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“Does that mean you’re missing New York?” he asks, and something in his voice sounds almost … fearful?
The shake of my head is instant.
“I love New York. It’s an amazing place that’ll always have a piece of my heart.”
His lips tighten, and I wonder what that’s about.
Sighing, I lay my head back on his shoulder, still with my hand in his hair. My position is awkward, but I love playing in his hair and resting my head against his shoulder so much that it beats out any possible discomfort.
“I have to admit something.”
He stills, but I keep going.
“I enjoyed my time in New York. I met some wonderful people. Made great friends. But there was a part of me that was so lonely there.” Pausing, I run my teeth across my bottom lip before admitting the last part.
“Though I had a full life there, there were some days I would go to The Met to feel a little closer to you.”
Diego pulls back enough to look down at me. I don’t say anything else. I want to allow my admission to hang in the air alone, but something else feels almost compulsory to admit.
I snort. “Ironically, the day before Lawrence dumped me, I had one of those days. He had just found out he would be featured at one of the shows at Art Basel in Miami,” I say, speaking of my ex-fiancé. “While I was happy for him, all I wondered about was if you were going to be there.”
I look up at Diego.
“We hadn’t talked in a while, and you didn’t pick up when I called. Then I remembered our first time traveling to New York after freshman year of college. After work that day, I ended up at The Met.”
“Alone?”
I nod.
“What did you do there?”
With a shrug of one shoulder, I tell him, “I laughed by myself because I imagined all of the jokes you would make about the people around us or how you would growl, furious with someone, if they dared to step in front of me at an exhibit.”
“People need to watch where they’re going,” he gripes.
“See? That’s exactly what I pictured you saying.” I lay my head back down on his shoulder. “Anyway, I remember going to bed that night with a pit in my stomach. Maybe I had a sense things were ending between me and Lawrence.
“The next morning is when he broke up with me.”
It’s not exactly pain that I feel as I relay that part of the story. Well, not pain about the breakup. It’s more so the reminder that, yet again, my mere existence is more of a hardship for someone than a joy.
An image of my mother pops into my mind.
“Hey,” Diego’s uttering calls my attention. “What’s going on up there?” He taps my temple with his finger.
I start to shake my head, but he stops me by cupping my chin. “SK. Remember?”
I swallow. Our childhood codenames for one another. Secret keeper.
A smile spreads my lips as I lay my head back against his shoulder. “I really want this gallery, Diego,” I tell him. “Not for me. There are so many artists who are overlooked because others choose to believe there’s something wrong with them. I want to shine my light on their talents.”
He remains silent for a beat, then sits up to turn to face me. “You’ll have your gallery. And it’s going to be fucking amazing. I can’t wait to see you shine when it opens.”
For a brief moment, his words drown out all of my doubts. I can’t hear any of my previous insecurities over the surety of his comments.
“I’ve missed you,” I say just above a whisper. The words come without me thinking.
Before I know it’s happening, his hand palms my cheek. It’s so warm and comforting that I barely notice the way he leans in closer.
