Or smell
Lorena
Valid
Keep me updated… if he’s okay that is, spare me the gory details
Also valid
I leave my drink on the bar and walk through the unusually quiet, empty bar and down to the hallway with the bathrooms to see if he’s okay.
“Tomás?” I call out his name just as my attention is pulled to the half-opened door down the hall leading to the mirrored room.
He clears his throat. “I’m in here.”
My heels click their way down the hall, staring at the flickering lights casting a shadow in the dimly light hall.
As soon as I push the door fully open, my jaw drops seeing the mirrored art installation like I’ve never seen it before.
Candles of varying sizes illuminate the room, offering a glow that feels ethereal, and unbelievably romantic. Especially with Tomás standing across the room, with a hand outstretched waiting for me to join him.
“What is this?” I ask, not sure where my gaze should land first. Mixed in amongst the mirrors are canvas displayed over top each.
“Is that what I think it is?” I point to the canvas in front of me. A blue ocean with an anatomical heart hovering over it, comprised of various scrapbook cut outs. “A Rosa piece?!”
He bows his head, unexpectedly bashful. “It is. She and I used to…”
“Fuck?” I finish his sentence, rather bluntly at that. His silence is all the confirmation I need. “Oh my god, you used to fuck one of my favorite artists?”
“We had a fling years ago.”
“Jesus Christ, I’m low-key jealous,” I joke.
“You have nothing to be jealous of.”
“Says the guy who used to fuck one of the hottest modern artists Don’t worry, I’m impressed.
He offers me a nervous smile. “Why don’t you look around for a second, I have to respond to this.”
Assuming it’s a work email, I do as he says, while he taps away at his phone. Even though that dick Ralph had Tomás takesome time off, it hasn’t prevented his phone from going off with emails, each one more allegedly urgent than the last.
A few moments later, Tomás pockets his phone and joins me.
“These are incredible.” And that’s an understatement. Rosa is known for her use of mixed media. Though the more I take in each piece, the more I realize how each one is unique in that it tells a very familiar story.
Ours.
All done in varying shades of blue with different pieces to complete them made from scrap book pieces, I recognize moments, big and small, conversations and even texts we’ve had. Everything memorialized in a way that is not only aesthetically pleasing but incredibly sentimental. Even the one piece with my signature three drinks.
“You like?” he asks, standing behind me with his arms wrapped around me.
“I love. How did you know she was one of my favorite artists?”
“Lucky guess?”
“Bullshit.” I cross my arms.
“I may or may not have snooped through your socials once you were hired at Turner & Vize.”
