“Admiring the art work,” he said, shifting to one side and clicking off another photo.
“Will you stop that? You’re making an idiot of yourself.”
Richo pulled the phone from his eyes. “Ahem, who exactly is making an idiot of himself? I’m not the one posing for nudey pictures. You really thought I fell for that crap you just spun?”
Caleb looked around, saw several curious heads in a nearby group turned in their direction from which one woman emerged with a notebook in her hand looking from one man to the other. “Excuse me, did I hear you say this man is our model? I’m Valerie Robertson, from The Eastern Reporter, do you think we could get a photo of you in front of the painting?”
Richo grinned and cocked his finger at him. “Gotcha,” he said, and then to a young woman standing alongside Valerie. “Ava asked me to pose first, but I’m the shy type.”
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a quick once-over before she held out one hand. “I’m Gillian,” she said with a smile. “It’s lovely to meet you. But I’m sure you’d make a fabulous model yourself.”
It was just on dark when they returned to the station, though the temperature had hardly budged, the air over Adelaide like sitting under a hot blanket. Thankfully, still a smoke free blanket. Caleb got changed and picked up his keys, heading for his car.
Richo was heading out at the same time, clearly in a hurry.
“Where’s the fire?”
His mate winked. “I’ve got a date with Gillian. I reckon I’m in there.”
“Lucky Gillian.”
“Oh hey,” said Richo, with a wink, his keys poised in his hand. “Be sure to say hi to your mum for me. Wink. Wink.”
And Caleb was in such a good mood, he even managed a wry smile. The exhibition opening had been an amazing success and there was still a month to run. Sure, he hadn’t been too thrilled about the whole bare-assed silent auction thing, but he was beginning to see there might be a bright side to even that. “Sure. I’ll do that.”
Five minutes later, he had the takeaway collected and the chilled champagne and roses on board and fifteen minutes later he was up high in the hills, the lights of the city twinkling far below. For once, she actually came outside to greet him, like she’d been waiting impatiently for him to get there, her eyes bright as she threw her arms around his neck so ferociously he had to hold his arms out to the sides to protect his precious cargo.
“Can you believe how well tonight went?” And then she took his face in her hands and kissed him so passionately on the mouth, it was a miracle he didn’t throw the champagne and roses away and bundle her up in his arms and take her straight to bed.
“You’re a star,” he told her breathlessly, when he could get a word in between her kisses. “These are for you, in recognition of how brilliant you are.”
“Champagne!” she said, clutching the bottle. “And flowers.” She smiled up at him, the golden highlights in her eyes incandescent. “This is the best day.”
And Caleb knew it was, all the way down to his toes. And, if he had his way, it was about to get even better.
“I’m so sorry about the picture and silent auction thing,” she said, as they made their way inside, still wrapped in each other’s arms. “It was Evan’s idea at the last moment. I hope you don’t mind.”
He had, at the time, and he’d been even more aghast when Richo had blown his secret wide open, but now he was getting to like the idea of people knowing about their relationship. Once upon a time, it had suited them both to keep it secret, but as far as he was concerned it was way past its use by date. It was time it came out of the closet. “Forget it,” he told her. “It’s for a good cause.”
“You know, the last bid they had tonight was for eighteen hundred dollars?”
“What? You are kidding me?”
“No. And it will go higher while the exhibition runs.”
He shook his head as they unpacked takeaway containers. He’d gone all out and bought half a dozen dishes tonight because a celebration deserved a feast, and that was what they had from red duck curry and chilli prawns to the soft shell crab he knew she loved. They sat cross-legged on the rug with the dishes set out on the coffee table between them, glasses of champagne at the ready.
“To you,” he said, toasting his clever Ava.
“And to you,” she added, “my amazing, accidental life model.” She took a sip of her wine and said, “Oh, wait. I’ve got something for you.” And she rose to her feet and moved away with that fluid, silken grace thing that stirred his senses like a physical caress. Moments later, she was back. “This is for you,” she said, handing him a twelve-inch square package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a big white bow.
“It’s to thank you for being my inspiration. Even if inadvertently.”
“I didn’t mind,” he said, undoing the bow and pushing the ribbon aside. He’d discovered that being a life model came with benefits, like that skin tingling awareness that someone was watching you. Someone that you were about to get down and dirty with.
He tore the paper away and felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “Wow.” It was a painting of the flowers he’d given her from his place, the frangipani with the snow white petals and their yellow centres bold against a black satin backdrop. That was the night after the show, the night he’d thought she’d been
