Page 30 of Don't Remind Me
“Jase, my man.”
A British accent pulled my focus to a sharply dressed man about Jase’s age who pulled Jase into a bear hug. Jase lifted his hand from my back to return the embrace, and I chose not to focus on the pang of disappointment in my chest as cool air replaced his touch.
“How are you, mate?” the guy said, giving Jase a final slap on the back before releasing him.
Jase’s grin filled his whole face in a way I hadn’t seen before—totally unrestrained. “I’ve been good. Been meaning to stop in for a while.”
His friend waved him off and adjusted the cuffs of his royal blue shirt, the color playing off of the cool tones of his dark brown skin. Every detail of his look was polished, from his leather shoes to the short twists of his hair and his trimmed beard. “I know how it goes. I haven’t made it to that fancy restaurant of yours yet, so we’re even. Though I’ve heard some excellent things from a few clients of mine.”
“Did you tell them they must be mistaken?” Jase asked.
His friend flashed his own wide grin. “Tried to warn them away multiple times. People don’t listen to reason.”
Eyes still alight, Jase gestured to me. “This is Dani. She’s organizing the fundraiser I told you about. Dani, this is my good friend Colin Kentwood. Don’t listen to a word he says that isn’t about art.”
“Excuse me,” Colin said, “but whose mouth got us in trouble with the Italian police?”
“That is an extreme exaggeration of what happened,” Jase said in defense.
Colin lifted my hand and dropped a kiss on the back of it. “It’s not,” he whispered.
I pressed my lips together to restrain my laughter.
Jase rolled his eyes with a smirk and reached for my hand. “She’s too smart to be swayed by your flirting,” he said as he slid my fingers from Colin’s grasp. His touch lingered against my skin, thumb brushing my palm once before he pulled away. I clutched my bag to keep from reaching after him. “You going to show us some art, or what?”
“Apparently, that’s all I’m good for,” Colin said as he ushered us into the main part of the gallery.
Jase patted his cheek as he passed. “You’re pretty too.” He blew a kiss, and Colin swatted his hand away.
I was as enthralled by their back-and-forth as I was with the art. I’d seen Jase joke around with his staff before and laugh at their ridiculous stories, but he always remained one step removed, never forgetting he was their boss or crossing that line into something unprofessional.
With Colin, none of that power dynamic existed. They were straight-up playful with one another, even after not seeing each other for what sounded like a long time. It was kind of beautiful to watch.
“This showcase is for Mia Cordero, one of our local artists. She’s built quite a following in recent years,” Colin explained as he led us around the room. Benches were spaced throughout, some of which had people sitting on them, admiring the art.
“I can see why,” I said. “There’s such movement to them.”
“Are you an art fan?” he asked.
“I’m not a collector or anything, but I do appreciate it. My dad’s a photographer, so I used to go to a lot of art shows with him as a kid.” I felt Jase watching me, taking in this new information.
“Oh, brilliant,” Colin said. “The first gallery I ever worked at was a photo gallery in London. It’s amazing how clearly some people see the world through a lens.”
Bitterness mixed with longing in my chest as I studied the canvas in front of us. “And how much they can miss outside of it,” I murmured.
When I turned, Colin had already moved on to the next piece, a smaller canvas displaying multiple women painted in a simplistic design, all in shades of reds, pinks, and purples. Their bodies were draped over one another, limbs intertwined in a human knot.
Jase stood behind me, gaze fixed on me. He studied me in that way of his that felt like he was staring into my soul.
For a moment, I let him. Then I followed Colin.
We perusedthe gallery for an hour or so, Colin giving us the vivid backstory on many of the paintings. He shared insights from the artist and revealed his favorite pieces.
Jase surprised me yet again by sharing his own thoughts on the art, and not just, “It looks cool.” Don’t get me wrong, that was a perfectly valid reason to like art—but he was talking color theory, composition, contrast, and texture. It reminded me all over again that Jase was an artist too, his food as layered and complex as any of the pieces in this gallery, and it suddenly made perfect sense why these two were friends.
“So,” Colin said as we returned to the reception area at the front of the gallery. “What do you think? Would Mia’s work be a good fit for your auction?”
Was he kidding? “It’d be perfect,” I said.
