"I am," she said emphatically. "I love the flowers. It is a wonderful place."
"Pour l'amour." AhnRee smiled. God, this blushing had to stop.
"Right. L'amour," she said. "Patrick," she added.
"Ah, Patrick . . . Is he the one with the red hair?"
"Yes."
"Marvelous," AhnRee said, looking back at the apple tree.
"AhnRee?" He looked back at her. "Amber said that you said I might use your piano some time."
"Of course, Willow, of course. Amber told me that you were musical." He rubbed his stomach. "I am often out in the middle of the day. Just let yourself in."
"Thanks, AhnRee. You are a sweetheart—no matter what they say about you at the Museum of Modern Art."
His face darkened. "Those idiots . . . "