"Yep, that's art school for you," I said, nodding as I scanned the crowd. "Lots of incongruous elements that work despite alllogic."
Alex tapped her glass against my empty beer bottle. "I need to find the ladies' room. Can I get you another on thewayback?"
Before I could answer, a young man appeared at my side. "Mr. Walsh? One of your designs was featured in last month's edition ofNew England Homesteads. Could you tell me about your ideation process?" He wiped his hand on his pant leg and then held it out to me.Charming.And a move I was certain I'd pulled in the past. "Sorry. Trevor Quinsberry. I'm a fourth year in the architectureprogram."
Alex plucked the bottle from my hand. "You two talk," she said. "I'llbeback."
Even as she walked away from me, I couldn't stop staring at her. I watched her hips sway as she picked her way through the crowd, her hair fading from view like a sunset. And I was left with a blowjob-on-Christmas-morning smile plastered onmyface.
I have a serious problem. A don't-ever-leave-me-againproblem.
"Your work is fascinating, Mr. Walsh," the kid continued. "How do you find the inspiration when working within the bounds of preserving historicalstructures?"
My gaze swung back to him. I deserved a cookie for keeping my expression neutral considering that the only thing I wanted in this life had just left my side so I could talkinspiration. As if I could wrap that up in a tidy package and handitover.
When had it happened? When had Alex stolen all the warm, tender places inside me for herself? And the rough, barbaric ones, too? It was as though she'd wandered into my life, all tiptoes and whispers, and reached in and rearranged my entire existence until it started and stoppedwithher.
I didn't know, but I was thankful for it. Hungry to exploreit,too.
"First of all, it's Riley," I said, cutting my hand through the air. "Mr. Walsh is my, uh, he's other people. I'mRiley."
"Okay," the kid—what the fuck was his name again?—said with an eager nod. "Riley, I'm so excited to meet you. My roommate said you were at PAC last night, but I had toworkso—"
"No sweat, brother," I said. "Second, we're going to head out into the main hall because I don't want my lady friend hiking all over creation." I hooked my thumb over my shoulder and motioned for him to follow me. "Now, what is it you wanttoknow?"
The short answer to that question: everything. He wanted to knoweverything. If I could've opened my skull and invited him inside, he would've been down for the ride. But somewhere along the way I stopped being annoyed at the undergrad's steady stream of questions and started enjoying the discussion. I liked talking shop, even if I was doing it while scanning the crowdforAlex.
Speaking of which, was she fetching that beer fromMontreal?
"Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Mr. Walsh," the kid said. He slapped a hand over his eyes when the formal name registered. "Sorry.Riley."
"Yeah, no problem," I said, sweeping my gaze around the exhibit hall again. With a frustrated shake of my head, I reached into my pocket for a business card. "Look, my firm probably isn't hiring many—if any—interns next summer. But shoot me an email with your résumé and one of the best pieces from your portfolio." I handed it to him. "What was your nameagain?"
"Trevor Quinsberry," he said. "And I'll send everything tonight. I'll go back to my apartment right away. You'll have it within an hour. Thank yousomuch."
I waved him off. "You can do that, but I'm not opening my email until Mondaymorning."
"Thank you again," Trevor said. "I'm really digging preservationdesignand—"
I had to find Alexright fucking now. "Save it for the email," I said, shifting awayfromhim.
She was probably queued up at the bar. That had to be it. There were never enough bartenders at events like these, and Alex wasn't the type of woman who'd go on a beer run and then turn up empty-handed.
Busy scouting the fastest route to the main reception area, I didn't notice the womanapproachingme.
"Look what the beagle found in the foxhole," Dorrance said. "Riley Walsh, it's been a lifetime.Almosttwo."
Swallowing a groan, I smiled at her. She was still pretty, still pulsing with an energy that registered well above normal. And then there was the rainbow ribbon-and-tulle skirt that was definitely an original Dorrance design. Somehow, it worked. Everything just workedforher.
"Hi, Dorrance," I said. "It's good toseeyou."
She bounced on her toes, her eyes and smile brimming as her head bobbed. "How are you? What's new? Where are you staying? Nevermind that. Here's what we'll do. Let's go to Red Fez, sit at our old table, and catch up on everything. Oh! And I have a boat here. We'll go out on thewater."
I dipped my hands into my pockets and resisted the urge to react in any way. A murmur, a nod, anything, and she'd have me trimming the jib while we set sail forBermuda.
"I can't. I'm here with someone, and we have plans for theweekend."
"Then bring her along," Dorrance hollered, shimmying her hips. "Or him. Whatever. I love everyone." I started to protest, but her fingers snapped in my face like firecrackers. "I need a full update from you. It's not like you answer my texts or emails or social mediamessages."
