Chapter Six:
"Dammit!"
Theresa cursed as a pot of varnish hit the floor. It exploded in a glossy mess, splattering the easel, workspace, and – ugh – her jeans. She threw her gloved hands into the air in a helpless sign of frustration.
The ever-present sound of a gas torch whooshed into silence. Michelle shoved her mask back and called out, "You okay?"
Grabbing a rag from her worktable, Theresa dropped to her knees and started mopping up the spilled varnish. Good thing they'd both chosen to ignore Timothy when he'd suggested they "make more of an effort" with their appearances because, he said, visitors were welcome to stop by the gallery any time. A little more varnish wasn't going to hurt Theresa's jeans any.
"Just tired," she told her friend. "I didn't sleep well last night."
Michelle removed her thick gloves as she crossed the room. She wore a wicked grin that told Theresa they were about to play Show and Tell. Slapping the soggy rag down on the floor, Theresa let out a sigh of frustration. She really didn't want to have to explain to her best friend how she'd met the man of her dreams – and sent him scurrying away faster than she could say, "Thanks for the dance."
Should have called in sick, she thought miserably.
"Did it have anything to do with the handsome stranger you were dancing with last night?"
Michelle passed Theresa another rag, then propped one hip against the table and watched her scrub the floor. Theresa gave her friend a glare that did exactly nothing to erase the other woman's grin.
"Maybe," was all she said.
Laughing, Michelle offered her a hand up. Theresa slapped a wet rag onto her palm instead, which only served to make her friend laugh even harder.
"Well," she said, "I won't ask if you got lucky. You'd be in a much better mood if you had. What went wrong?"
What went wrong?
Everything had been going so well… they'd danced; there was definite chemistry there. Then, as the last strains of the song faded into nothing, Vlad had leaned in, as if to kiss her, and-
And then he disappeared. Theresa hadn't seen Vlad again that night. She'd stayed until the very last guest stumbled out of the gallery, even though her mood had turned more and more sour as the evening had worn on, hoping to see Vlad again.
She hadn't.
Which probably explained, in some weird way, the bizarre dream that she'd had last night…
Thinking about the dream sent a cold shiver down her back. It wasn't so much the image of Vlad in the centre of the bloody carnage that unnerved Theresa, as what she found on her pillow afterward. That, she still couldn't explain.
She couldn't tell Michelle about it, either. At best, Michelle would accuse Theresa of having too much to drink and misplacing her jewellery – never mind that Theresa hadn't worn that particular necklace in nearly a decade. At worst, Theresa would get concerned looks and have to constantly reassure her friend that she really was okay.
Neither option appealed to her.
"Well?"
Theresa rose. Pulling off her gloves, she chucked them in the bin, along with the rags. "Well, what?" she asked.
Michelle raised her eyebrows. "You really are out of it today," she said. "I asked what went wrong."
Shrugging, Theresa capped the rest of her chemicals before she could do any more damage and covered the 18th century oil painting she'd been working on. She rubbed her bleary eyes with the back of her hand.
"I wish I knew…"