Best Friends Don't Kiss(29)
Seeing that my train is only a minute away from my final stop in Chelsea, I type out a quick message that will end this insane conversation—for now.
Me: Mom, I gotta run, but I’ll be sure to tell you all the details soon.
Her response—I can’t wait!—comes a few seconds later, followed by ten freaking smiley-face emojis.
Hey, God, it’s me, Ava. Can you, uh, do me a huge favor and make tonight’s date with Mark be the equivalent of a real-life Hallmark movie? Or is that asking too much?
The train comes to a stop, and I slip my phone back into my purse and step onto the platform with the rest of the crowd. It takes me a good five minutes just to get up the steps and onto the sidewalk thanks to how crowded it is, but once I reach the outside, the brisk, late-fall air brushes against my face and provides a much-needed emotional cooldown.
Three blocks later, I stop in front of Art New Vogue, a popular gallery in Chelsea and the very place I’ll be meeting my date.
Thankfully, this time, I had the foresight of sneaking a reminder peek at his profile picture before I hopped on the subway, and when I grab the black metal handle of the large glass door and step inside, I spot him.
Light-brown hair, gray eyes, and tanned skin covered by a white collared shirt, navy suit, and matching tie, Mark Dawson stands near the reception desk of the gallery with a khaki trench coat hanging across his arm.
Man, he’s, like, crazy dressed up.
I have to admit, though, he looks really good.
I glance down at my simple black shift dress, jean jacket, and ankle boots and silently wonder if I missed the formal memo. But that thought bubble is quickly popped when Mark smiles and steps toward me.
“Ava?” he asks, and I nod.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mark,” I greet and almost reach out my hand for a shake but choose a half hug in the name of not being as formal as his suit. “Did you have any trouble finding the gallery?”
“I think I found it as well as you can find anything in Chelsea,” he responds, and I don’t miss the way he lets the name of the neighborhood roll off his tongue with a hint of disdain.
“You don’t like Chelsea?” I ask, and he scrunches up his face like he just shoved fifteen Sour Patch Kids into his mouth.
“Does anyone like Chelsea?” A stuffy laugh follows. “I think we can both agree that it’s at the bottom of the totem pole when it comes to New York hot spots.”
Actually, I can’t agree. Some of my favorite galleries, shops, and restaurants are in Chelsea, but I bite my tongue and choose a friendly, nonconfrontational direction to steer the conversation.
“So…shall we see some art?”
“Let’s do it,” Mark responds and reaches out his arm so I can slide my hand around his elbow. “Although, I have to admit, I don’t know anything about the artist. Or any art, for that matter. I’m more of a sports and numbers guy, if you know what I mean.”
A stock trader by day, my date is the opposite of me. Where he spends his days on Wall Street, I spend my days at the Met and art auctions and galleries like this. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, you know? Sometimes, opposites do attract.
“That’s okay,” I respond with a little wink as we stroll toward the first area of the exhibition. “Something tells me I know enough to get you up to speed.”
Mark smiles, and we come to a stop in front of the first work. It’s truly remarkable, and I observe a moment of silence to take it all in while I assume he’s doing the same.
I glance in his direction to find him looking a little lost, but I remind myself he isn’t a part of the art world, and it’s probably a lot just to be thrown into the deep end.
“The artist’s name is Juliet Seraphina,” I say. “She’s a very popular, up-and-coming artist who made big waves in Moscow, and as you can see, her popularity is spreading across the world.”
He nods at my explanation and glances back at the wall, so I take a quiet moment to soak up her first piece again—a three-dimensional wall work that layers painting, screen printing, and laser-cut wood.
This is Juliet’s signature style, and her past works grew in popularity because of the way she reimagined scenes that focused on the alchemical properties of nature, and things like water, wind, fire, and light took center stage.
This piece, while it still uses her preferred materials, is different.
With a viewpoint from space, she captures the tiny essence of Earth in such a clever, original way.
“I guess that’s supposed to be outer space?” my date asks finally, and I nod with a smile.
“Yes.” I point toward the bottom of the painting. “And that’s Earth.”
“What? That little fucking ball is Earth?”
“Uh-huh,” I answer, after giggling a little. “She’s trying to convey how small we really are in the entirety of the universe.”
“Oh, gotcha.” My date just shrugs and shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
Juliet’s stuff is a little out there for non-artsy people, so I gesture for him to follow me, and we move on to the next installation. It’s much more aesthetically accessible.
He told me that art isn’t really his thing, but he still agreed to go on a first date to a gallery because he knew art was my thing. I owe him the effort to give him a fair chance at finding something he can get interested in.