“When I was a kid,” he said, stopping to look at a Cubist painting, “I thought I’d be able to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.”
“You can’t?”
He shrugged. “There are obligations. You know how it is. Jobs. People counting on you. I thought I’d get to, I don’t know, hang out with you and go fishing all day.”
I gave him a soft smile and chuckled. “We can do that sometime. If you want.”
He shook his head. “I don’t really fish anymore. It was just an example. Is this what you expected adulthood to be like?”
After a moment’s thought, I hummed and shook my head. “I guess not. I thought it was going to be you and me, glued at the hip forever. Then Vermont happened. Now here we are.” I bumped his shoulder with mine gently.
“Here we are,” he echoed.
We turned the corner and headed into the surrealist gallery. “This is the stuff,” I said with a soft laugh. “I love these.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
Stopping at a Dali painting, I pointed out the obelisks hovering over the backs of two spindly-legged elephants. “Look at that. It’s just… I don’t know. It does something to me.”
“I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head.
“Hey.” I turned to him. “That’s okay. Not all art is for everyone. What kind of art do you like? Anything?”
“I liked those paintings of flowers we saw. The blurry ones? They were pink.”
“Water Lilies. Good choice. You know, they say lilies symbolize devotion. Maybe it speaks to you because you’re a devoted kind of person.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I think the colors are nice, that’s all.”
“Well, either way.” We turned the corner again, into the pop art gallery. “Maybe you’ll like these.”
“They are pretty fun,” he said. “I like the, I don’t know, the dots and the colors.”
“Good choice.” We stood for a long few moments to look at several of the pieces of pop art gathered on a wall. “You know, I designed a set in this style once. I was pretty proud of it. Do you want to see?”
He lit up with a wide smile. “Sure, yeah. Definitely.”
I pulled my phone out and scrolled for what felt like ages, until I found the pictures I was looking for. It had been for a single episode of a variety show. The colors and textures had really spoken to me, and while it didn’t really fit in my portfolio, I still hung on to the pictures with pride.
“This is cool,” he said. “This is what you do?”
I shrugged. “Mostly now, I move lights and props around. This kind of reality TV is way different from a talent show type of reality TV.”
“That’s fair.” He was quiet for a minute before clearing his throat. “Can I show you something I’m proud of, then?”
“Of course.”
Asher pulled his own phone out and began to scroll for pictures until he stopped and turned the phone in my direction. There was an intricately designed arch on the screen, with birds and flowers carved in it. “This was a commission for someone in town. It’s not my usual thing, but it turned out pretty good.”
I let out a low whistle. “This is incredible.”
His cheeks turned slightly pink, the color endearing under his beard scruff. “Thanks.”
We walked through the museum for a while longer, chatting about our favorite things—flavors of ice cream, places to visit, movies, music—until we’d covered the whole museum and had done what felt like just scratching the surface of getting to know each other again. The conversation flowed, easy and comfortable, but I missed knowing everything about him.
As we walked and talked, I felt a pull to Asher that was impossible to ignore. I was hyperaware of his physical proximity, every time his hand brushed against mine or we bumped into each other. It was just like it had been at the baseball game. We seemed to have a hard time keeping our hands to ourselves, even accidentally, and every time we touched, heat burned in my core.
Get your shit together, I chastised myself as we headed back to the car.He’s straight, remember?It was becoming a common refrain. I didn’t want to overstep a boundary, but it seemed like we were on the same page. It seemed like he wanted to touch me as much as I wanted to touch him.
