The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Nine

I gape at him. "You thought asking me to strip naked in front of you would be funny?"

He purses his lips and shrugs, innocently. "I'm guessing you're not of that opinion?"

Bloody damn right I'm not. I was literally seconds away from taking off my dress. I feel foolish and my cheeks hot from embarrassment.

"Clearly my sense of humour is of a slightly different taste..." I mutter as I pull the zip back up on my dress with quivering hands.

When I look back at him he looks apologetic and remorseful. Like a little boy who's just been told off.

"You were really going to do it?" He sounds stunned.

"Of course, I was. I've stood for an art class before, haven't I? I know what's required. And I'm not a prude," I tell him.

"No, clearly not." His eyes linger on my face a long time before he speaks again. "Well, it could have been worse, I could have waited until you were properly naked before I told you I was kidding." When he smiles again it's a proper smile, all straight white teeth and crinkled eyes and I feel myself soften.

"Yes, you're a real gentleman."

"Wow, never been called that before."

"And I've never been called a prude before."

"Won't happen again. Had no idea you were so overly sensitive," he says. I'm about to object again when he smirks. So, he's deliberately trying to rile me? I smile sweetly at him instead.

"Well, now that we've broken the ice..." I sigh. "What now? What exactly is the most perfect gift a woman could give to a man?"

Aidan raises an eyebrow. "Now come on, surely you already know the answer to that?"

I feel a bloom of heat rush to my cheeks and for the next few moments, all manner of sordid images play through my mind. All of them involving Aidan Foley, not Oliver.

I clear my throat and roll my eyes. "You're hilarious. Who knew?"

"I try my best. My humour isn't for everyone," He shrugs.

"Ah... So like your art?"

He laughs then, a full-bodied warm laugh. Oh, what a sound it is. Surprisingly light, childlike even. His whole face laughs, not just his mouth or his eyes, but every available muscle joins in.

When it dissipates a few seconds later his gaze lingers on mine, soft and warm look. Something happens then. Or rather, nothing happens. What I find is that I'm able to stare back at him this time. My eyes don't run from his like they normally do. Perhaps his icebreaker worked after all.

"So," he says.

"So."

"I thought it might be a good idea to show you some more of my work." He moves past me to cross the studio. "I know you didn't enjoy the film, but I'm hoping you'll find something in some of my photos at least partially worthy."

"Oh I'm certain I will," I mutter as I hurry behind him. Over by the far wall is what looks like a giant magazine rack, just beyond which sits a high desk tilted at an angle, and then behind that dozens of shelves with containers of varying shapes, sizes and colours.

I had wanted to go to Nicole's Gallery this morning to see the exhibition but it didn't open until 11:00 am and I didn't want to be late for my first sitting. As he walks in front of me I notice that he has a slightly strange gait. Bouncy almost. He seems to walk on his toes, kind of how a toddler would to try and match a grown man's height. It's kind of adorable and it makes me smile. An adorable laugh and an adorable walk and doesn't like having his picture taken — three things I'd learned about Aidan Foley today.