The Art Institute of Chicago was nice enough. Big banners advertised the new exhibit inside, hanging down the white columns of the outside of the building. Beau waited, leaning against the base of the statue. The lion, a patina-green beast, didn’t seem to mind. It stood guard, aloof and impressive, from its raised podium, ignoring the petty human drama that surrounded it. The banners flapped in the late winter air; it wasn’t quite spring yet, but the weather was starting to thaw. A bit.
“Come on, David,” he muttered, “don’t let me down.” He checked his watch. Mila was inside, actually doing the tourist thing, and she hadn’t introduced him to Vin’s father, which Beau felt was actually a pretty good thing. He was all tied up in knots just taking a risk like this without being forced to make
