Page 12 of Taking A Chance

“Claire invited me. Just a girl’s night out,” she says.

“I thought that’s what last night was? I didn’t peg you for someone who goes out two nights in a row during a work week,” I say, offering a wry smile.

“Oh, she’s not. I had to drag her out,” Claire offers.

I like Claire. It almost feels like she’s on my team. I can’t tell what game we’re playing just yet, but still.

“Anyway,” Cora says, “what are you doing here?” Her attention is on me, her eyes assessing my features.

I think she’s deeply rooted in annoyance at the moment, so I take a long sip, holding my finger up in the universaljust a minuteto further agitate her before answering. “I’m working,” I say simply.

“What are you, like, a waiter?” she asks. Her tone is genuinely curious, which only amuses me more.

“Uh, no, carrot cake,” Ryan interjects. He pulls Cora to him, tucking her under his arm, then turns her toward the bulk of my work. His Vanna White arm gestures over the wall. “This is his work.”

I watch Cora from the corner of my eye as she scans the pieces, putting two and two together. The realization washes over her face.

“Oh, fuck,” slips from her lips, muttered under her breath. She cranes her neck toward me, her eyes wide and wild, asking me without words.

“Guilty,” I say, raising my glass toward her.

9

Cora

The sweaton the outside of the champagne flute has dripped down onto the stem, saturating my fingers, and I’m suddenly nervous I’m going to drop it. Maybe it’s because my hand is shaking from the news I just received.Declan paints.He’s a painter. Declan is a motherfucking artist. And not just for fun. Apparently, he’s reached exhibit level artist.

I try my best to wipe the shock from my face, but I doubt it’s working. I’m sure he can see it as clearly as the dark purple lipstick on my face.

Did I mention he’s like…dressed up? His black suit looks tailored, not off the rack. It hugs his shoulders and tapers down his waist beautifully. I can appreciate a well-cut suit, even if a man slut is wearing it. His wild hair is slightly more tamed than usual, but still frames his stubbled face. I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man clean shaven.

Declan watches my face, studies my reaction, a small smile almost indiscernible on his mouth. He has a pretty mouth, too. His lips sort of roll up when he smiles, and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepen. I’ve observed that it doesn’t matter how big or small the smile. His whole face seems to wear it either way. I even sort of like his imperfect nose and the way it justfits.

Oh my god. Why are you analyzing his face, Cora? Shut up.

“So, what, you’re like…a famous artist?” I ask, the question stupid but relevant. Or at least it is to me.

“I don’t know about the famous part, but yes, I’m an artist,” he says. “I do okay.”

“Just okay? I mean, you’re in an exhibit. That seems a little more than okay.”

“Ryan has helped me evolve, I guess.” He shrugs, noncommittally. He’s very matter of fact about his accomplishments. I can’t tell if it’s a façade or if he’s really this humble.

I turn my attention back to the paintings. They’re all women, displaying different emotions; and they have a certain level of nudity to them, which makes them feel so much more vulnerable in these emotional states. Some are happy, some are sad, some look worried. I study each face; his level of detail immaculate. The paint strokes appear to convey their own amount of emotion as well, making each one come to life. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m actually impressed. I’m impressed by Declan. That’s wild in itself.

I turn, taking in more of his work when my eyes snag on one in particular. This woman is older, her face slightly wrinkled, but her bright blue eyes look so tranquil. She looks…familiar. I feel Declan’s presence behind me. It’s as if he’s studying me as I study his work.

I rub my thumb over my jawline, and it hits me. “Is that…Sandra?”

Declan nods, confirming that I am indeed looking at a painting of our postal service worker.

“Wait, so…”

I trail off. My head snaps to Declan, who’s very slowly and deliberately nodding. Even though he isn’t saying anything, it feels likeI tried to tell you.

“Oh,” I manage to squeak out.

I walk to the wall furthest from us, my eyes still tracing over the forms in each piece as my mind works on processing this new information about Declan.Why is he standing so close?I need distance. I need space to regain my composure.

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