He turned, eyebrows up in mock surprise. “Hmm? Oh.” He turned back to

the Whistler, hand to his chin, studying it as if he were considering buying it. “I guess you could say I've always been a connoisseur of the arts,” he said in his worst English accent.

Her arm raised, and he stepped back, his own hands up in defense. “Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “My parents had this game, Masterpiece?”

Her head cocked. Go on?

“It was an auction game. You each had these paintings with different values

and you had to sell them. All the photos they used were from the Chicago Art Museum. I didn't know that until I saw about three of them here.”

Her arm lowered, her head still cocked. But there was the slightest hint of a

smile. “I knew something was up. How come we never played that game?”

He shrugged. “Don't know. My parents had to almost force me on game

night. I preferred a good round of 'Hoth Ice Planet Adventure' myself.”

She gave a burst of laughter, which echoed in the marble hall. “Come on,”

she said, looping her arm in his. “I saw a coffee shop a while back. Interested?”

He nodded. “Yes, the coffee shop. One of Edward Hopper's most famous

paintings, it deduced the blending of interior and exterior lighting into a pastiche of red-golds reminiscent of Picasso's blue period, minus the blues, of course.”

She fanned herself. “Ooh, I just love it when a man talks art.”

“Edward Hopper. Post-impressionism. Still life. Uh, yellow. Paintings.

Frames.” He shrugged. “Sorry, that's all I've got.”

She smiled softly. “That's okay. It's enough.”

Their eyes locked for a smiling, golden moment. His watch beeped.

Peter pulled up his sleeve, turned it off. “Sorry. That's my reminder for my

one o'clock lab. Forgot I still had it on.”

She pouted. “You have to go?”

“Don't think anyone will be there on a Saturday.” The reality of Golden Grove had intruded though. “But I'll be needing to head out in a couple of hours.

Got two lesson plans to go over before Monday, and missing yesterday…”

“No, sure,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her.

“But I still have a few hours. Show me more of the museum?”

“I think I've tortured you enough. I was thinking we should eat, and then the

Museum of Science and Industry should be next,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up, and he nodded. “You sure? It might put you to sleep.

All that boring science stuff.”

She shrugged. “I figured if you could stay awake here, so can I. Besides, I've

always been curious to see that exhibit that shows the molecular structure of uranium-235 as typified by the constant remanagement of carbon atoms in

relation to Einstein's theory of relativity.”

“Well played.”

“Thanks.”

They walked on, arm in arm.

* * *

After an overly expensive but tasty lunch of ham and egg croissants, fruit, and a

local designer coffee, Peter retrieved his Camry from their lucky parking spot, and they tooled south on Lake Shore Drive.

“Traffic always this bad?” he asked, risking a lane change in front of an oncoming black Hummer.

“Probably a festival in Millennium Park,” Kate said, “or a convention at McCormick. Or maybe just normal Saturday traffic. Hard to tell.”

They made it to the Museum of Science and Industry by two, although it took another half hour to find a parking space and buy tickets. Saturday's were

busy here.

Once inside, they grabbed a map and wandered into the rotunda, which

echoed with voices and the screeches of kids.

“Mmm. So, where to from here?” Kate asked.

He folded the map. “How about we just wander? See what we find?”

She nodded.

* * *

They wandered, saw their pulses spark in the giant animated heart, tried to predict where the ball would go in the world's largest pinball machine, felt the cool mist of a simulated tornado. She loved the baby chicks in the genetics section and even found the body slices interesting, although creepy. They bypassed the Farm Tech exhibit. She's already seen enough combines and corn