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When she sees us approaching her display, her face lights up. I expect her to run over to greet us, chattering a mile a minute, but she doesn’t. She must have been instructed to stand there quietly while the gallery’s ‘patrons’ admire the art, because that’s exactly what she does. I can see how much it costs her to maintain her poise. She's practically bouncing on her feet.
“Beautiful work,” Harlow says from beside me.
“Mm,” I agree. “I especially love the artist’s use of color.”
A little giggle escapes Ella, but I don’t look her way. I keep my gaze on her painting instead.
“I wonder what a beautiful piece like this must cost,” I say.
“A small fortune, I’m sure,” Harlow says. “Certainly, one can only dream of owning such a piece.”
I sigh. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Lincoln Prescott?”
A woman’s shrill voice pierces the quiet air of the gallery and I automatically turn toward the source. I immediately regret it when I see the woman walking toward me. Her auburn hair is pin-straight and just reaches her shoulders. Her eyes are lined a little too heavily with dark eyeliner that makes her look much older than I know her to be. The overly large smile she directs at me makes me want to hide. From the corner of my eye, I see Harlow stiffen beside me and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. I manage to mask my expression and paste on a generic smile that I hope is convincing but not too inviting. After all, the last thing I want is to be trapped into a conversation with this woman.
“Hillary,” I say, injecting just enough politeness into my tone to not be considered rude. “How are you?”
“I thought that was you!” she gushes as she closes the distance between us.
For a moment, I think she’s going to try and hug me, but I reach out a hand at the last second. She hesitates, looking from my hand to my face and back again before reluctantly reaching out to shake my hand. I break the contact as soon as possible, sliding my hand into my pocket.
“It’s me,” I say. “I’m here to see my daughter’s artwork for gallery night.”
I gesture toward Ella’s painting, trying to direct Hillary’s attention away from me. She gives it the briefest of glances before turning back to me.
“Lincoln, it is sogoodto see you,” she says. “It’s been far too long.”
I give her a smaller smile this time, but I don’t respond in kind. The truth is that it’s not good to see Hillary Mitchell. I dated her for about a month during our senior year of high school. That month was enough time for me to realize how vapid she was and how little we had in common. It was just long enough for her to convince me to take her to the prom. And after Harlow revealed to me that she’d wanted to be my prom date, the last thing I want to do is make small talk with the girl I actually took to the prom. Seemingly oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm for the conversation or her presence, Hillary keeps talking.
“I was just talkin' to my momma the other day and she asked me how you were doin'.” She leans toward me conspiratorially and I instinctively step back. Hillary doesn’t seem to notice. “Between you and me, I think she still secretly wishes we’d stayed together for the long haul.”
She laughs as if what she just said was hilarious. I do my best to look amused, but I’m not sure I pull it off.
“Say hi to your mom for me,” I say, just to be polite.
“Oh, I will,” she says, reaching a hand out and touching my arm. “She’s going to be tickled pink when I tell her I ran into you.”
My eyes stray to where her hand still rests on my arm. I risk a glance over at Harlow who’s standing three feet away, not trying to hide the fact that she's watching our conversation play out. I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or angry. Her expression is carefully blank.
“We should have lunch one day,” Hillary says, her voice full of sugary sweet and still just a touch too loud for the quiet gymnasium.
Harlow’s jaw tightens, but she still doesn’t say anything. Fuck politeness. I need to put a stop to this right now. Pulling my arm away from Hillary’s grasping fingers, I move closer to Harlow and take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. Thankfully, she doesn’t pull away from me. Hopefully this doesn’t violate her ‘No PDA’ rule.
“Actually, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, turning to Harlow and smiling. “All my lunches are booked up by Harlow these days.” I raise our joined hands and kiss the back of hers. “Not that I’m complaining.” I laugh and Harlow joins me, though I can tell she’s caught off-guard by the cheesiness of this display.
“He’s right, I’m afraid,” she says, patting my chest. “I’m keeping him all to myself.”
Hillary’s smile slowly fades as she realizes what we’re implying. Her gaze shoots back and forth between Harlow and me, surprise written on her face.
“Oh. I didn’t realize you two were an item,” she says.
I smile even wider. “I just hate that I didn’t realize how amazing she is years ago,” I say. “I was so blind back then.”
It’s not until Hillary stiffens and her eyes narrow just a bit that I realize how my words probably sounded to her—the person I dated back then. But I don’t recall them. Let her think what she wants. I was an idiot to have dated her. She’s always been conceited and self-absorbed. From everything I’ve seen, she still is. She married her first husband right out of high school. Supposedly it had been because of his successful real estate firm. Rumors are that she cheated on him with one of his junior salesmen and they divorced. Now, she’s chasing after every single, successful businessman in the county, trying to land another wealthy husband. I want her to know she won’t find what she’s looking for with me.
Harlow smiles up at me adoringly. “I’m just happy you’re seeing clearly these days, honey.”
