Page 112 of Brazen Mistakes

“I like the installations. It’s the kind of art I would do if there were no constraints on me.”

“I remember you saying that in Chicago. Why can’t you do big art?”

He taps the steering wheel. Am I straying too close to the personal? Should I backtrack?

“There isn’t much of a market for large-scale sculptures, a legal one or an illegal one, for it to make sense. And as much as I love art, life costs money, and I can’t bankroll a decade or more of failed jousts at the art market until I find someone to champion my name. It’s better to do the stuff that makes money.”

“That’s sad.”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “Maybe a little. I just imagine someday having a metalworking shed in the woodssomewhere, building giant and crazy contraptions, and it makes it a fanciful dream instead.”

“Would you have those goggles that mad scientists wear? Because that’s what I’m imagining.”

His laugh bounces around the car as we wind around, looking for parking by the garden. “If you buy them for me, I’ll wear them.”

“Excellent. What else would you wear if I bought it for you?” I ask, not able to help teasing him.

His gaze darkens. “It depends. Do all your choices lead to you laughing at me? Or…” He trails off, leaving the implication hanging.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

He rolls his eyes before detangling our hands so he can park.

The walk to the snowy garden should be calm, the bag of food wafting delicious scents in the air, but something has me twisting around, checking behind me.

“What is it?” Walker asks the third time I stop, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

I step in front of him, using his body to shield my movements as I peek behind him from around his other side.

But there’s still nothing.

I lean against his chest, the food swinging beside our legs. “I guess nothing. It just feels like someone’s watching, you know?”

He stands a little taller, slowly scanning around us. The tiny broken part of me that still hasn’t healed calms, knowing he’s taking me seriously, that he’s not going to tell me I’m delusional, or too sensitive, or worst of all, self-centered,thinking the whole world is looking at me. No, instead he takes a moment to look around, then wraps his arms around me, taking the bag of food from me.

“Should we stay? Or head home? Any alerts?”

I take a deep breath. “No alerts. Let’s stay. But if either of us sees anything, we leave. Fair?”

His lips are warm on my forehead. “Your superpower is basically observation skills, Clara, so if you think something isn’t right, we should go.”

A small smile twitches on my lips. “I want to see what you like about the sculpture garden. And between my messed-up sleep and lack of food, I could be totally off.”

Great. Now I’m gaslighting myself. But it probablyisnothing. Even if it’s Bryce, what’s he going to do while we’re in a public space eating tacos? Take pictures? Taco pictures aren’t particularly intimidating, not after the threesome he caught.

I link arms with Walker and continue to the garden.

We find a bench in the greenhouse, eating our tacos surrounded by tropical plants. As I couldn’t imagine how we’d eat tacos successfully while wearing mittens, it’s a pleasant surprise.

And they are yummy enough for even my half-dead taste buds to wake up and let me enjoy an entire taco.

I’d normally eat at least three, but one feels like I won a race, so whatever. It’s good enough.

While we eat, Walker explains which pieces are his favorites and why, then plans out how to hit each of them up without staying in the snow for long. It’s warmer today thanit has been for the last week, but it’s still not weather where I want to loiter in the snow for hours learning about art.

Going to museums with Walker is becoming one of my favorite activities. He gets so excited that I want to bask in it, support it, celebrate it. When he’s gushing about art, there aren’t any barriers between Walker the person and Walker the guy who pretends to be somebody else. And I love seeing him light up, share stories, ideas, plans even, for the things he wants to build. Someday.

I want to gift him that someday.

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