Page 22 of Taking A Chance

My friend nods enthusiastically, no doubt pleased she remembers him. “That’s right.”

She turns to her door, juggling the basket on her hip as she attempts to jam her key in the lock.

“Let me help you with that,” Ryan says, pulling the basket from her grasp so she can focus.

“Thank you,” she says, her tone flat but kind.

“Say, what’s this I hear about you not letting my dude over here finish that painting of you?” he asks.

Oh boy. Here we go.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” she says, taking the basket from him and setting it inside her apartment.

“Oh, psh, you’re beautiful. That painting deserves to be finished. Come on, what do you say?” Ryan clasps his hands together in front of him, jutting out his bottom lip as he pouts.

Cora shifts from one foot to the other, as if she’s actually thinking about it. I thought for sure it’d be an instant hell no.

“Fine,” she says, her gaze sliding from Ryan to me. She doesn’t look happy, but it’s not a death glare so I’ll take it. That’s progress as far as I’m concerned.

“You’re an angel,” Ryan says. He takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles.

Cora snorts, rolling her eyes; and if anything, I can appreciate her response to being buttered up.

“Tomorrow,” she says, shooting me another pointed look.

I give a silent nod, afraid any words I might speak will cause her to change her mind.

Ryan does tend to come in handy when I need him, helping without even having to be asked. Of course, some of it is rooted in self-interest. But I like to think it’s mostly rooted in the spirit of friendship.

“Okay, lover boy,” he says, though I’m not sure why. “Let’s wine and dine these artsy farts.”

Artsy farts. Great.

On second thought, eating cold pizza alone in my apartmentmightbe better than what’s about to happen.

Only time will tell.

15

Cora

What in theactual hell is happening in my life? Three years I’ve lived here. Three years and up until a few days ago, I could count on one hand the number of interactions I’ve had with Declan Walsh. But now…now we’ve hung out at an art exhibit, shared a meal, I’ve sought comfort in him, been almost naked in front of him, and he’s seen me dance to a very dirty song. That’s a few too many activities for my comfort.

The increased frequency with which we’ve seen each other has caused me to think about him in the middle of my workday. That’s right. I’m sitting at my desk, minding my own business, and keep wondering about his cologne. I didn’t see it when I changed in his bathroom, and I obviously haven’t asked him about it.

I minimize my project window and pull up my browser to search forpine and spice men’s cologneand see what results come up. Maybe I can figure it out from the descriptions or product reviews. I’m halfway through the third page of browsing when Claire approaches.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I blurt, quickly minimizing my screen. “What’s up?”

“Do you want to get dinner after work? The hubby is on a golf course today,” she says.

“Oh, I can’t,” I say. “I already have plans.”

“A date?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Uh, no. I’m going over to Declan’s place so he can finish the painting of me he started,” I clarify.

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