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“Hi.” His voice is still so familiar but with an older tone running through it. He must be twenty-eight based on the month, so maybe life has deepened it.
“What brings you into the gallery?”
He looks behind him, and says, “The restaurant next door.”
“Woot!” I hear Louise and the slap of a high-five as she scores another off him.
Chuckling, he says, “They’re happy.”
“Yeah.” All the rehearsed scripts I had written, practiced, and stored just in case this day ever came are forgotten, some of the anger as well. Is that what time does? Dulls the edges? We can only be so lucky.
I’m not disappointed in his answer, but would I feel better if he had looked me up?
Glancing at the photo, he turns back to me. “These are incredible.”
That’s when I’m reminded which piece he’s been standing in front of for the past ten minutes. My heart starts pounding for different reasons. “Thank you.” The words come rushed as panic sets in. “Did you see the Atterton collection?”
“No. I was drawn to this one when I walked in.” He moves closer. “Those eyes . . .” Looking back at me, he adds, “Those are your eyes.”
I take two steps back, hoping he follows. The placard with the name REED printed on it is just one peek away. “It’s over here,” I say, ignoring the comment.
“Yes, I’d like to see the collection,” he responds as if the question is still fresh in the air.
Unlike the rest of my collection, the four photos hang in a quad. “They just make more sense together than apart.”
“Some things are meant to be.”
I hadn’t allowed myself the investment in him, purposely avoiding doing a once-over. But when his eyes are on the art, I give myself the luxury. Dress pants and a white shirt that was probably crisper at the start of the day. Black tie to match the pants. He looks very handsome and ever the businessman . . . attorney like he wanted to be? My nerves get the better of me. “It’s weird standing here with you again. Not that we’ve ever stood together in this gallery, or in any gallery for that matter, but you know what I mean.”
He slides his fingers through his hair—some habits never die—and he chuckles. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed the sound until hearing it again. “I do,” he replies with a playful elbow nudge. “And I have to agree.”
It’s been six years, but there’s so much that’s different about him, not an ounce of arrogance rolling off him. And his green eyes, like emeralds the first time I saw them, don’t hold the same intensity they once did. I met a troubled boy willing to burn down the world for me. I don’t know what he’s been through, but the vibrancy of the green has settled into the aftermath.
He shifts, pulling his attention from the walls and putting it on me. “It’s been a long fucking time, Story Salenger with an E.”
A sadness permeates the air between us. For me, it’s that I know our time is coming to a close. Whether this is good for me remains to be seen, but here in the now, I’m loving every second. “It sure has, Cooper Haywood.”
“Tell me if I’m out of line, but—”
“You ready to go, Cooper?”
Her slender fingers lie over his upper arm, the red nails matching a red flag in a bullfight. Her body almost presses to him as if she had to stop herself. The blonde in the heels with sky-high legs and the A-line skirt to show them off sucks the breath from my chest.
His date? Girlfriend? Wife? Oh, shit. I look at her hand and then to his, but no rings are wrapped around the finger that counts. As I die inside, everything moves in slow motion. His gaze falls to the floor before reality returns and time speeds back up. He says, “This is the photographer I was telling you about.”
Her blue eyes light up like she’s meeting a celebrity. “You’re very talented. Cooper saw the exhibit and insisted we stop. We didn’t even know it was yours until we saw the name on the wall. Incredible work. I, especially, love . . .” She points. “The empty bottle beside the bed.”
That bottle from after the first time Cooper and I had sex, the first time I’d been with anyone, the first time I fell in love. So many firsts are wrapped up in that photo. So many are wrapped up in him.
I’m not sure at what point I tuned her out, but I stare at Cooper like he just broke my heart again. “If you’ll excuse—”
“The glove. The bottle. The bed. And the rain outside the coffee shop.” The words shoot from his tongue as if he’s had them locked and loaded for years.
