Chapter 30
HAZEL
Walking into the art gallery downtown, I feel lighter than air.
The ache in my chest from this morning disappeared along with my dread over my fake relationship ending.
Penn smiles from beside me, squeezing my hand as we walk inside the industrial brick building.
Knowing his feelings for me are as real as mine are for him has my whole body humming with happy relief.
Everything feels so right. I’m excited to see where things go with us as we continue seeing each other…
without any pressure or a ticking clock looming over us.
The exposed brick walls inside are lined with beautiful art pieces and photographs in a myriad of different styles and colors.
French music plays through the speakers, and a young man in a white dress shirt and tie greets us with a tray of bruschetta.
We each take a slice and make our way further inside the gallery.
A woman in a pencil skirt and silk top—more than likely the gallery curator—moves toward us. “Good evening, and welcome to our art show. I designed the show for everyone to start on the left and then move through the building. Once you reach the back, turn around and peruse the right side.”
“Thank you,” Fisher says. “Where is the Santi painting located? I’m most excited about that one.”
She smiles. “Ahh, yes. You and everyone else.” The woman chuckles. “The Santi is right in the middle of everything.”
He nods and waves an arm for us to follow him. Fisher seems antsy to get to the Santi painting—he filled me in about the mysterious artist on the drive over here—shifting from foot to foot in front of the first display like he’s looking at it just to be polite.
“Dude, chill. We didn’t drive all the way over here just to see one painting,” Noah says, arching one eyebrow.
Ally holds onto her boyfriend’s arm. “Yeah, I want to see everything!” She steps in front of the first display—an abstract-looking photograph—as she tugs Noah along with her. “See, this one is gorgeous. It’s a…” her voice trails off.
“It’s testicles,” Noah completes her sentence in a dry tone. He glances at the information card beside it. “Pig testicles, to be precise. Hairy ones.”
Ally cringes and moves back. “Ew.”
I squint, studying the photograph. The camera is zoomed in so close it’s hard to make them out at first, but those are definitely animal testicles.
Penn snickers. “Fishy, you should buy this one for your art collection.”
Fisher scoffs, keeping his voice politely low. “If I want to see testicles, I can look down.”
Ally gags. “Gross! Let’s move on, please.”
Penn and I follow our friends along the left wall, but I don’t think either of us are really registering the art.
We’re lost in each other, stealing glances, finding excuses to touch each other.
When we come to the end of the building, there’s a painting of a couple embracing. Penn leans down and kisses me softly.
“Sheesh, what is with you two today?” Fisher asks, shaking his head. “Get a room.”
Penn sighs. “We would…if someone hadn’t dragged us to an art show.”
Fisher ignores him and keeps walking. We’re halfway through the gallery, so the Santi painting must be coming up soon.
When Fisher gasps and rushes toward a canvas, I know that’s the one.
“Wow, I think this is Santi’s best work yet,” he says, clearly in awe.
I take a few steps to get a closer look, and have to admit, the abstract painting is absolutely gorgeous.
“Is that the Palace of Fine Arts?” Penn asks me.
“It is,” I reply, still gazing at the unique depiction of the stunning San Francisco landmark.
Penn bends to speak softly in my ear. “I bet you know a ton of random facts about it…”
“I do, actually.” I smile. “Wanna hear them?”
“Talk nerdy to me, Bubbles,” he whispers in a mock-seductive voice that makes me giggle.
“Okay, well, The San Francisco Palace of the Arts was built for the Panama-Pacific International Exposition. The highest point of the Palace is a staggering one hundred and sixty-two feet tall. The columns and towers almost look pink during sunrise, so you can see in this painting the artist captured the morning light perfectly. Santi must have painted this in the spring because the pond in front of the Palace has swans, and the pink flowering trees enhance the pinkish color of the plaster.”
“Your brain is so hot,” Penn says with a look of genuine awe.
I blush. “I took an Art History elective during my undergrad.”
“Of course you did,” Penn says with a proud grin.
“Do you like the painting?” I ask him, focusing my full attention back on the canvas.
Even to my untrained eye, I can see why Fisher is so crazy about this artist. Their blending of reality with a touch of surrealism gives the painting an almost ethereal quality that makes you want to keep staring at it.
Penn tilts his head as he stares at it. “It’s very…pink.”
Fisher looks over his shoulder and glares at Penn until the curator strides toward the painting.
“I see you found the Santi,” she says with a beaming smile. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Fisher nods.
“The Palace of Fine Arts is one of her favorite spots in the city,” the curator says. “She said she’s been trying to capture its beauty for years, and finally got it right in this painting, Waking Dreams.”
“Her?” Fisher asks.
The curator smiles. “Yes. And she’s a San Francisco native, too.”
“I’d like to purchase it.”
The woman presses her palms together. “I’m so sorry, this is already sold.”
“I’ll pay double what they paid,” Fisher counters.
The curator blinks. “Umm, I’ll be right back.” She tips her head and leaves us.
Penn grabs Fisher’s shoulder. “What if it’s, like, a million dollars?” he asks in a hushed whisper.
“Thankfully, Santi is still a local artist; her work hasn’t gone global yet,” Fisher says, his eyes bright and twinkling. “I wonder what she looks like,” he muses. “I bet she’s gorgeous.”
Penn huffs a laugh through his nose. “Or she’s like eighty.”
Noah laughs. “Yeah, Fishy, she could be old enough to be your mom.”
Fisher shrugs his shoulders. “Depending what she looked like, I could get on board with an older woman.”
Ally groans. “You’re incorrigible.”
Fisher smirks. “If Penn can bag himself a hottie who’s older, so can I.”
Everyone laughs at this, including me. Now that Penn and I have talked about us, I’m no longer as bothered by our age gap.
The clack of the curator’s stilettos gets our attention as she makes her way back to our group. She’s smiling, so hopefully she has good news for Fisher. “You’re in luck, sir. The buyer is willing to sell the painting to you for five-thousand.”
“Sold,” Fisher says without skipping a beat.
My eyes widen. I can’t imagine spending thousands of dollars without even batting an eyelash.
The curator claps her hands together. “Lovely. I’ll have you fill out the purchase agreement, and you can pick up the painting on Monday during business hours.”
Fisher follows her to the front to complete the paperwork, and the rest of us finish walking through the gallery.
Ally and Noah walk ahead of us, while Penn and I purposefully lag behind to snag a moment alone.
We stop in front of a black-and-white photograph of a moose standing in front of a gorgeous mountain scape.
“Look, it’s the land of your people,” I tease.
Penn chuckles, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. He nestles his face into the crook of my neck. “Don’t tell the guys I said this, but moose are actually kind of terrifying.”
Closing my eyes, I soak in the warmth of his body, not paying attention to whatever he’s saying about the photograph.
“It feels so good to be with you like this,” he whispers. “For real.”
I hum. “Yes, it does.”
“We’re together, and Chadwick is out of your hair.”
“It’s almost crazy how perfect everything worked out, huh?” I ask, bending my neck to look up at him.
He smiles down at me before kissing my forehead. “Yeah, it’s almost too perfect.”
“Pucking hell,” Fisher’s voice comes from a few feet away. “You two are disgusting today. After spending so much time with lovesick couples this evening, I need to go home and call some single teammates to hit the bars with me.”
“I’m sorry I took away your wingman, Fisher,” I say with a grin.
“I’m not,” Penn says.
Fisher rolls his eyes, but I know he’s kidding around and not actually mad—plus, there’s a glint in his eyes now that he bought the painting. Like he won something big. “You guys ready to head back to the loft?
Penn releases me but takes hold of my hand. “I’m ready for anything.”
“Me too,” I say, meeting his gaze.
Because for once in my life, I really do feel like I’m ready for whatever happens next.