.

She began a slow tour around the office, stopping to drink in the beauty of the collection. She was so absorbed in admiring each work that it didn’t occur to her to wonder where Mr. Griffith was. She had circled the entire room and came to the last wall by the door.

What met her eyes stunned her beyond reason. For there, on the wall, hung two fractals. Her fractals. The fractals she had sold to Martin at the craft show.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll explain,” came a voice.

A hand rested on her shoulder. She turned and found herself looking into Martin’s wonderful brown eyes.

“First, let me introduce myself. My name is Martin Griffith…Martin
Thomas
Griffith.” He held out his hand and, in a daze, Darby offered hers. “I hope you’ll forgive my little subterfuge these past few weeks.”

“But…why?” She searched his face, but could not see answers.

“Truthfully? I stopped into the craft show on a whim. I never expected to find that the most beautiful work of art in the room would be a woman…”

He stepped closer, and Darby’s heart pounded.

“Even though I admired your fractals, I didn’t want to be Griffith, gallery owner at that moment. I wanted to be Martin, a guy interested in a girl. I wanted you to get to know me, and I wanted to spend time with you.”

She stood speechless as Martin continued.