Spy Hopping at the Gallery

At the gallery opening, Lilly wore her confidence like a finely tailored blazer, sharp, immaculate, and impenetrable. In Melbourne’s glittering art circles, she was the woman who never missed a step, her poise as renowned as her curatorial eye.

Every detail was deliberate. The bold sweep of crimson lipstick, the measured way she tilted her head while examining each canvas. It was all part of her performance.

But as she paused in front of the evening’s main attraction, a swirl of vibrant blues and ochres, her composure wobbled. Not because of the painting, but because of the man standing next to it, nervously tugging at his tie and leaving a faint fingerprint smudge right on the glass.

He had hair that looked artfully rumpled, as if he’d lost a battle with a particularly aggressive pillow, and his tie was askew in a way that was almost…cute?

Lilly’s pulse thudded. She told herself it was just because the painting was stunning, but she knew better. She was the queen of cool, and yet, here she was, hoping the charming disaster in front of her would say something…anything…that wouldn’t make her laugh out loud or, worse, blush.

He glanced her way, eyes wide with panic as he fumbled for words. “Um… so, do you think the artist meant for that blob to look like a… uh… kangaroo, or is that just me?”

Lilly’s carefully constructed disguise cracked, just a little. Suddenly, the evening promised to be much more interesting than she’d planned.

She leaned in, adopting her most conspiratorial tone. “That’s the great thing about modern art. Everything can be a kangaroo if you squint.”

He grinned, relief flooding his face. “Phew. I thought I was seeing things. I’m Cam, by the way.”

“Lilly,” she replied, shaking his hand. His grip was warm, his palm calloused, odd for an art lover, she noted.

A waiter passed by with glasses of champagne. Cam reached for one, nearly knocking over a sculpture shaped suspiciously like a pineapple grenade. Lilly’s reflexes kicked in, steadying the piece before disaster struck.

“Quick reflexes,” Cam said, tipping his glass in her direction.

“Comes with the job,” she replied, flashing a mysterious smile.

He lowered his voice. “What is it that you do, exactly?”

Lilly hesitated, the weight of her real story pressing against the tidy fiction she’d created for nights like this. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered, eyes darting around the room, a habit she could never quite shake.

Cam’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “My lips are sealed.”

Lilly leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Let’s just say I’m in… acquisitions. The kind that occasionally requires a grappling hook, a fake moustache, and an alibi.”

She straightened, giving him a playful wink. “But tonight, I'm completely off duty, unless some art needs saving.”

For a split second, they shared a conspiratorial look. Two undercover agents, neither aware of the other’s true identity, sizing each other up beneath the gallery lights. Cam was scanning the crowd just as discreetly as she was, a fact she didn’t miss.

He leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “So, do you always save endangered modern art, or is tonight special?”

She laughed, genuinely this time. “Let’s just say I like to keep things… interesting.”

As they moved together toward the next painting, both scanning the room for different kinds of suspects, Lilly couldn’t help but wonder if Cam was hiding something, too. The thought was thrilling.

For the first time in ages, she felt like she might enjoy being off duty. If only she could figure out whether the handsome, bumbling art lover was a friend, a foe, or something much more complicated.

As they strolled to the next exhibit, a sculpture that looked suspiciously like a stack of bread rolls, Lilly’s gaze flicked to a man in an ill-fitting trench coat and oversized sunglasses. He was lurking near the canapés table, artfully pretending to study a painting. He kept looking at the crowd while secretly putting cheese cubes in his pocket.

Cam’s eyes tracked in the same direction, but he hummed thoughtfully, pretending to be absorbed in the bread sculpture. “You know,” he said, “I’ve always wondered about the kind of person who comes to a gallery just for the snacks.”

Lilly smirked. “I’d say he’s either a food critic or someone with a very specific mission.”

Cam nodded sagely, his expression comically grave. “Could be he’s an undercover carb enthusiast. You can never tell in these circles.”

They edged closer to the canapé bandit, both pretending to admire a splashy abstract piece. Lilly caught Cam’s subtle glance at the man’s shoes, polished black leather, completely at odds with the rest of his “disguise.” A detail only someone trained to notice would catch, she thought.

“You seem to know a lot about, uh, suspicious snackers,” Lilly teased, arching an eyebrow. “Is that a hobby of yours?”

Cam gave a lopsided shrug. “You’d be surprised what you learn at gallery openings. Especially if you linger near the snacks. Or could be I’ve read enough detective novels to think I’m clever.” He paused, grinning. “My powers of observation peak around free cheese.”

She laughed, but her mind was whirring. He was far too observant for his supposed bumbling act. “So, Cam, tell me, what’s your secret? Are you actually Melbourne’s most devoted art enthusiast, or is there a hidden talent behind your uncanny ability to spot canapé thieves?”

He flashed an innocent smile. “Me? I’m just here for the art. And the company, of course.” He raised his glass in a playful toast.

The man in the trench coat sidled out of the room, glancing back furtively. In unspoken agreement, Lilly and Cam both started after him, at a discreet distance, of course.

Cam leaned in, lowering his voice. “Do you think he’s headed for the cloakroom, or is he about to make off with the sculpture shaped like a baguette?”

Lilly grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let’s find out. Fair warning, though, I’m fiercely competitive in the field of modern art heists. I once tackled a man over a suspiciously abstract sculpture.”

Cam’s eyes danced. “Remind me to stay on your good side. Although if tackling is involved, I might risk it.”

As they crept after their quarry, Lilly felt a familiar thrill, except this time, it wasn’t just the chase that made her heart race.

Lilly and Cam wove through the crowd, exchanging casual comments about brushstrokes and colour palettes, all the while keeping the trench-coated man in their peripheral vision. He moved with the awkward stealth of someone who had watched too many spy movies, and not the good ones.

The man slipped through the exit, glancing over his shoulder. Without a word, Lilly and Cam followed, their footsteps echoing in the polished marble corridor. They descended a flight of stairs, Cam nearly tripping over a modernist umbrella stand.

“Smooth,” Lilly whispered, biting back a laugh.

“Just keeping things unpredictable,” Cam replied with a wink.

They emerged into the carpark, the chilly Melbourne air a stark contrast to the gallery’s warmth. The trench-coated man crouched beside a battered hatchback, fiddling with something behind it.

Lilly tensed. Cam edged closer, adopting what he must have thought was a nonchalant whistle but sounded more like an asthmatic kettle.

Suddenly, from behind the car, a small, ridiculously fluffy dog bounded out, fur coiffed to perfection and eyes locked on the man’s hand.

“Here you go, Picasso!” the man cooed, producing a handful of cheese cubes from his pocket. The dog performed an enthusiastic spin and promptly devoured the snacks, tail wagging like a metronome.

Lilly and Cam exchanged glances, equal parts relief, amusement, and embarrassment.

The man finally noticed them. “Oh! Sorry, did you follow me? Picasso gets anxious if I leave him too long, and he absolutely loves gallery cheese. Terribly sorry if I caused any trouble!”

Lilly shook her head, suppressing a laugh. “No trouble at all. We were just…admiring your, um, dog-walking technique.”

Cam recovered first, kneeling to scratch Picasso behind the ears. “He’s got excellent taste. And a solid cover story.”

The man grinned, oblivious. “He’s a good boy, aren’t you, Picasso?”

Lilly couldn’t help herself. “Well, Cam, looks like we cracked a major case. Cheese smuggling canine. Melbourne’s finest.”

Cam grinned, his eyes twinkling. “All in a night’s work. Maybe next time, we’ll catch someone trying to make off with the bread sculpture.”

They started back toward the gallery, laughter echoing in the crisp night air, both a little relieved and a lot more intrigued by each other than they’d care to admit.

As they made their way back toward the gallery entrance, the sound of Picasso’s delighted barks fading behind them, Lilly nudged Cam with her elbow. “You know, after all that high-stakes action, I think we’ve earned a drink.”

Cam grinned. “I agree. It’s important to debrief after a successful mission. Strict protocol.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, is this the part where you suggest a dimly lit bar with questionable jazz and even more questionable cocktails?”

He pretended to ponder. “Only if you promise not to interrogate me about my mysterious day job. I’ve already revealed my secret identity as an undercover carb enthusiast, and I can’t risk further exposure.”

Lilly laughed. “Deal. But just so you know, I’m trained in the art of extracting confessions over espresso martinis.”

Cam offered his arm, mock serious. “In that case, lead the way, Agent Lilly. But be warned, I never crack under pressure. Unless there’s karaoke.”

She took his arm, smiling. “My lips are sealed.”

As they stepped out into the Melbourne night, the gallery’s lights twinkling behind them, they both suspected that tonight’s greatest mystery might be each other, and suddenly, neither of them minded at all.

THE END