Page 45 of For the Love of Art

“I want to,” he replied. “I owe you.”

He didn’t, but I thanked him anyway.

The woman returned with the bill and a machine. Now instead of looking enamored and flirtatious, she looked pissed, not at Nathan, but at me.

Nathan seemed to notice and, while polite, was a little more short with his answers.

Once done, we stood up, and Nathan touched my back and led me out of the restaurant. I peered over my shoulder at the waitress, who scowled at me.

The drive to Nathan’s apartment was silent, as was the walk into the extravagantly designed entrance of his Fifth Avenue apartment. Marble flooring, large windows, massive chairs, and an English doorman were just a few features his building had to offer.

We stopped at the elevators, and Nathan punched in the number for his floor.

“Not the penthouse?”

“It’s just me,” Nathan replied. “I don’t need that kind of space.”

Despite not living in the penthouse, we rode the elevator a long way up. When the doors opened, we stepped out into an ornate hallway reminiscent of the entrance. It was crazy to think that this was where Nathan lived. The building itself was an art piece. While I gawked at the intricate gold details on the ceilings, Nathan breezed down the hallway. I supposed it loses its shock value when you live somewhere for a long time.

Nathan unlocked a door and held it open for me. I stepped into the dark apartment, my heart pounding. A mechanical whirring made me turn my head, and then the lights turned on. As my eyes adjusted, my mouth dropped. A sleek, modernly-decorated apartment appeared in front of me. Blinds slowly moved up the floor to window ceilings to reveal a New York landmark everyone knew.

“You don’t need a penthouse, but a view of Central Park is a must?”

Nathan shrugged. “Not a lot of green in the city.”

I chuckled and shook my head. I moved from the entrance into the living room, where the ceiling lifted from over me. Sleek, black iron rails followed along floating black stairs, and a large orb chandelier hung from a long cable in the center of the room.

“Wow,” I said. “Just… wow.” There were no other words to describe this apartment.

Nathan smiled proudly.

“Just a simple home for one.”

I scoffed. “Simple? No. This is anything but simple.”

He rubbed his chin between his forefinger and thumb as half his mouth turned up, but he said nothing. I continued to explore the apartment. I felt his eyes on me the whole time.

“So, where is the painting you want me to look at?”

Nathan pointed up. My eyes followed his fingers to the loft above the living room. I swallowed.

Upstairs.

I had to go upstairs with him.

“Okay.”

I followed him up the floating stairs and along the hallway that overlooked the living room. He led me down another hall before opening a door. He stepped to the side, allowing me to slip past him. He turned on a light to reveal a small office. One wall was lined with bookshelves, while the other had a small black desk that was completely empty save for a thin laptop. The room looked untouched, almost museum-like.

Behind the desk was a large painting that reminded me of Velasquez with the sharp contrasts of light on the models. Of course, it wasn’t. The models were much more modern, but the work was exquisite.

“Who painted this?” I asked, walking along the canvas in awe.

“A guy I found in Soho.”

“It’s incredible.”

When I turned back to face Nathan, I realized he had followed me along the canvas.

My heart hammered, and my lips parted.

“It was a very special find.”

I nodded. “I agree.”

My mouth was dry, and for whatever reason, my body was reacting to him being so near. I squeezed my legs together a little tighter to try and calm the sensation I felt there.

We stared at each other; a challenge or flirtation, I wasn’t sure.

Then I realized our lips were slowly moving closer together.