Chapter 10 #2
Rafael could see it immediately. They didn’t have enough wall space, but they had enough room to build their own wall—something large and perfectly straight that wasn’t made of rock.
That seemed to unlock something in his brain.
He could see the wall they would build—stark white, of course—and he could see how that would change the space.
In the next room, they could have benches.
The food would all be done via caterers with trays to save space, unless someone wanted to use the venue for a full dinner, but they could likely set up their guests in different areas, spread throughout the exhibit instead of at one big table.
Then they’d break everything down, so the guests could mingle and look at the artwork.
“You’re brilliant,” Rafael said. “See, I knew you would have some ideas, and as you said, you haven’t even seen the paintings, yet. I can only imagine what you’ll come up with then.”
Grace stared down at her pizza. It almost looked like she was blushing, but Rafael couldn’t tell if it was the color of her cheeks or just a trick of the light.
“I don’t know if this is really good or if I was just craving it so badly that anything would hit the spot.”
Rafael grinned. “I don’t think this is really good.”
Grace frowned at him. “Well, it’s not Scarr’s, obviously, but it’s not bad. I’m not sure I trust your pizza judgment anyway.”
Rafael gave a mock-offended gasp. Inwardly, he noted that Grace remembered what he’d said about his favorite NYC pizza place.
“Why wouldn’t you trust my pizza judgement?
I lived in New York for years. I’ve dined at the finest Italian restaurants in Sicily, places where they practically invented pizza. ”
Grace was biting back a smile. Clearly, she loved getting a rise out of him. “But how much pizza did you really eat? Have you ever even tried a Chicago deep dish? I feel like we’re only scratching the surface here.”
Rafael shrugged and watched her devour another bite. “I don’t know if I told you how grateful I am that you came today,” he said. “It was nice having you there.”
Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you about to ask me for another favor?”
“Not at all.”
She pressed her lips together, and Rafael couldn’t help staring at them. “I’m not used to being the one who’s getting thanked,” she said. “Usually, I’m the grateful one.”
“I’m aware of that. I’ve been bombarded with your gratitude. It’s very annoying.”
Grace nodded. “I’m trying to cut back,” she said, as if she was talking about an unsavory addiction. “It’s just that when you’ve been sinking into a dark hole for so long, it’s hard not to be wildly enthusiastic when someone reaches out a hand.”
Why did it hurt him so much to think about how miserable she’d been?
He barely even knew her, but he hated it just the same.
It wasn’t like that usually. Empathy wasn’t really one of his strong points, but for her he could feel the ache right in the middle of his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost in a whisper. “About your dark hole.”
Grace surprised him by laughing. “You did not just say that.”
“What?” Rafael smiled, catching on. “My English is bad. You were the one who brought up your dark hole.”
“God, stop saying hole already.”
He shook his head, eyes gleaming. “Hhhh—” he started.
She held up a hand, as if that would be enough to stop the word from escaping his lips. “Nope, your English is perfect, and I think you know exactly what you said.”
“It’s not my fault you have a dirty mind. It was an accident.”
“Sure, Raf,” she said as she shoved another bite of crust in her mouth and moaned. The hairs on Rafael’s arms stood on end.
“What happened?” he asked suddenly. “With you and your ex-boyfriend? Sorry, if that’s overstepping.”
Grace shook her head. “No, I think you’ve seen me miserable enough that it would be hard not to be curious.
” She sighed and chewed a slow bite of pizza.
“I don’t really know, exactly,” she said.
“That was the worst part. We had so much in common. We barely fought. Everything was simple and easy, and it all made sense.” She licked a spot of sauce from her thumb and continued.
“We met at a bar we both liked to go to for the happy hour specials. We both liked museums and hockey and indie rock. We had so much in common, but then… Maybe he just decided that wasn’t enough.
Maybe it wasn’t. Looking back on it, I think we were kind of boring.
I don’t know if something brought that to light for him, or if he’d been bored of me for a long time. ”
Rafael stared at her, unsure of how to respond even though he felt some kind of nonsensical rage toward this man he’d never met.
“How could anyone ever think you’re boring?
You make everything more interesting. Every moment.
That’s just—” He cut himself off, not sure what he was saying or if he should be saying it.
Grace’s mouth twitched. “Thank you,” she said. “For not thinking I’m boring.” She dropped her crust onto her plate and dusted off her hands.
“Finished?” Rafael asked, imagining it was best to retreat from wherever this conversation was going, best to ignore all the ways he found her the opposite of boring.
Grace nodded and swept up the trash.
“Good. Let’s go home.”
That night, sleep evaded him. He felt like he’d been lying in bed for hours, tossing and turning, straining his ears for any signs of Grace’s movement.
She’d mentioned that she didn’t sleep much at night, though she did enjoy her “siesta naps,” as she called them, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was lying there awake, too, tossing and turning in her bed and thinking about the exhibit, about the cave, about him.
Small exchanges from the day crept into his mind like little ninjas—her rolling her eyes at him when he tried to brag about anything, the feeling of her finger poking him in the ribs when he’d tried to suggest that some of Picasso’s art was mediocre.
He shouldn’t have been so thrilled at the feeling of one fucking fingertip against his shirt.
He sighed.
For a long time, everything was quiet. Rafael was exhausted, but he also felt like his whole body was on-call, ready to jump out of bed at the slightest indication that Grace was awake.
He wanted to see her. He wanted to talk to her again.
They’d spent the whole day together, and somehow it wasn’t quite enough.
But as much as he strained, he didn’t hear a thing.
He foolishly considered getting out of bed.
He didn’t need anything, and wandering around his room would only make things worse.
He rubbed a hand over his face. Usually, he slept like a baby.
Usually, he didn’t have some strange electric current that seemed to run right through him and into the hallway, tethering him to the bedroom right next to his own.
He picked up his phone and scrolled mindlessly. Alma would have scolded him and railed about the science of phone screens’ impact on sleep, but maybe it would draw his mind elsewhere, if only he could think about anything but the woman sleeping in his apartment.
He filled his head with futbol scores and meeting schedules and dinner menus.
It was still a long time before he was able to calm the stirring thoughts in his head.
He took slow deep breaths and tried to clear his mind, and after what felt like forever, his eyes drifted closed.
Perhaps it wasn’t a deep sleep, not yet.
Perhaps it wasn’t total oblivion, but he was calm enough that there was the hope of sleep, and for the moment, that was enough.