Page 8 of The Art of Loving Ellie
“Oh, just a little ice breaker, you know, between friends.” I raise a brow in question as he continues. “Let’s both pick one person, or persons, in here to describe in detail.” He nods his head in the direction of an elderly woman sitting alone. “Things like, what they’re doing here, or what they do for fun in their spare time. Here, I’ll go first.”
I take a sip of my water, and almost spew it out. “Wait. You’re saying we are going to pick out random strangers, and give them fake lives and personalities? Why?”
Those eyes of his are riddled with mischief. “Why not? It’s fun, you’ll see.”
Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that. He takes his time looking over the elderly lady he motioned to previously, sitting alone by a window. Skin sags around her heavily powdered eyes and down her face boasting her old age, and her white hair is thin and fragile. He leans close to me and in a hushed tone begins to describe her life to me in detail.
“Margret, or Marge as she likes to be called, is a heavy smoker—two packs a day at least. From her heavily shaded blue eyelids, I can tell she was a real life-of-the-party type. Her poor late husband, Tom O’Leary, obviously a wealthy Irishman, traveled to New York when he was a young lad, and swept her off her feet. He used to bring her to this shop every—what’s today?” He breaks in the middle of his story, holding my gaze, completely serious.
“Wednesday,” I supply, trying to suppress a giggle.
“Every Wednesday! Now every week, she comes in and has a cup of coffee to honor the memory of poor Tom.” He places a hand over his heart gently.
I look incredulous; it must show because his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and he looks at me expectantly, encouraging me to take my turn in a game I have no idea how to play. I can barely read myself, let alone complete strangers.
“Umm, okay. Let’s see.” I look around the room, tapping a finger to my lips. Several people catch my eye, but I decide to start with the couple huddled together in the corner opposite ours.
“S—so, that couple over there they, ah, they like coffee a lot, and so they come here to talk, and then they go to work and—they work together, and they like that. They are in love? Probably. They live close by because they don’t like to—”
The sound of him chuckling has me whipping my head around. “What’s so funny?”
Feeling embarrassed, my cheeks start to turn crimson.
Using his thumb and forefinger on both hands, he creates a frame around the couple and squinting, pretends to bring them into focus. “You can do better than that. Look at them again, and really visualize what you want to see.”
He doesn’t even realize that he's given me a direct challenge, or maybe he does, but it doesn’t matter—I desire to bethatgirl. That girl that can people watch, and be silly with some guy she barely knows. Dammit, I want to impress him despite my fragile ego.
Taking a deep breath, I start over. “Jake and Violet are new to the city. They decided to elope against their parents' wishes. Getting married in Mexico and then moving to the Big Apple was the opposite of what their parents had in mind for them, but they don’t give much thought to what they think, because they are madly, deeply, and unequivocally in love.”
I get more brazen as I continue to speak, and the young man leans into the girl with a tender look in his eye, whispering something in her ear. I lose myself in the moment describing a love I don’t realize I secretly desire—even though I’ll never admit it. “He’s telling her how beautiful she is. How there’s no one else he could ever imagine being with, and there’s nothing in this world that he wouldn’t do for her.” I’m blushing red as I turn and give Tyler my full attention, not backing down, no matter how surprised or embarrassed I am by my words.
Tyler stares back at me, instead of the couple I'm describing, and he licks his perfect lips that carry that playful smile I’m starting to associate him with. “You are delightful, Ellie.”
I blow out a long breath and lean back in my chair, laughing lightly. “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself.”
He follows my lead, and we get a little more comfortable. “So what do you do at Marpines?” he asks, switching from our game to a new subject.
I wave a hand casually. “Oh, I work for Alexandre Bernard. I’m his personal assistant, but we have become great friends since I’ve moved here.”
That gets his attention, and he leans in a little closer, setting his mug on the table. I reach forward to do the same and accidentally spill some of my coffee on the table in front of me. He grabs a napkin, wiping the spot and my mug clean, and places it carefully on top of a coaster close to me. The small gesture is charming; I thought chivalry was supposed to be dead.
“TheAlexandre Bernard? That’s incredible. I didn’t know he had a hideout up there. My Grandma had a large print of that portrait he painted; you know the one of the naked woman with—”
I cut him off to finish his thought, “With the red silk draping across her backside? That is one of his most well-known pieces, and he doesn’t let a single soul forget what got him recognized.” Shaking my head at thoughts of Alex, I smile.
I see the curiosity stamped across his face, and my toes curl uncomfortably in my shoes at the question I know is coming next. “So does this mean you dabble in the arts yourself?” A giggling group of young girls burst through the coffee shop doors, causing a draft to waft our way. I study them a moment as I contemplate how much I’m willing to tell Tyler about my current inability to paint.
“I wouldn’t exactly say dabble.” Nervously biting my thumb, I turn back to him and change the subject. “Maybe we can save that conversation for another time.” I notice my mistake immediately before the words even register in my brain.
He wears a wolfish grin. “Another time, huh?”
“Ifthere’s another time.” At this point, I may be lying to myself, but I move the conversation along anyway. “Speaking of Marpines, how was your big meeting?”
He spreads his legs, getting comfortable, and it takes every ounce of my self-control to keep my eyes focused above his belt line. “It went well, thankfully. I started my own photography business about five years ago, but I haven’t been able to get much work outside of a few weddings—the market here is pretty competitive. Anyway, I was able to snag a gig for New York Cityscapes recently, so I was just stopping by yesterday to finalize some paperwork.”
My whole body goes numb at his words, and my mouth drops open slightly. Did I hear him correctly? With my mind spinning, I start to sort out the ways I can try to convince him to do our event. Starting with that begging I said I wasn’t ashamed of.
“You may want to close your mouth before you catch a fly.” He winks playfully at me, but my brain is still catching up to speed.
