“It’s none of Addie’s business who I date. And I’m not dating Skye.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t date, Ben.”
“Semantics,” he says. “Is she a candidate for the club?”
“You know I don’t have an interest in anyone who’s not.” I pick up another oyster. Dab of sauce. Slurp.
Ben slides a few oysters into his mouth and then picks up his buzzing phone. “Sorry, I need to get this.” He rises and walks away from the bar.
I take the opportunity to check my own phone. If he can interrupt a family lunch with a call, so can I.
Instead of checking calls, though, my fingers seem to tap on their own and pull up Instagram. My post from this very restaurant is still front and center—the oysters Skye and I shared.
I miss her. I actually fucking miss her.
Damn.
I tap on her tag to see her profile.
Except it’s set to private. Smart woman. Within another second, I’ve asked to follow her—the first such request I’ve ever made.
I put my phone away and slurp another oyster.
Chapter Twelve
Later that afternoon, I pick up my phone to see if Skye accepted my request.
Another post from Addison Ames appears—in this one she’s wearing a horrendous grape-colored lip shade—complete with obsequious comments.
Absolutely in love with @susannecosmetics new Burgundy Orchid lip plumper! Grab yours before they sell out! #sponsored #bigkisses #kissme #lipgloss #lips #kiss
So luscious! Ordering mine now, @realaddisonames. Gorgeous!
What a great color on you!
Their lip plumper is the best. Love this new shade!
I have no problem letting this one go by. It’s classic Influencer Addie, like always.
I check my notifications, and—yes!—@stormyskye15 accepted my request.
I scroll through her posts. Some yoga poses, some cute sayings, some selfies with a gorgeous dark-haired woman who she refers to as her bestie. But in the midst of the everyday Instagram photos are some that are truly art.
Skye has talent.
A close-up of an eastern bluebird, the yellow of its chest as vivid as sunshine and its blue back the color of the Pacific Ocean off Kauai. How did she capture the hues so brilliantly, when the bird could have flown away in an instant?
Another photo is an old man—face wrinkled, a Red Sox cap on his head—riding through the cobbled streets of the Freedom Trail on a retro blue Schwinn bicycle. He’s clearly in motion, but Skye somehow captured him in perfect focus, his gaze intent on the road in front of him.
My favorite are her two most recent photos. They’re raw in their simplicity. A black fire hydrant with a red top—which looks like a hat to me—sits on a busy Boston street as a shadow plays over it. The first photo is taken from above, and the shadow juts straight out, perpendicular to the hydrant. The second photo is from a different angle, and the shadow looms in the back, as if it’s a phantom coming from behind. I’m mesmerized.
My God…
Her photos are pure brilliance.
I want to help her with her career. Get her work in galleries, magazines. I have connections. I can make this happen for her.