They walked into the store and were greeted immediately by Mo. She gave Joe a quick hug, saying, "How nice of you to come." She stepped back and he introduced Rhiannon. Mo's eyebrows lifted as she looked down at her. "I'm glad you could come," she said, extending her hand. "I hope you find some things you like." She indicated the photographs hanging on the walls. "There are more in the next room. Rob?" She beckoned to a portly man with rimless glasses. "Rob, you must meet Joe and--his friend, Rhiannon. Joe and I are old buddies." "How do you do." They shook hands. "So," Joe said to them both, "this is where you're going to make a stand--gallery and print shop?" "And classes," Rob said. His smile broadened as he considered Rhiannon. "Help yourselves to wine and goodies." "Hi, Wendell," Mo said. They stepped away from the door. Joe recognized the gallery owner from Mo's show the previous year. People began arriving in numbers. He and Rhiannon made their way to the pupu table where he poured them wine. "I'm going to look around," she said. "Good, good. See you later." Joe stayed close to the kim chee and the shrimp. There was a platter of spanakopita, veggies, watercress and sour cream dip . . . Mo appeared. "Art can wait," he mumbled around a mouthful of sourdough roll. "So, where did you find PrettyLocks?" "Just around the corner from MoneyBags," Joe said, straightening. Mo tossed her head. "Look," Joe said. "Pax. I like being your old buddy. Rob's a nice guy, actually." "You can tell?" "Guaranteed. Joe Burke's seal of approval." Mo thought. "She is pretty." "Mmm." Joe never knew what women meant when they discussed looks. "Dynamite kim chee," he said. "Stay in touch, Joe." Mo patted his arm and turned towards the crowd. Rhiannon was standing in front of a large photograph, head tipped back, absorbed. "Isn't Vermeer a painter?" she asked as he moved next to her. "Yep, Dutch, sixteen hundreds--I think. Not many paintings survive, but they're all great." A tag on the wall beside the photograph read, Jade Willow Lady / Vermeer. She was wearing a white cook's jacket. Her glossy black hair was pulled back and pinned up behind her head. She held a spatula in front of her. Her free hand was palm up, ready to reach. It was as though she had seen Mo with the camera and had paused as she was turning toward the grill. Light fell on her face through wisps of steam. The print was taller than it was wide, cropped below her forearms. The background was distinct but shaded. The light was all on her face as she considered her balance in the act of maintaining it. She was magnificent. She rose above time by letting it go, holding nothing back. "He, uh . . . painted a girl, a young woman, in much the same way, although she wasn't cooking anything." "Awesome," Rhiannon said. "Jade Willow Lady." "Who?" "She cooks at Tops in Kaneohe. Mo and I went to look at her once. That's what I called her."