“The problem is that whoever tried restoring it in the eighties used the wrong varnish.”She shakes her head slightly.“So now the entire top layer is yellowing unevenly.”
“You always did like fixing things.”
The words leave before I can stop them.Her expression stills slightly.Not uncomfortable.Just aware.I clear my throat and lean forward enough to rest my forearms against the table.“How long does something like that take?”
“A few months.”Her mouth curves faintly again.“Longer if wealthy donors keep breathing down my neck asking when it’ll be displayed.”
“You hate the donors.”
“I hate people who suddenly become art experts because they own stock portfolios.”
I huff out a quiet laugh.“And, there she is,” I throw back at her.
Her eyes narrow immediately.“Rude.”
“You walked right into that.”
The smile she gives me then is softer than the teasing deserves.And for one dangerous second, I forget how to breathe properly again.
Jesus.It’s not even just that she’s beautiful.She is.Painfully so.But it’s more than that.It’s the familiarity.The way she still tilts her head slightly when listening closely.The way she taps one finger absently against the side of her cup while thinking.The way her eyes brighten before she laughs, like the emotion reaches them first.My body remembers all of it before my mind catches up.
“You’re staring.”
I blink once.“Probably because you’re distracting.”
“Still smooth, I see.”
“I was never smooth.”
“No.”Her mouth curves around the word.“You were just intense.”
Fair.More than fair.I glance down into my coffee for a second before looking back up at her.“Do you miss it?Me?”
The question surprises both of us.I see it in the slight shift of her expression.But she doesn’t look away.“Sometimes.”
Honest.God, she was always honest with me.The noise of the café fades slightly around us after that.Not awkward.Just quieter.
“I missed Chicago,” she says after a moment, glancing toward the window.“When I first moved back from Boston, I forgot how much I loved fall here.”
“Were you in Boston long?”I hadn’t realized she had moved there.
“About four years.”
I nod once slowly.“I didn’t know that.”
“I worked at the museum there.”A small smile touches her mouth.“There’s probably a lot you don’t know anymore.”
The words should bother me.Instead, they settle somewhere deeper.Because she’s right.And maybe for the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to correct that.I study her over the rim of my cup instead.“
“You still buy too many books?”
Her smile grows wider as she huffs out a laugh.“You’re one to talk.”
“Yes, but I actually read mine.”
“That is such bullshit.”She tries to defend over her laughter.
“It’s true.”
