1105 Yakima Street - Debbie Macomber [18]
Miranda had recently taken a part-time job with Will at the gallery. The fact that she’d even accepted the position had surprised Shirley, since Will and Miranda seemed to disagree on almost everything—and not in a friendly way, either.
If what Tanni said was true, and Shirley strongly suspected it was, poor Miranda was setting herself up for heartache. Shirley had recognized the type of man Will Jefferson was ten seconds into their first meeting. Will was all about Will, as Tanni might have put it. Handsome and charming, he was accustomed to having women fawn over him. More than that, he’d come to expect it.
Shirley had to admit Miranda didn’t possess the classic beauty that typically appealed to men like Will Jefferson. Tall and solidly built, Miranda easily stood five-eleven, and with heels—although she rarely wore anything but sensible shoes—she was over six feet tall.
Shirley felt that Will’s usual preference was an empty-headed woman so he could be her intellectual superior. Miranda was his equal in every way. The fact that Will had made a blatant play for Shirley was—to her mind—more of an insult than a compliment.
Even Tanni had picked up on Miranda’s interest in him and Shirley worried for her friend. She doubted that Miranda was prepared for a Will Jefferson or the effect he might have on her emotions.
“What movie are you going to see?” Tanni asked, unaware of the thoughts swirling around in Shirley’s head.
“We haven’t decided yet.”
“I’ll be home before ten,” Tanni said, reaching for her car keys. She was out the door, munching on the apple as she went.
Pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot she’d made earlier, Shirley sat down at the kitchen table, wondering what to do with this unwelcome information. If she said anything to Miranda, it would only embarrass her friend. And any warning about Will would likely be dismissed out of hand.
Shirley glanced at her watch and, noticing the time, quickly got up from her chair. Taking one last sip, she left the mug in the kitchen sink, hurried to change her clothes and freshen her makeup, then headed out the door. She was supposed to meet Miranda at the Harbor Street Art Gallery at three-thirty.
The drive took less than ten minutes. When she stepped into the gallery, the first thing she heard was Miranda’s raised voice. “I’m telling you, the Chandler painting will look better on this wall,” she was saying.
“No! It’d be better there,” Will Jefferson said, just as heatedly.
“Hello?” Shirley called out.
Miranda responded immediately. “Shirley, come over here. We need your opinion.”
Great. Now she was going to be drawn into this argument, too. She walked toward them and glanced at the painting that seemed to be the subject of their disagreement. “Are you ready for the movie, Miranda?” she asked, hoping to avoid taking sides.
“Look at this,” Miranda insisted, gesturing at the watercolor.
The piece was stunning, the color choices vibrant and inviting. It portrayed a young girl in a blue cotton summer dress, biking past a white picket fence in a seashore town. A wide variety of flowers bloomed along the fence line. The girl’s innocence was in subtle contrast to her unconscious feminine appeal. In style, it was naturalistic but its shimmering colors were influenced by classic Impressionism. “This is a lovely work.”
“I agree,” Will said, speaking for the first time. “And I want it displayed in the way that will benefit it the most.”
“I think it should be on this wall and Will says—quite irrationally, I believe—that it should be there.” Miranda indicated the opposite side of the gallery.
“Irrational,” Will repeated from between clenched teeth. “If anyone’s irrational, it’s you. If we hang the painting on the wall I suggest, it’ll be the first thing people see when they enter the gallery.”
“This wall reveals it in the best light,” Miranda countered.
“You both have valid points,” Shirley said when they turned to her. “Why don’t you compromise?”
“No.” Will shook his head. “This is my gallery, despite what Miranda