But it’s too late to protest because he’s already pulling out his phone. His thumbs fly across the screen, then he holds it up.
“This one?” he asks, pointing to the top search result. “This is you?”
I nod. “Yeah. That’s it.”
He hesitates, then he catches my gaze, his expression softening as he asks, “Can I click? I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
His words are so sincere, I’m positive he would put his phone down and never pull up the website again if I asked him not to.
Which is exactly why I tell him he can.
“You can click,” I say. “Just…don’t tell me if you don’t like something.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Do people actually do that?”
I grimace. “The internet is a very cruel place.”
A look of understanding passes over his face. “True enough,” he says. With such a public career, he probably gets it better than most.
I sit and wait while Carter scrolls through my portfolio, his eyes locked on his screen.
My website portfolio currently includes the collection of work I completed for my master’s degree. I mostly paint people, hyperrealism blended with poetic abstraction. A lot of people find it fascinating to see paintings that look like they could be photographs, but that’s not the most importantpart for me. It’s more about the parts that aren’t realistic. That’s where the storytelling is.
Carter takes his time scrolling through, which makes me nervous. But I at least appreciate the chance it gives me to study him up close, to take in the angle of his jaw, the insanely long lashes that frame his bright blue eyes.
At one point, I glance over Carter’s shoulder to see Theo studying me, a questioning look on his face, but the second we make eye contact, he looks away.
Finally, Carter looks up. “Sarah,” he says, and my heart jumps at the sound of my name. “These are…” He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh, like he can’t quite find the words. “They’re incredible,” he continues. “I can’t think of anything that deserves the wordextraordinarymore.”
Warmth sparks in my chest and spreads outward, climbing up to my cheeks. I lift my hands to cover the redness I’m sure he can see on my face. “You really think so?”
He nods. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“You would too,” I say. “You’re too nice to say something mean.”
“She’s got you there, man,” Theo says, startling me when he joins the conversation. For a moment, it felt like Carter and I were the only ones in the room. “You are too nice.”
Carter gives his brother an annoyed look. “But just because I wouldn’t say something unkind doesn’t mean I’m lying now. I’d maybe just say something…less nice.”
“Like when you told the poor kid at our last youth hockey clinic that he skated with a lot of heart,” Theo says.
“Hedidskate with a lot of heart,” Carter says.
“And that was about all he had going for him,” Theo replies. “I’m just saying, it’s a good thing you were giving himfeedback instead of me. I’d have told him to find a different hobby.”
“He was twelve,” Carter says. “If every twelve-year-old whoisn’tbound for the NHL gave up hockey, the entire sport would fall apart.”
It’s fun to watch the brothers banter and interesting to notice what makes them distinct. Carter’s entire demeanor is gentler than Theo’s. He’s a little more measured, a little more intentional with his words.
“Anyway,” Carter says pointedly, “I did not tell you that you paint with a lot of heart—because these paintings are really amazing.” He hesitates before adding, “Actually, I’d love to see something in person sometime. If you—if there’s anything you have hanging somewhere.”
“Look at you, Carter,” Theo says slyly. “Making a move.”
Carter elbows his brother without looking away from me, making my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Is that what Theo thinks Carter is doing? Making a move? Should I warnhim that Miles might actually kill him if he is?
Either way, Carter is still staring at me—his eyes are so incredibly blue—so I have no choice but to respond. I clear my throat. “Actually, there’s one hanging in Miles and Anna’s living room.”
Carter sits up a little taller. “The one of Poppy and Olive?”
