Page 40 of Dear Roomie
“You really do look beautiful,” Tanner whispers in my ear.
My heart swells, and I turn my head to give him a chaste kiss. I could say the same about him, but I’d never hear the end of it if I called him beautiful. He is beautiful, though, with his perfectly tailored suit and meticulously sculpted golden hair. The dark cherry lip print is the only thing out of place on him, and he makes no move to wipe it away. His icy eyes melt into shimmering pools as he smiles down at me with a rare genuine smile.
This right here, this is the man I love.
I smile and try my best to wipe away the mark I left.
“You should wear this for me again and let me paint you.”
“Ophie…” he says, and his face pinches. That fleeting smile fades from his lips, and the glimpse of my best friend goes with it.
“What? You used to always sit for me.” My closet back at Grandma Anne’s is full of paintings I’ve made of him over the years. Even back when they were truly atrocious, I could never get myself to throw them away. It felt wrong, like I was throwing him away.
“When we were kids, sure. I don’t have time to waste while you play artist anymore, and you won’t either once you get a real job.”
Oh.
Right.
I keep my face locked in a faux smile despite the crushing waves of disappointment wreaking havoc in my chest. It was stupid of me to ask. Over the years, he has made his opinions on my hobby clear—it’s a waste of time. At some point along the way, it became something we don’t talk about, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping that one of these days, things might be different.
I wonder if Morgan would sit for me.
I’ve painted him more times than I care to admit over the past two months—especially since the night we went to the game—but I can never get the shape of his curls quite right or the shadow of his dimple on his crooked smile.
I shake off those intrusive thoughts.
“Why don’t you introduce me to some of your coworkers,” I suggest.
He nods and leads me toward a group of young guys in suits that are clearly off the rack. They look like children playing dress-up compared to the glitzy elegance of the donors here tonight.
I’d much rather spend the night with the twins, but the Nicholsons didn’t think this was an event they should attend. Instead, they get to spend the night with Grandma Anne and Grover while I’m stuck listening to Chads and Brads reminisce about the “glory days.” At least Tanner seems to be having fun.
Mr. Nicholson’s voice breaks through the dull hum of chatter, thanking everyone for coming and asking everyone to find their assigned seats for dinner. These fundraisers are always my favorite of the political events I get dragged to. The meals are typically to die for—for the price per plate, I wouldn’t expect anything less.
Tanner wraps his arm around my waist and guides me over to our table. Like always, we are with his parents, which means all eyes will be on us. The remaining seats at the table are already filled with familiar faces: Joseph Harris—Mr. Nicholson’s old business partner—and his two children, Jacqueline and Owen. Those three are as much Tanner’s family as his flesh and blood. The Nicholsonsaren’t a large family—no grandparents, no cousins; it’s just him, the girls, and his parents—but the Harrises were always around.
“Uncle Joseph,” he greets, reaching his arm out to shake Mr. Harris’s hand, but the man pulls him in for a hug.
“It’s good to see you, son.” He releases him and turns his attention toward me. “Ophelia, you look breathtaking as always.”
Smiling graciously, I thank him and find my seat. Tanner catches up with Mr. Harris and Jacqueline, talking far too quickly about the technical aspects and financials of a business I’ve had no reason to learn. The other Harris looks as entertained as I feel, but he has no qualms about sprawling in his seat and playing on his phone.
I wish I could relax and play on mine, but I have a role to play. I’m “Ophelia James” now, doing my best impression of Jackie O meets Kate Middleton. The weight of every eye in this room bears down on me, waiting for me to make a mistake. The pressure is almost unbearable, but no one else at the table seems to feel it.
The waitstaff brings out the first course, and my stomach rumbles as the aroma of tonight’s meal drifts out of the kitchen. I hadn’t had a chance to eat today; I left Athens before dawn to drive the five hours to Savannah and started getting ready for the evening as soon as I made it to Tanner’s apartment. Normally, I would have driven down on Friday and spent the night with Grandma Anne or Tanner, but I didn’t want to miss out on nerd night with Morgan.
A sharp elbow digs into my side, pulling my attention back to the conversation. Tanner gives me a pointed look.
“Uncle Joseph asked what your plans are for after graduation,” he says with a tight smile. My face grows hot, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from snapping at him. I take a steadying breath to try to regain my composure.
Come on, James, channel your inner Michelle Obama.
“I’m still figuring that out,” I tell them with an artificial smile. “I’ve still got most of the year to figure out what I want to do.”
Jacqueline lets out a huff of laughter.
“Do you have a problem with that?” I snap.
