Page 34 of Getting Over You

“Different kind of art form,” the guy says. “But the thing I like about painting is the softness. I like having to take care, make sure everything is perfect.”

He seems perfect. I need softness. I crave care.

“That’s admirable,” I say. My heart squeezes.

“I’m Shane,” he says. “And what’s your name? Don’t tell me. Is it Beautiful?”

I giggle, feeling my cheeks warm. “Gigi.”

“Is that a translation for beautiful?” Shane asks. Then, he chuckles, shakes his head, and bows it, like a dog hanging its head in shame. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not good at this.”

I think about Cade, his smoothness. How easy things are for him. With him.

“I’m not, either,” I confess. “But I’m a sucker for a guy who tries.”

Shane smiles. “You wanna sit for a minute? Talk?”

My stomach flutters. Immediately, I say, “Do you have anywhere to be?”

He shakes his head. “Right now, I want to sit and get to know you.”

Oh, he’s good.

“Me, too,” I say.

And so we do.

We sit there for at least an hour, likely two, talking about everything. He asks me about my life, I ask him about his. He’s in nursing school, painting on the side, using the money he makes from commission to pay for the small studio he’s in. He’s such a happy person. I find myself overjoyed talking with him, like the sunshine that he embodies is warming me from the inside out.

“I should get going,” I say after I don’t know how long. EJ keeps peeking over at me from the counter, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still in one piece.

“Me, too,” Shane says, a sad edge to his voice. “I was mid-painting before I met you. Now I think I want to scrap it altogether and paint a portrait of you instead.”

I flush. “How charming.”

“I try,” he says. “Gah. That was bad. I’m just gonna stop doing that.” I think it’s cute how much he’s trying to flirt. No one else I’ve dated—Marcus and a boy in my third-grade class making up the entire list—has everwantedto impress me so much. “So, how about dinner?”

“Yes,” I say, handing over my phone for him to put in his number. He does, and once he hands my phone back, I text him so he has mine.

Then, after Shane has given me a soft smile and a small wave goodbye that makes my heart flutter, I text Cade.

I’ve got a date.

He texts back within seconds.

That’s my girl.

My heart starts burning, engulfed in flames.

Chapter twelve

For a two-bedroom in a tourist town, EJ’s isn’t bad. It’s much better than Mom’s, where it’s just me, her, and the dog all day. At least here, the people are nicer than Texas. Mom’s been sending me pictures of the dog as updates, and I try to send her pictures back when I think about it.

Today, it’s a simple one: the ceiling fan in EJ’s living room.Not much today,I tell her and hit send. My phone vibrates with an incoming text.

She’s talking to some guy.

EJ’s text reads. I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

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