Page 35 of The Last Date

A few months ago, Sarah had slapped my hand to stop me from straightening a painting in a restaurant when we were out to dinner. I’ll admit that was a bit rude, but it was just in my nature now.

Making myself a cup of tea, I sat down and checked my email, surprised to see a message from Oakley.

It was a link to small artist studios available for rent. He had even mapped the ones that were in the area between the gallery and my house.

I absolutely loved the way he was encouraging without being pushy. He was forthright without being aggressive.

I knew that I didn’t have nearly enough relationship experience to truly make a decision at this point, but absolutely everything about him made me want to keep him around for good.

That was likely far too much to think about at my age. Especially since I’d always been told that I’m young for my age. Was it my fault that my parents sheltered me, restricted my friends, restricted my activities, and kept me at home where they could keep an eye on me as much as possible?

As a teenager, I had plenty of girlfriends in the summer, because we had a big pool. But Sarah was really the only long-term relationship I’ve ever been in, and she certainly didn’t count in this respect.

An older gentleman in a sharp dark gray suit came in, staring at the cluster of paintings near the front window.

“Hello,” I called across the space, with a big smile. “Feel free to look around, but if you’re searching for something in particular, just let me know.”

“Actually,” he began, and I was already on my feet approaching him, “These pieces by the window caught my eye. My wife’s birthday is tomorrow.”

I came to stand beside him, looking at the three paintings. They were all three feet by three feet. Big enough to make a statement, but not imposing.

“Why did these pieces make you think of her?” I asked.

“These are the sort of colors she likes,” he said. “Her favorite dress is that color,” he said, pointing to a violet area in the piece on the left, “And her favorite purse is that color,” he said, pointing to the center painting.

“Do you know what room she might put it in?” I asked.

“Either our bedroom, or our home office.”

“Tell her that you were thinking it was for her office,” I said. “That way, you’re thinking about a room that’s just for her, not one you share. Then she’ll put it wherever she likes, of course.”

His eyes twinkled as he shot me a grin. “Good thinking.”

“Which do you think would look best in the space ?” I asked.

He shrugged, crinkling his nose. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, you remembered her colors, so you already have ten points,” I smiled. “What kind of work does she do in her office?”

“She’s a translator,” he said. “She translates English textbooks into French.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed to the center painting. “Did you know that pretty shade is called ‘French Blue’?”

He chuckled. “Perfect. Sold.”

I was impressed that he didn’t even try to haggle about the price. Taking the painting down, I wrapped it up securely in the back room, then rang it through.

I also gave him a few postcards for the artist’s opening for their new collection in a month, in case his wife would like to come and meet the artist.

“Plus, it’s an excuse to take your wife out to a gallery, then dinner afterward,” I said. “You probably don’t need extra excuses for dates, but it’s always nice to do something different.”

“Thank you so much,” he said. “Art and dating ideas. This place will be getting a great online review in a few days.”

I thanked him again, then as soon as he was gone, reached for my phone which had pinged a few times.

Sarah: Hey. Last week, didn’t you say that you sold that giant bunch of paintings to a company called Eastman?

Me: Yes. Why?

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