By the time they reached the next painting, Jake couldn’t take it anymore. As Casey looked up at the sweeping blue and green strokes on the canvas, Jake realized he simply couldn’t take another misdirected comment.
I’m not floundering. I’m drowning.
“Casey,” he said softly. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What?” she asked, alarmed. Her eyes were wide as she turned to face him.
“I don’t know a damn thing about art. I have no idea what I’m talking about. I know you’re sassing me, and I’m completely embarrassing myself, so …”
Casey burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she had to wrap an arm around her belly and shake her head.
“What’s so funny?” Jake asked, afraid that it was him.
“Oh, Jake, no. I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at myself.”
“What?” Jake was pretty sure he hadn’t heard right.
“I don’t know what I’m talking about either! I’m not sassing you … I’m making a complete fool of myself!”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. When Jake finally understood the ridiculousness of the situation, he started laughing too. For a few minutes, neither of them could pull themselves together.
“I was going to get you to walk me through it,” Jake said as he got his breath back.
Casey shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you. Let’s get one of those walk-through things and let an expert explain it.”
Jake agreed, and they hurried to the nearest stall for a tour recording. Their heads almost touched as they put in their earpieces, and Jake fought the urge to kiss her.
It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils and caught in his throat. She was so close, he could almost taste her skin.
He was lost in thought for a moment as he imagined what it would feel like to run his lips down her belly, lick her thighs with the tip of his tongue, and caress her nipples with the edges of his teeth.
“You, okay?” Casey asked, concerned.
“Yes.”
No.
“You look like you were a million miles away.”
“Not quite that far,” he said, smiling. She shook her head and pressed a button on the player, starting the tour.
They began with a still life, and Jake stared at it critically while the narrator went on about the bold use of color, the long, wide strokes, and the exquisite rendering of shadows. Jake tilted his head from side to side, almost holding his breath.
“What do you think?” Casey asked.
Jake shrugged. “It’s just fruit. I totally don’t get it.”
“I have to say I agree,” Casey said. “I mean, I get why artists do this. It’s a simple subject, and it takes skill to produce this painting. But, as you said, it’s just … fruit.”
They listened to the narrator for a few minutes more, finally moving on to a gorgeous, iridescent sunset.
“This, I like,” Jake said. It was an exquisite representation of a sun setting over the ocean. The artist had used reckless, bright streaks of gold across the cloudy, dark sky and pale white light in flashes across the beautifully drawn blue waves.
“I’d even buy this for my bedroom,” he said absently.
“Really?” Casey said. “I like it, but I don’t know if I’d hang it in my house.”
The narrator suddenly cut in, explaining how the turmoil in the painting expressed the artist’s personal struggles, the fiercely wrought details an echo of the artist’s tortured soul.