“Appraisal by photograph?” Bastian raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows. “You mean I didn't need to fly you both out here?”
“No, you still did.” I blushed as I realized he was teasing me again. “A lot of this needs to actually be looked at, but some things, like that picture you saw me working on this morning, already have certificates of authenticity. From there it's just verifying the certificate and assigning a price.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “So how much was that painting worth this morning? You were rather intent on it.”
I took another bite and swallowed before answering. “It's actually worth more than the Degas.”
He stopped chewing and looked at me in surprise before shaking his head in disbelief. “No.”
“Yes,” I insisted with a grin. “It's an authentic Berthe Morisot original. A similar painting was valued at just over fifty thousand dollars and actually sold at auction for just over one-hundred thousand.”
“But, the Degas? It's a Degas.” He set his sandwich down and watched me.
“The Degas is just a sketch on paper. It's worth around twenty-five thousand, so it's still worth quite a bit.” I smiled. I loved talking about this stuff. I loved the nuances of the art world and how even though a piece might have a famous name attached, another painting could still be better. “Even though the Degas name is more well known, the Morisot is a painting whereas the Degas is just a sketch.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. I loved having his complete attention. When he looked at me, I felt special and wanted. “Is that why you ignored my advice?”
“To start on the Degas?” I shook my head. “No. I didn't know what the Degas was worth until this afternoon, but I did have a plan. I have a system and I wasn't about to let you interrupt me.”
“Even though I'm a billionaire,” he teased. “With a cooking degree from Billionaire University?”
“Yes,” I said with a giggle before going serious again. “Everything has value. You just have to give things a chance to show you their worth. Just because something initially looks better doesn't actually mean that it is.”
Something in his face relaxed and he leaned back in his seat, studying me. I hoped I wasn't blushing again, especially since I just went all philosophical on him.
“You've impressed me three times now, just today,” he said after a moment. “Four if you count trying to stop a robbery last night.”
“What? Three?” I racked my brain for when I could have possibly impressed him for the first time. It certainly hadn't been while I was ignoring the Degas.
“This, the fake Roux, and that you managed to keep very calm during your father's episode,” he answered.
I gave a short laugh. “I think you might be remembering someone else. I was the exact opposite of calm.”
“I don't know.” He shrugged and leaned forward, eyes intent on me. When he looked at me like that, it made my stomach do happy flip flops and I wasn't quite sure why. “She was about your height, dark red hair, and the most amazing, beautiful green eyes.”
I couldn't stop the blush that flared around my chest and up my neck and into my cheeks at the compliment. I looked at him, thinking he might be teasing me again, but he was completely serious.
“Thank you.” I smiled and shrugged, trying not to read too much into flattering words. “It sounds like it could be me, but I still think you might have me confused with someone who wasn't panicking.”
He smiled, light shining in his eyes. “What did you think of the sandwich?”
I looked down at my empty plate. It had been absolutely fantastic and now that it was gone, I was considering licking my plate to get at the crumbs.
“What sandwich?” I asked, trying to look innocent. “Someone must have taken it.”
“Well, that is a shame,” he agreed. “I'll just have to make you another.”
“You really don't have to do that,” I said quickly, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. He pulled away as if I had shocked him. “I mean, I'm sure you have more important things to do with your time than make me a sandwich.”
“Does it look like I'm doing anything else?” he asked tersely.
“No,” I admitted, shaking my head.
“Then, this is what I'm doing with my time.” He stood from the table and collected my plate before going back to the kitchen.
I bit my lip for a moment, hoping he didn't find me ungrateful. I just didn't think I was worthy. “Thank you.”
He threw more bacon into the frying pan before turning around. “Did you find any other treasures hidden away on my walls?” he asked, changing the topic back to art.
“A couple.” I watched his steady hands as he chopped more lettuce, mesmerized by his sure and quick strokes. “I found another beautiful little Morisot in the hallway. I think there are several more of her works scattered throughout the house.”
He paused, looking up at me. “I'm afraid I don't know much about her.”
“She's one of my favorite artists,” I explained. “She's considered one of the best female impressionists. Her work sells remarkably well.”
“Then I'm glad she is on my walls, then.” He flashed me another quick smile that had my heart speeding up again.
“Did you not pick the paintings?” I asked, curious as to why he didn't know what he had in his own house. I picked up my lemonade and finally started drinking it, suddenly thirsty.
“Me? No.” He shook his head and made a face. “I bought this house a few years ago at auction. I wanted a beach house on the island, and the owners had passed away and the estate was being sold. It's time to sell it now while the market is good. What you are cataloging is what was in the house originally. I didn't pick any of it.”
I nearly choked on the last of my drink. I set the glass down and stared at him. “This was all here? This place is practically an art museum!”
He grinned and adjusted the sandwich on my plate before coming back over. “I don't know much about art, but I know a good business deal when I see one.”
I went to reach for the plate and in the process knocked over the empty glass. It rolled off the table but thankfully bounced on the floor instead of breaking. Bastian set the plate on the table and knelt beside me to pick it up.
He handed it back to me, our fingers touched for the briefest of moments, while our eyes connected. I gazed into eyes filled with the gray dawn and bursting with want and hope and so much more with every second I looked. He was close enough that I could smell the clean scent of his shampoo and my fingers ached to run through his hair.