“Hey man, you’re our friend. Of course, we came.” Graham smiles and glances back before leaning in and saying quietly, “Plus, Alex is a huge art fan and any extra brownie points for showing her a ‘famous gallery show’ works in my favor.”
I laugh at him and give Quinn a hug, Alex a high five, and CT a handshake.
“Thanks for coming, man,” I tell him and he shrugs.
“I couldn’t miss out on seeing myself in a gallery.” I laugh and lead them over to his picture. Alex is mesmerized and starts asking me technique questions, I raise my brows in surprise and Graham gives me a look like “see, I told you.”
Alex and I talk for a while about the art and we move around the gallery. Some people cut into the conversation, but I always turn back to the little girl who soaks up every word.
I’m still talking with my friends when my eye catches on the door and the woman of my dreams walks through them, a pantsuit donning her figure and her hands clutching her bag. She looks around, pensive, until her eyes land on me and she gives me a slight wave and a small, tentative smile.
I was a damn fool. A fucking idiot for nearly letting her go.
“Excuse me,” I tell my friends and move to her, like I’m being pulled by a magnet. She stays where she’s at near the entrance, like she’s unsure if she should stay or go.
“Hey,” she says when I’m close enough. I look her over and note the tired circles under her eyes again and the red-rimmed look that resides there.
“Hey.” I pull her into my arms, giving her a brief but tight hug. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Yeah, of course.” She nods awkwardly and gestures to the art. “Okay if I look around? I know it’s almost over, but I was working on… well, that doesn’t matter. I just didn’t want to miss it.”
I hide a smile at her rambling and nod my head, gesturing for her to follow me. We walk a bit and she takes a pause here and there, breathing in everything. She was always so good at that when I showed her my work. To take her time and appreciate every little stroke.
I clear my throat and we move farther down, to where the biggest piece rests.
The piece that’s of her.
She gasps, her hand covering her mouth, eyes glistening. “War…”
I feel a tightness in my chest and take a small step closer. “My muse,” I murmur so only she can hear me.
Her head shakes and she clears her throat. “It’s… amazing. I never thought—”
“What?” I prompt when she stops.
“I just… it’s hard to see myself through someone else’s eyes right now.”
I frown and move in front of her, gently touching her elbow. Which is a feat considering I want to yank her into my arms and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her right now. “What’s going on with you?” I ask it as gently as possible; her skittish eyes give away that she’s in a fragile state right now, and I don’t want to do anything that would hurt her more.
But she shakes her head. “Nothing.”
Nothing… nothing, my ass. Just nothing she wants—or feels like she can—share with me right now.
This isn’t right… this isn’t how it should be.
“Did you…” I sigh and shake my head. “Did you figure shit out with your mom?”
A deep sigh leaves her, and she looks at me, very briefly, before her eyes return to the art and she starts to move back toward the front slowly, still looking at the portraits on the walls.
“It’s complicated,” she finally answers.
I bite my tongue. Because how complicated could it be? “So complicated that you still haven’t talked to her?”
She gives me a look, one full of exhaustion and weariness, with just a hint of that love she once held for me. I fucking hope it’s not fading away, because my love for her is still strong. Still willing.
“Jane—”
“I have to go. I have more work tonight.” She hitches up her bag and moves closer to me, I look down at her, hope warring in my chest. “I’m really, really proud of you. You deserve this. And more.”