Page 75 of Broken Pieces
“You’ve become one of my closest friends. I just want to make sure you won’t get hurt in the process. I tend to be overprotective sometimes, I’m sorry,” she says, squeezing my forearm caringly.
As we’re walking into the gallery, I bring her in for a sideway hug. “I know, and I appreciate it. I promise I’m fine.”
We head to the second floor and get straight to work. From the last conversation I had with Damian, we needed to find a new artist as soon as possible, to give them the opportunity they need to enter the industry on the right foot. I spend most of my day on social media searching for any artist who may be trending, and while the ones I find are talented, they’re just not what I’m looking for. Itmight sound quirky, but there's something magical about stumbling upon new artists. When I connect with someone's art, there's this unique feeling that just clicks for me. A feeling I absolutely can’t explain.
The feeling is not there, and it’s frustrating. Basing my choice over a feeling should probably be, well, not appropriate, but this is what has gotten me places and it’s the way I’ve been able to make a name for myself.
Feeling defeated, I check the time. Time has flown by and I didn't even get to eat today.
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles.
I walk out of my office to find Isabella and invite her for dinner. “Isa?” I yell.
No response. She’s probably in the gallery basement again. I swear one of these days she’ll disappear for real, and I’m just going to think she was just down there the whole time.
Engrossed in my phone firing off an email to one of the gala vendors, I yell again, hoping she’ll hear me this time. “I am dying for some burgers and fries. Wanna go have dinner with me!? Eat our weight in chili fries?”
“That sounds good.”
I’m startled by the deep voice that comes from the stairs entrance. Looking up, I see Damian standing there, looking as handsome as ever, with his boyish smile, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.
My heart quickens, as it always does every time he’s near. It’s been a few days since I last saw him, but I swear it felt like forever. And if I’m being honest, I missed him.
“You’re here,” I say.
He laughs with a nod. “I’m here.”
“I thought you weren’t arriving until next weekend.”
He shrugged. “Honestly? I missed you. I wanted to see you.”
His confession makes me blush. God, this man is smooth. He knows how to stroke a girl’s ego.
“You said something about burgers and fries?” he asks.
I stutter, “I–yes. Burgers. Fries. Me starving.”
He walks up to me and kisses the top of my head, making my stomach fill with a million butterflies. “I just know the perfect place for us to go,Tesoro. I sent Isa home, so we’ll close up and go, okay?”
As we park in front of the building, I look at the bright pink and yellow sign that flashesFred’s Diner.
“A diner!? Who knew you were so down to earth, Romano,” I joke.
“Please. They have the best chili fries in the city, no doubt.”
As we enter, the interior reveals a 1950s-themed diner with the typical red and white booths, a classic jukebox in the corner currently playingSweet Home Alabamaby Lynyrd Skynyrd, and an open kitchen where the sounds of sizzling food fill the air. One of the few memories I have with my Nana is going to her favorite diner. When Gramps died, she was lonely, so our weekly dates to the diner were our way of bonding, talking about Gramps, how he bravely fought the war, and how they met. The nostalgic ambiance brings a smile to my face as my mind fills with all those happy, loving memories.
There’s a sign that says,Please wait to be seated, but Damian opts to ignore it. He grabs my hand and leads us to a booth.
Arriving at the booth, an elderly woman with gray hair and a bright smile walks toward us. “Damie, how many times do I have to tell you to wait upfront until we seat you?” she asks in a gentle, sweet voice, gently grabbing Damian's cheeks.
Wait.
Damie?
“You know I’m not a stickler for the rules,” he replies while laughing.
I’ve officially entered the twilight zone somehow, where there’s an alternate Damian Romano I didn’t know about.
