Page 32 of For the Love of Art

“Maybe.”

“Tell me everything,” I demanded.

Lianne groaned. “Okay, I’ll give you the cliff’s notes 'cause I’m tired. I went on a date with that Andrew guy.”

“Oh my God! Is he there?” I suddenly felt self conscious.

“Do you really think I’d answer the phone if I were in bed with someone? Also–” She moved the blankets so I could see she was wearing a black tank top and bright green shorts.

“Wow. No sex?”

She shrugged, and then a goofy grin ran across her lips. “He said he doesn’t like to sleep with women on the first date. He wants to feel a connection.”

“Did he?”

Her grin widened. “He said he said he felt on his way to it. I did too. It feels silly, but I think I want to see him again and not just for sex.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

Lianne yawned loudly again.

I chuckled. “Alright. Go back to sleep.”

She waved before my screen dissolved back into an array of apps. I put my phone down and looked myself over again in the mirror.

“I’m Isla, the Curator,” I said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Too formal.

“Hey! I’m Isla! How can I help you?” I shrieked in the mirror.

Creepy and too perky.

“Isla. Curator.”

Stern.

“Welcome to Manning Art Gallery. I’m Isla. How may I help you?”

Way too long.

I rubbed my face and groaned. I was probably overthinking this whole thing.

Eventually, it was time to leave the safety of my apartment. Giving Hamburger a quick scratch while promising I’d be home later, I left. Outside my apartment, I fell into the flow of the crowds, and for the first time in a long time, I held my head high as I walked. I wasn’t just going to some place to make money to pay for an apartment I hated. I was going somewhere to work that had meaning.

… Also, it could help me get away from the apartment I hate.

The exhilaration that had put one foot in front of the other from my apartment faded as I saw the grandiose doors of the gallery. I gulped as I shakily reached for the handle. I pulled, but the door didn’t budge. What the hell? I pulled again, this time with more force. Unfortunately, the extra force caused my fingers to slip, and I broke a nail in the process.

I yelped and instantly sucked my throbbing finger.

The door swung open, and Nathan popped his head out. “Good morning, Isla.”

“Hey,” I replied wearily, my finger still aching.

He ushered me inside.