Chapter 8 Exhibition #3
“I’m taken,” I say stiffly. Then I jump to include, “I’m assuming you’re not asking me as just a friend.” Why did I say that? My cheeks must be cherries at this point. I was never good at holding my pride inside.
Devlin laughs in a way that unwinds the tight cords around my heart. It reminds me of when I’d met him at McArthur’s and the carefree air he’d exuded then. It was intoxicating... and it still is.
“No, Charlotte. I wasn’t planning on asking you as a friend.”
I look between his amused eyes and shrug. “It’s too late,” I whisper.
His eyes harden at that. “My mistake,” he says in a gruff tone. The amusement is gone. He jerks his chin at Anton’s back, a few yards away. “Is it serious?”
Now it’s my turn to be amused. “We, uh”—I fidget with one of my silver earrings—“only started seeing each other a few months ago. It’s new—”
Devlin nods thoughtfully. “Do you respect him?”
My eyes widen at his new question. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
I stutter. Close my mouth and try again.
There’s a correct answer to this question, and I can’t find myself able to share it.
Instead, I just look at him with steely eyes, my shoulders tight and my lips drawn in a thin line.
He watches my every reaction, like I’m laid bare on the canvas again, but this time I don’t feel as safe. He gives a solitary nod, as if I had, in fact, given him an answer.
“Beautiful earrings, by the way,” he says, running a finger up to one of the silver drops. When he draws his hand away, he allows his forefinger to whisper along the curve of my jaw. A shiver wracks my body and I try not to let him see it. I fail.
“I’m going to be in town for a while,” he says in a soft tone. “I’d love it if I could take you to coffee one day, as friends,” he emphasizes.
I shake my head back and forth instinctually before I realize it. Then a “sure” bursts from my lips. Anton would never allow it. Devlin squints at the misdirection but then he smiles. His lips soft and full against his sun-kissed skin.
“I’m always up for a challenge, Charlotte!
” He sweeps me into a friendly hug and then steps away.
“Congratulations on your collection.” He gestures around us.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I know”—his eyes rove the space—“but it really is... undeniably lovely.” He looks directly at me.
For a moment, I’m entirely captured by his gaze.
It feels as if he’s trying to communicate through a look alone.
Then the corner of his lip sneaks up and his gaze transforms from penetrative to conspiratorial.
“This one’s my favorite.” He points at the wrists tied with the cream and yellow scarf.
“And I think Anton’s wrong. I think it does fit the theme. ”
My blush now extends to my ears, but I don’t go to cover it, and I don’t break our stare until I can’t stand it anymore. I look down at the ground away from us, wondering how to escape this interaction. Before I can determine a parting line, Devlin does the honors.
“I can see I might have stirred up some unwelcome emotions.” His hand moves toward my lowered chin, but then I see him think better of it and move it back toward his side. “And for that, I’m sorry. I will leave you to have your big night.”
I nod in acquiescence, still looking down. Finally, he’s going to leave me alone. I don’t know how much longer I can hold any kind of mask in place.
“I’ll send you a note, if you’ll reply this time,” he says softly. “I mean it about the coffee.”
I snap my head up. “I can’t always be waiting for you by the mailbox!” I say. “I don’t have time for people who only communicate through archaic means.” I wave my purse in the space between us.
Instead of laughing at my outburst, Devlin seems to consider my words seriously. “Noted,” he says. “I’ll have John be in touch, then.”
I roll my eyes. So many barriers. Why does he think he’s so special? I draw in a breath and bring my shoulders back, pulling myself together.
“Well, goodnight then,” I say, chin up once again. He nods with a smile and then I turn away.
Mariah is three feet from me, staring. Her hand is at the base of her neck. Finally, a friendly face. I clip toward her, ignoring my desire to slouch which could be a gateway posture to curling up in a ball on the floor.
“Is that him?” she breathes. I nod.
“He seems to want you,” she whispers looking over my shoulder toward the exit. I can see John push off the wall in my peripheral vision and I assume the two of them are really leaving. I sigh and then shrug at Mariah, shaking my head.
“I don’t care what he wants.” I stare at the wall behind her. “I don’t want him.”
Mariah eyes me skeptically. “Well, what did he say?”
“He said he wants to take me for coffee.”
“Hmm,” she acknowledges, a smile growing on her face. “So he’s going to try.”
I look up to the ceiling. “Yes, I think he might try.”
Mariah giggles like a little girl.
“Now look who’s the fangirl,” I say, calling back to the days when she used to tease me for my foolish interest in Devo.
“Oh yes,” she nods, her eyes still tracking the two young men walking out the door. “It’s been fun to watch all the ‘darlings’ speculate.”
I slant my eyes to hers with a raised brow, prompting further explanation.
“I take it you haven’t been on Devo’s Darlings lately?” she prods.
For the last few months, Mariah had been politely respecting my request to banish any Devo-related discussions between us.
Until now.
She takes in my pursed lips and otherwise blasé expression. Her eyes widen and she leans forward. I can tell she’s deciding what to share.
“What?” I finally exclaim. “What is it? What are they speculating about?”
“Why he hasn’t made any more Muse paintings!” Mariah finally lets out. I feel like her eyes are going to pop out of her head. She puts her hands on my shoulders and hisses, “The last one he made was of you!”
I blink, and slowly begin to uncross my arms. But then I think better of it and quickly wind them back in front of my chest, tilting my chin up.
“And then he came here!” Mariah continues. “To see you. It has to mean something.”
I let the information settle for a moment.
“I’m taken,” I say stiffly. It doesn’t mean anything then and it doesn’t mean anything now.
“Yes”—she puts her hand on my shoulder—“yes you are. And Anton... he’s greattt.” Her voice fades out, but then her eyes begin to sparkle. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little competition.”