27. Art Imitates Us
Art Imitates Us
Braden
S ix Weeks Later…
The adage about life holds true—it goes on. Despite the pain, the loneliness, the unanswered questions, time continues its steady march into the unknown. And so do I.
My days look much like they did before Mina twirled into my life.
Work is steady, and both Zane and Ash keep me busy in my downtime—though for very different reasons.
Ash is remodeling the Dean Estate. Zane is remodeling his roster of lovers.
One needs a handyman. The other, a wingman. I play a bit of both.
But in the quiet moments, I think about Mina. I hope she’s kicking ass and taking names in Los Angeles. That the city is as kind to her as she is to everyone else. That she’s finally found a place where she can be fully herself.
I like to think I played a small part in that.
We still talk, though not often. Between time zones and chaotic schedules, there’s not much room to connect. And maybe that’s for the best.
We weren’t really friends before our fake engagement, so I’m not sure what we are now.
Ori agrees with my need to step back. She said it happened when she moved to Sparkwood, that many friends simply fell by the wayside.
There was no falling out, no lingering grievance—just distance.
Ori went from a subway stop away to a two-hour drive.
And that’s nothing compared to the miles between Mina and me.
So, after a few weeks of moping around, my trusty friends by my side, I opted for a new tack. I signed up for a Figure Drawing class at the university. Creating the Dynamo Dancer comic for Mina reawakened my love of portraiture, a far cry from my Old School tattoo style.
Not that I’ll ever leave the world of ink, because that’s my home base, but this class has been a fun adventure, pushing the boundaries of my artistic aesthetic.
Plus, there’s someone in the class.
No, she’s not one of the nude models, although each of them has been striking.
She’s the instructor.
Her name is Sarah, and she’s witty and talented with an offbeat sense of humor. She’s also stunning. We enjoy the same food and movies. Hell, we even share a birthday.
How do I know all this information? Well, I’ve hung around after class a few times under the guise of helping her clean up.
I know it’s bullshit. So does she. Still, every time she suggests grabbing a drink or dinner, I make up another excuse—each one lamer than the last.
It felt wrong, like I was cheating on Mina, even though there’s nothing between us anymore but space.
That changed after Mina’s text the other day.
Don’t get me wrong—it was sweet. She thanked me for the comic, said it reminded her of how amazing she was. But her words felt… distant. Like something you’d send to a colleague, not the man who once held your heart.
And in that moment, I knew—she’s moving on .
It’s time I do the same.
“That’s a wonderful likeness. Your technique with the female form has come a long way in the last month.”
Sarah pauses beside my easel, her eyes dancing over the drawing. “Well done, Braden.”
“Thanks, teach.” I grin, leaning back in my chair to study the sketch from a new angle. “Might have something to do with the instructor.”
“Doubtful. Your talent is yours alone.”
After class, I help her collapse the easels and stash them in the closet.
“Thanks for the help,” she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’d ask you to grab a drink, but I’m guessing you’d decline.”
I lean against her desk, meeting her gaze. “You’d guess wrong.”
Her brow arches. “Really? You want to get a beer?”
“Not just a beer. How about a burger, too?”
A smile breaks across her face as she locks the door. We stroll into the parking lot.
“Look at you, throwing me curveballs,” she says. “Flipped Buns okay, or do you have someplace else in mind?”
“Flipped Buns is always a safe bet. I’ll follow you.”
She pauses, blinking like she’s still catching up.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, keys jingling in her hand. “I am. See you there.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I watch Sarah walk across the parking lot toward her car. “Hello?”
“Hi Braden, it’s Kiki. I have great news.”
“I love great news. What’s up? ”
“You have a very interested renter for the studio space.”
My breath catches at her words.
Mina’s studio. Or it would’ve been, if she’d stayed in Sparkwood—a tribute to a woman who’s gone for good.
It took me a week to visit the place after Mina left, and even then, I could barely muster any enthusiasm. Eddie and Kiki did an amazing job, turning the old craft store into a dancer’s dream.
I spared no expense—it had to be worthy of Mina. But now it sits empty, and she’d hate that.
Life needs to be lived, and if there’s a potential tenant who wants to breathe new energy into the space, I’m all for it.
Plus, it alleviates me having to cough up the rent money every month. Hey, there has to be a silver lining somewhere.
“That’s amazing news. When do they want to move in?”
“Not so fast. She insists on speaking to you in person first.”
What the hell?
“Why me? You own the building.”
“She wants to understand your vision behind the space.”
I groan into the phone and rub a hand over my brow. “I don’t know jack about the dance world, Kiki. That’s why I hired you.”
But instead of sympathizing, Kiki laughs. “Look, I know she’s the perfect tenant, so just come down here and have a chat. Trust me, you want to meet with her.”
“Wait, she’s there now ?”
“Yep, so you better hurry. Talk later.” Kiki clicks off the call, and I’m left staring at my phone.
“Shit.” I jog over to Sarah’s car and knock on her window.
She shoots me a wary glance. “Let me guess. Change of plans?”
“Temporary detour. I have a piece of real estate that I’m trying to rent, and the potential tenant needs to speak with me.”
“Sounds important. ”
“It’s a dance studio.”
“Didn’t peg you for a dancer.” She arches a brow, lips twitching with amusement.
“Trust me, I’m not.” I rest my hand on the roof of her car and wobble my head, unsure how much to divulge. What does it matter, right? “I renovated the space for someone, but she relocated to Los Angeles, so now I need to rent it out.”
Sarah’s eyes widen at my disclosure. “You built someone a dance studio? That’s incredibly romantic.”
I avert my gaze, feeling a bit foolish about the entire venture. “I guess it was.”
“No guessing about it. That’s romantic, Braden. She missed out with you.”
“She had other opportunities.”
Sarah grips her steering wheel, considering my words. “Mind if I tag along? I’d love to see the place. I took a few years of dance as a kid. Happy days.”
“Actually, that might work, because if she has dance-related questions, I will not have the answer.”
“Fair enough. I’ll follow you there.”
We drive to the studio, which sits only three doors down from Black Lotus. It’s a prime piece of real estate right on Main Street and I know it will make an excellent dance school.
I just wish my favorite dancer was here to see it.
“Wow.” Sarah steps out of her car, admiring the front entrance. “This is beautiful. Look at the door handles.”
“Ballet slippers,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I had them custom made for her—I mean, for here.”
Can I say anything else wrong, brain, or will you give me a damn break?
We stroll inside and I give Sarah the ten-cent tour, showing her the office, the costume room and the barre room before leading her to the main studio.
But there’s no sign of the purported tenant .
Weird.
I pull open the door and glance back at Sarah. “I guess she’s in here. Unless she left already.”
But the moment I step inside, I freeze.
She’s here.
Her back is to me, one hand trailing lightly along the wooden barre. Hair twisted into a low bun. Posture unmistakable.
“Mina?” My voice sticks in my throat as I stare at her form. “What are you doing here?”
She doesn’t turn around. Instead, she motions around the room and asks, “Why didn’t you tell me about this place?”
“What are you doing here?” I repeat.
“Answer my question first because I’m really angry at you, Braden.” She turns around and I see the tears brimming in her blue eyes, the emotion rampant in her face.
But she isn’t angry. She’s overwhelmed, which is the same feeling I’m experiencing.
But then her gaze shifts. Lands on Sarah, standing just behind me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with someone.” She wipes her eyes and crosses the room, a tremulous smile on her lips as she extends her hand to Sarah. “I’m Mina.”
“Ah yes, the woman he created this studio for. It’s a pleasure.” She shakes Mina’s hand before looking at me. “I get it now. This”—she gestures around the room—“is art. I’ll see you in class next week, right?”
“Yes, thank you.” I don’t elaborate, nor do I ask her to stay. She understands what’s happening, and judging by the light in her eyes, she’s fine with it.
Like Sarah said, it’s art. Whether it has a happy ending is yet to be determined.
The door swings shut behind her, and I turn to face the woman I love .
Mina shifts her weight, uncertainty evident in her posture. “Did I mess things up for you?”
“It’s fine,” I reply, dragging a hand through my hair, completely knocked off-kilter by her sudden appearance. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Not until you tell me why you built this place.”
Is she serious? “You know why. I did it for you.”
Mina throws up her hands and fixes me with an intense stare. “Did you ever plan to tell me about it?”
I shove my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “Yes, but then Leo showed up with that amazing job offer, so I kept quiet. Didn’t want you to feel obligated to stay here.”
She plants her hands on her hips, growing more aggravated by the minute. “So, you let me go instead.”
“You needed to go.”
“What I need is a hug, but you seem determined not to give me that.”
I’m desperate to fold her into my arms, but I know one thing for certain, I can’t watch her walk away again. “Mina… what are you doing here?”
She paces the length of the studio, hands flying in wild, animated gestures.
“What do you think I’m doing here, you idiot?
I’m in love with you. I tried Los Angeles and the big, glamorous job.
The celebrities and parties and bullshit.
It’s nothing. Without you, I’m nothing. I don’t want Los Angeles.
I want us—and I want everything. The home, the marriage, the kids. But only if I can have it with you.”
That’s it. I need to have my head examined because there is no way I heard Mina correctly.
She shoots me another exasperated look, but I see the fear brimming just below her confident facade. “Will you please say something?”
But I don’t say a damn thing. Instead, I close the small distance between us, wind my fingers in her hair, and claim her mouth in a possessive kiss.
She melts against me, her fingers twisting in my shirt as I show her—without words— everything I feel for her.
All the hunger. All the desperation. All the moments I believed would never come again.
I kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone before.
Like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks, and she’s my oxygen.
Because she is.
Mina has shown me that home isn’t a place. It’s a person. And for me, it’s her.
When we part, Mina reaches up, gliding her thumb across my lip. “You always did like wearing my lip gloss.”
“What can I say? You have good taste.”
“I chose you, so I’d say my taste is impeccable.” Mina gestures around the studio, tears brimming in her eyes. “It’s so perfect, Braden. The ballet slipper door handles, the costumes, the lighting.”
“I wanted it to reflect you.”
“Well, I want a life that reflects us. But that only works if you’re all in, too.”
I give her a teasing grin. “Look around you. What do you think?”
She bites her lower lip, her hands skating along my arms. “So, I’m not too late?”
I crush her to me, burying my nose in her hair and breathing in her scent. “Beautiful, you’re right on time.”