“Well, I earned my degree in New York City, and right now the hot thing is modernism and cubism and all sorts of ‘isms’ that are boring to me. Scenes and emotions and animals and memories aren’t really that hot in the art world right now, and they’re kind of my specialty,” she said.
“Maybe you just need to find the right audience,” I said.
“I’m hoping to. I was showcased in a few art galleries during my senior year, and that led to some sales. The bulk of my market, though, is online.”
“Online?” I asked.
“Yeah. I paint, I upload a high-resolution digital picture of it, then people pay a price to print it out, have it framed, and shipped to them.”
“Sounds very impersonal.”
“It is, but it keeps my pockets lined until I can do what I really want,” she said.
“Which is?”
“Open my own gallery, hold my own showcases, and sell my own art.”
Her face lit up as she talked about it. She walked me through her dream gallery and how she would lay it out. The color scheme and the business model and even how much it would take to renovate a building and make it happen. I was impressed with her passion and how well thought-out her plan was.
I was interested in listening to her as she talked about it, and it had been a long time since I’d felt that way about anything.
Or anyone.
“Okay, Lanie. Time for bed,” I said after a while.
“But I’m not tired.”
“Yes, you are. You’re falling asleep next to Amanda,” I said.
“Can she tuck me in?” Lanie asked.
“I think you should let your uncle tuck you in,” Amanda said. “And maybe I could do it some other time.”
I wasn’t keen on her promising that to Lanie, but it got Lanie moving toward her bedroom, so I let it slide.
When I came back out to the kitchen, Amanda was already cleaning up. She was storing the pot of soup in the fridge, and I could see all the dishes had been put in the sink. I went over and started washing them as she went over to wipe down the table, and I felt us settling into a natural rhythm. Dancing around each other in the kitchen as we both tried to clean up.
And every time she passed by me, I got a whiff of her perfume.
“Brian?”
“Yep?”
“How the hell is a man like you single?”
The question caught me off guard, and I panned my gaze over to her.
“What?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. You’re good looking, you can cook, and you’re obviously well off by the state of this cabin. Why are you single?”
I lowered my gaze to the floor before I continued cleaning the dishes at the sink.
“Wasn’t always the case,” I said.
“I knew it. Someone has your heart,” she said.
I grunted but didn’t answer.