Abi felt anchored to him at that arm around her waist and she kinda liked it, being wanted and desired in that way. She was normally asked for distance and eventually she told guys to fuck off if they didn't want to touch her. This experience was new and exciting and Abi came in closer to him.
"Mr Dali?" she asked softly, a little awestruck at the man in front of her. He wouldn't have been Dali recognisably if it weren't for that moustache. He had an aura like Hemingway did, the great talent seemed to emanate. She wasn't surprised that he noticed Hemingway was older, artists always knew the tiny details. "Maybe that's my influence?" she chuckled and glanced at Hemingway for a second before her breath caught in her throat.
A Dali, just a doodle, but it was for her. Jesus fucking Christ. "I... well.. thank you." She held it as if it were made of gold and jewels, a precious moment that could never be remade. "Wow." Abi felt her hand shaking a little and leant on Hemingway to keep upright and not embarrass herself.