Sunday Morning, Jozef Israels, 1880

John spotted Kelly and maneuvered in beside her. She was studying a painting of a girl looking out a window. Gee, now there was some imagination at work. Although, the artist had done a good job, and hell, it beat bowls of fruit. The girl could almost be in a photo. An underexposed photo, but hey, all those old Dutch guys seemed to like their paintings dark.

He took a step back, squinted, peered at the girl in the painting. What the heck was she waiting for? It irritated him that he couldn't see out the window too. He could never have art like that in his house, it would drive him bonkers wondering what the girl was looking at.

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Kelly glanced at John. “Isn't it great?” She loved Dutch realism, even if Israëls was technically a couple of centuries too late to be considered part of the realist movement. Everything had a gritty, sense of, well, reality to it. She liked Millett, too, but Israëls' paintings often had a hint of melancholy that drew her in.

What did the girl see through the window? Was she watching someone leave, or awaiting his return? Was she longing for a different life, or appreciating her place in the world? Kelly loved to guess what the artist's inspiration had been. Why had he chosen that subject? What was it about the scene that compelled him to commit it to canvas for posterity?

Beside her John nodded. “It's a hell of a lot better than anything I could paint. That's for sure.”

That was what she loved about him. He hadn't minored in art history like she had, but he shared her interest in art. That was more than she could say for any of her previous boyfriends.

Ooh, she had a good idea. His birthday was coming up. Maybe on her lunch break next week, she'd come back and buy him a souvenir print of the painting as a memento of their visit. She held back a smile.

John was going to love it.