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I dip my biscuit in my coffee, then curse as half of it breaks off and sinks to the bottom. I fish it out with a teaspoon. “We’re not… um… you know… she’s not my g-girlfriend…”
Wiremu smiles. “I meant having her working for you.”
“Ah.”
He chuckles. “Thank you for coming tonight. You’ve given us all a lot of food for thought. Our museum might never be quiteup to National’s standards, but we’re keen to make it the best we can.”
“Absolutely.”
“You’ve given us a lot of fundraising ideas.”
“Many of those were Hallie’s,” I admit, as I’d mentioned several of the crowdfunding plans Hallie and I had discussed.
“She’s a woman of many talents,” he observes.
“Mmm.” My gaze skims down her. She looks amazing in her cream suit, elegant and summery, with her hair pinned up, and just the thick curl hanging past her cheek. I’d like to open up the claw clip and watch her hair unfurl and tumble past her shoulders, then slide my hand into it and let the silky strands slip through my fingers.
“Ask her out, lad,” Wiremu states. “You’re obviously crazy about her, eh?”
“Ahhh… I can’t, unfortunately. We work together, and there are rules.”
He snorts. “You’re not going to let a few rules get in the way of winning yourself a girl like that?”
I scratch my cheek, watching her laugh at something one of the men is saying. I sigh and turn my attention back to Wiremu. “Anyway, I was wondering whether you’d be interested in exchanging exhibitions, like Our Threads of Time exhibition, which is about The Art and Story of Maori Textiles? We have an excellent range of cloaks, mats, and baskets, and we combine the display with a showcase of items from local Maori artists who are using traditional weaving techniques. We have someone teaching kids flax weaving, and that’s always popular.”
“I would like that very much,” he says, pleased.
We go on to talk about how we’d organize that, and it’s another fifteen minutes before the meeting starts to break up, and people begin to leave.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Wiremu says, shaking first my hand, then Hallie’s as she joins me. “I really appreciate it.”
“It’s been great to connect with other people who love the subject,” Hallie says.
“Keep in touch,” I tell him. “Ka kite ano.” It means ‘see you again’.
“Hei kona,” he replies, which is a casual and warm ‘goodbye’.
Hallie and I head outside, into the warm summer evening.
We both blow out a long breath, then laugh as we walk along the path. I take out my phone and call for an Uber, and we wait on the edge of the pavement for it.
“Well done,” she says. “You were terrific.”
I look down at her. “And you were amazing.”
“Aw.” She nudges me. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
“I mean it. You’re incredibly knowledgeable. Talk about hide your light under a bushel.” I think about the phrase. “What is a bushel, anyway?”
She laughs. “You know you do that a lot?”
“Do what?”
“Go off on a tangent. Usually something etymological, wondering where a word comes from.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“It’s from the Bible. Bushel, I mean. It’s a unit of measurement, and it comes from the Old Frenchboissielandbuissiel, which means ‘little box’, and from the Old Frenchboise, which means ‘little butt’.”