She wasn't on the corner yet, but he was early.

He pulled back into traffic to circle around the block. She'd insisted on taking the train from her West Loop apartment so that he didn't have to drive all

the way there and then back downtown.

They'd stayed at Marinetti's until closing last night, leaving only after an obvious glare from a surly hipster waitress stacking chairs on the table next to them. From there Kate had dropped him off at his hotel, a last-minute room at a

plain but comfortable Radisson.

He'd agreed, and without too much arm-twisting, to stay overnight so they could catch some downtown sights before he had to head back to Golden Grove

today. He wasn't sure if he could afford the time, especially after missing all of Friday. He had planned a quiz for Monday in Chemistry 102, and there was a lab

test next Friday he needed to prep equipment for. But he was pretty sure he could

get the work done with a few longer nights at the school.

Besides, he hadn't been to downtown Chicago in a long time, not since he was a kid. And there was Kate, too.

There was Kate, yes. She had been lively, bubbly last night at the restaurant.

Laughing easily, touching his hand. Probably because she was on her home turf,

so to speak.

But it had seemed like they could have been anywhere in the world and it wouldn't have mattered. It was just the two of them at a small table in the corner, each with a glass of Montoya Cabernet, doodling on the paper tablecloth using

the crayons they left to keep kids busy. She was obviously better at it, sketching ponies, shading in hearts, even attempting a cartoonish drawing of his face.

She'd insisted on tearing it out of the tablecloth and stuffing it in her purse. “My masterpiece,” she jokingly called it.

He'd circled the block, and there she was, waving, wearing a cute, double-

breasted black jacket, black leggings, and a smile. His heart danced as he pulled over.

“Need a lift, lady?” he said, in what he hoped was a taxi-driver voice.

“Don't usually go with strange men,” she said, opening the door.

“Don't usually pick up such beautiful women,” he said as she got in.

Her grin expanded. A car honked behind them. “Whoops,” she said, closing

the door. “Any ideas on where you want to go?” she asked.

He pulled into traffic. “I've always wanted to go to the Art Institute,” he said.

He could sense her eyebrows raising. “You sure? It might put you to sleep.

All that boring art stuff.” She shivered for effect.

“I can take it.”

“Okay, then. Let's see…turn right up at this light.”

* * *

Peter had managed to score a parking space only two blocks from the museum

on South Columbus, a feat which Kate pronounced miraculous. Chalk one up for

the small-town guy, he thought.

By noon, they'd breezed through the Indian, African, and Asian art galleries,

some of the ancient art, and had spent the last hour or so roving through the second level. Peter had to admit he'd been lost when it came to the pieces on the

lower level, but now he made a show of pointing out a variety of paintings to her. In particular, a Gauguin and a Van Gogh in the Impressionism wing.

Now they moved into the Modern American Art section.

“So, over here,” Kate was saying, pulling him by the hand, “this is Edward

Hopper's famous—”

“ 'Nighthawks,' ” Peter finished for her. “Yes, a particularly stark piece.”

She stared at him as if a horn had just popped out of his head. “Right…” she

said.

He turned, then nodded. “This is one of my favorites,” he announced,

pointing to a large painting of what looked like a disintegrated planet resting on a huge wire spool. “The Rock.” He stroked his chin. “So blunt, yet so surreal.”

Kate was wordless she followed him into a room across the way.

He rushed over to a square painting of an unremarkable seascape. “A

particularly stunning example of a Whistler, don't you think?” he said, pointing.

“Notice the broad, rough brush strokes.”

He could feel her staring at him, and it was great. She reached out, socked

him in the shoulder.

“Okay,” she said. “You're going to tell me how you know all these paintings or I'm really going to smack you.”