Page 29 of Love Is an Art
“That’s a good one.” He leans back against the seat.
“You’ve seen it?” Color me impressed.
“What do you take me for?”
“Were you on a date?” I ask.
“I suggested it,” he says.
He chose my favorite movie. “I hope that earned you a lot of points,” I say.
He side-eyes me. “Should you be hoping that?”
My heart flutters when he looks at me like that.
“Maybe not.” Definitely not. I don’t want to imagine him in any Netflix and Chill scenarios—with anyone other than me. “Was this someone you broke up with recently?”
“About six months ago.” He stares off at a subway poster advertising mattresses. A couple is cozied up on a bed. He looks down.
That’s still pretty recent if it was serious. “And you haven’t dated anyone since? Is that why your friend was so thrilled to see you talking to a woman?”
“Exactly,” he says. “I’ve been focused on work. You? When was your last relationship?”
“About eighteen months ago,” I say.
“I’m surprised you’re not dating anyone.”
“That was my first serious relationship,” I say. “Miranda set me up with this Dutch guy Thijs last spring, but he was moving back to Holland, so we decided to be friends.” I fiddle with my backpack on my lap. “So, you likedHow to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Would you have been able to forgive Andie for lying to you if you were Benjamin?”
“They were both lying to each other, so both were at fault.” He stares off at a subway poster in the corner. “Once someone lies to you, it can be hard to trust them again.”
I bite my lip. I wish I’d never said I was an artist.
“What if there were extenuating circumstances?” I ask.
“So she had to lie?” His brow furrows. “It’s our stop.”
Chapter nine
Tessa
Theregistrationtableispiled high with paddles for bidding (hopefully on my painting). Two women check off guests. Zeke gives our names.
The Dumbo Arts Center is a very open, white space with high ceilings, columns interspersed throughout. Track lights spotlight the art. A red-and-blue, wooden sculpture practically leaps off the wall to our right. Miranda’s abstract color field painting to the left grabs my attention immediately. Next to it is a cool sculpture made out of Tonka trucks. Rows of folding chairs and a small, wooden, raised platform stage announce the auction later this evening.
Scammer Guy is nowhere to be seen. I hope he shows up soon so I can see if he and Zeke talk again and if they appear to be good friends.
I register for a blank canvas and a paddle number. Zeke also registers to bid.
“Do you collect art?” I ask.
“I do have one painting,” he says.
“From a previous girlfriend?”
“No,” he says. “I haven’t dated a painter before.”
That’s a relief. My lack of talent would not fare well if I was being compared to someone who was actually pursuing that career.
