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Mom: And his name! I need to know all about this new fella of yours! Oh my gosh, this is so exciting! I mean, I’m mad at you for not telling me, but I forgive you, sweetie.Shit.
Don’t lie, kids. Or else you’ll have to deal with the backlash of your mom buying your imaginary boyfriend a wristwatch off Etsy and finding out on Christmas morning that you don’t have a boyfriend, and then your dad will probably start wearing the damn wristwatch, and every time your meddling mother sees it, she’ll remind you about that time you lied about having a boyfriend, and then it will just become this ongoing thing for the rest of your freaking life.
Although, right now, I’m going to have to not practice what I preach. Instead, I’ll hold on to the fragile hope that I will somehow find the man of my dreams in the next couple days and fix all my problems the unconventional way.
Seeing that my train is only a minute away from my final stop in Chelsea, I type out a quick message that will end this insane conversation—for now.Me: Mom, I gotta run, but I’ll be sure to tell you all the details soon.Her response—I can’t wait!—comes a few seconds later, followed by ten freaking smiley-face emojis.
Hey, God, it’s me, Ava. Can you, uh, do me a huge favor and make tonight’s date with Mark be the equivalent of a real-life Hallmark movie? Or is that asking too much?
The train comes to a stop, and I slip my phone back into my purse and step onto the platform with the rest of the crowd. It takes me a good five minutes just to get up the steps and onto the sidewalk thanks to how crowded it is, but once I reach the outside, the brisk, late-fall air brushes against my face and provides a much-needed emotional cooldown.
Three blocks later, I stop in front of Art New Vogue, a popular gallery in Chelsea and the very place I’ll be meeting my date.
Thankfully, this time, I had the foresight of sneaking a reminder peek at his profile picture before I hopped on the subway, and when I grab the black metal handle of the large glass door and step inside, I spot him.
Light-brown hair, gray eyes, and tanned skin covered by a white collared shirt, navy suit, and matching tie, Mark Dawson stands near the reception desk of the gallery with a khaki trench coat hanging across his arm.
Man, he’s, like, crazy dressed up.
I have to admit, though, he looks really good.
I glance down at my simple black shift dress, jean jacket, and ankle boots and silently wonder if I missed the formal memo. But that thought bubble is quickly popped when Mark smiles and steps toward me.
“Ava?” he asks, and I nod.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mark,” I greet and almost reach out my hand for a shake but choose a half hug in the name of not being as formal as his suit. “Did you have any trouble finding the gallery?”
“I think I found it as well as you can find anything in Chelsea,” he responds, and I don’t miss the way he lets the name of the neighborhood roll off his tongue with a hint of disdain.
“You don’t like Chelsea?” I ask, and he scrunches up his face like he just shoved fifteen Sour Patch Kids into his mouth.
“Does anyone like Chelsea?” A stuffy laugh follows. “I think we can both agree that it’s at the bottom of the totem pole when it comes to New York hot spots.”
Actually, I can’t agree. Some of my favorite galleries, shops, and restaurants are in Chelsea, but I bite my tongue and choose a friendly, nonconfrontational direction to steer the conversation.
“So…shall we see some art?”
“Let’s do it,” Mark responds and reaches out his arm so I can slide my hand around his elbow. “Although, I have to admit, I don’t know anything about the artist. Or any art, for that matter. I’m more of a sports and numbers guy, if you know what I mean.”
A stock trader by day, my date is the opposite of me. Where he spends his days on Wall Street, I spend my days at the Met and art auctions and galleries like this. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, you know? Sometimes, opposites do attract.
“That’s okay,” I respond with a little wink as we stroll toward the first area of the exhibition. “Something tells me I know enough to get you up to speed.”
Mark smiles, and we come to a stop in front of the first work. It’s truly remarkable, and I observe a moment of silence to take it all in while I assume he’s doing the same.
I glance in his direction to find him looking a little lost, but I remind myself he isn’t a part of the art world, and it’s probably a lot just to be thrown into the deep end.
