Page 31 of Don't Remind Me
“Great. We had four pieces in mind.”
I waved him off. “Whichever one you decide on is fine by me. Seriously, they’re all amazing.”
Colin chuckled. “No, I meant we want to donate all four.”
I looked at Jase, who was trying to hide his grin, then back at Colin. “Four? Of these paintings?” I pointed behind me.
Colin shrugged. “Mia feels strongly about your organization’s mission, and it speaks closely to the themes of her work. She was excited to do it.”
“That’s…” My mouth hung open, waiting for words that never came.
These paintings sold for thousands of dollars each. Assuming they auctioned for over the market value—which they would, given the artist’s popularity—this donation would bring in a huge chunk of money at the fundraiser. More than I’d thought possible. The flood of gratitude was too much for me to process.
“Thank you,” I finally said.
I told him I’d be in touch tomorrow to arrange the details, and we said our goodbyes, he and Jase sharing another vicious hug before we stepped back out onto South Street and into the clear summer night.
A motorcycle roared by, the sounds of the city crashing upon us all at once, making the quiet serenity of jazz music and murmured conversation we’d left behind feel like another world. One I wasn’t sure had even been real.
I stole a glance at Jase, who walked alongside me with his hands in his pockets. “I can’t believe you got me four paintings for the auction.”
He laughed quietly, triggering a flutter of something fuzzy in my chest. “All I did was send a text. Colin’s the one who came through.”
Maybe. But Jase had sent that text without prompting. He’d seen a way he could help, so he did. Just like he’d done for me again and again this past month and a half. It meant more to me than I knew how to say.
“How’d you two become friends, anyway?” I asked. We continued to stroll down the sidewalk with no particular destination in mind.
“I worked in London for a couple of years as a line cook, and he grew up there with one of the guys I worked with. We went out as a group a bunch of times, and the two of us just sort of clicked. He spent all his time in the photo gallery he mentioned, while I was working sixty-hour weeks at the restaurant trying to learn as much as I could and not get yelled at in the process. We both had these visions of what it would be like when we were the ones in charge.”
“And now you are,” I said.
He chuckled. “Yeah, by some miracle.”
“That’s right, you apparently came dangerously close to serving life in an Italian prison.”
He huffed. “Theyclaimedto be off-duty police, which I’m still not convinced of, and we were all plastered.”
I laughed, my chest light. A soft breeze grazed my skin, carrying the lingering scent of summer with it. He moved closer to me so someone could pass by on the sidewalk, and I caught his intoxicating scent again too.
“You know how in high school, adults always said the friends you meet in college become the best of your life?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I always thought it was bullshit. Friends were just friends, you know? And then I met Colin, and I got it. It’s been over ten years, and he’d still do anything for me, even when we haven’t seen each other in months. I don’t know why, but I’m fucking grateful.”
I knew why. Because Jase was that way for everyone in his life. Staying under budget to protect Jillian’s finances, letting me work at the restaurant when I would only get in his way, making sure his staff got fair wages and paid time off. He cared so much about others, and he didn’t think anyone noticed.
“I have one friend like that,” I admitted. “We didn’t meet in college either.”
I hadn’t stayed close with my college friends. After graduation, we spread out to different parts of the country, and soon, our lives were all in different stages—some of us getting married, some having kids, others catapulting in their careers. And then there was me, just kind of…trotting along doing none of it.
“Where’d you meet?” Jase asked.
“Dance camp. Seventh grade.” My lips tugged up at the memory. “We were roommates.”
He pulled back in surprise. “I’m sorry, dance camp? Like ballet or hip-hop?”
“A mix. Ballet and contemporary mostly.” It felt like a lifetime ago at this point.
