“No, just plain, old-fashioned screwing around,” Adrian muttered. He sat back on the floor, staring at the pile helplessly. People he’d worked with for years at the gallery must have helped Nora pull everything out of storage without wrapping the paintings to protect them. Even if he’d been far from the most popular artist at the gallery, this felt like a personal attack.
He’d never do this to someone else. He wouldn’t have doneanyof it to someone else.
“Sorry, bud,” Tom said.
“Yeah.”
Tom came over and lifted the top canvas away from the pile. He was one of the figures in the scene depicted, face in profile and nearly obscured by a spray of dogwood blossoms. Elsewhere in the frame was the silhouette of the guy he’d been dating at the time, the first person Adrian had approved of Tom seeing after Rosie. Tom had moved out by then, but Adrian had talked both men into coming by the studio and modeling for him.
God, maybe it was awful and sentimental, like the critic had said, but the painting represented a year in Adrian’s life—everything he’d thought and felt, not just the weeks it had taken to paint.
Tom leaned the wounded painting against the writing desk that had been the original focus of the day’s move.
“Can you fix it?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Adrian said reluctantly. “I could take them back to my studio and try, at least.”
Nora could hardly insist on the exclusive right to sell paintings she’d threatened to throw in the garbage. Maybe Adrian would find a way to sell them.
Caroline jumped to her feet, hands on her yellow-spandex-wrapped hips.
“Right,” she said with determination. “So we have a new plan. We are going to take these all out.”
Tom shot her an impressed look. “We have a plan?”
She nodded firmly. “You two box up everything else. I’ll go buy some more Bubble Wrap and tape for the paintings. We’ll get them all wrapped up.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Adrian said automatically,even though he didn’t know what he was going to do otherwise.
“Well, that’s what makes sense. Do you have a better plan?”
“This is a lot more work than you thought it would be. You don’t have to—”
“I know. I’m just an art enthusiast,” Caroline declared with the air of someone who had just decided something about herself.
Tom dramatically swooned. “Howniceof you,” he said, hands pressed over his heart, ignoring Adrian’s quick glance of disapproval. “Where did Adrian find you again?”
“Internet sex marketplace. Didn’t you set up the profile?” Caroline asked, bright and sincere. She turned and scampered back down the stairs in a flash of citrus-colored activewear, taking all the sunshine and air out of the room with her.
“You goddamn lucky bastard,” Tom chuckled as soon as she was gone. Adrian, dispirited and sitting on the floor, felt anything but lucky. “I cannot believe you randomly matched up with the world’s most perfect rebound.”
Adrian waited until he heard the front door shut to get a few things straight with Tom. His anger was rattling in his body, searching for more targets than just himself. He stood up and crossed the room.
“Stop hitting on her,” he growled, lightly socking his roommate in the shoulder.
“Ow,” Tom yelped, rubbing the muscle, even though Adrian had barely touched him. “Do you see her?Someoneshould hit on her.”
“She’s twenty-two!” Adrian repeated, picking up the next canvas in the pile and leaning it next to the first.
“Why does that matter?” Tom demanded.
Adrian glared at him. “Because sheisnice. Because she’s off at this house with two men she doesn’t even know, and she had no idea we weren’t ax murderers. Because she didn’t have anything better to do this morning than clean up my mess. I amnotgoing to take advantage of her.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Then don’t. Just don’t be an asshole. How hard is that? What, are you tempted to be an ax murderer if you start dating again? You won’t even admit Nora’s a bitch.”
They continued stacking canvases on their sides, clearing room to carry out the writing desk.
“Do I look like I’m in a position to date?” Adrian said, gesturing to his broken artworks. “Besides, Caroline wanted someone to talk about the arts with. Not someone trying to get in her pants. She said so herself.”
