Page 77 of Broken Pieces
The fries have a perfect golden color and the chili smells incredibly well-seasoned with plenty of beans—my favorite kind.
As I savor the chili fries, a groan escapes my lips. “Oh. My. God.” I roll my eyes and continue, “You were right. These are the best.”
“I don’t know why you doubted me; I’m always right,” he quips.
“Damie, so humble,” I tease.
He cringes. “Please don’t call me that.”
“But why not,Damie? It’s such a cute nickname,” I continue to tease.
He rolls his eyes as he flashes his smile that can melt any woman.
As we eat, we talk about anything and everything, trying to get to know each other.
“What made you continue with your dad's business?” I’d always been curious. From the magazines I'd read, the gallery had grown from a tiny mom-and-pop shop that his dad owned. Considering that he also owns other businesses, I wonder why he chose to continue with this one.
He swallows his food and then takes a moment to answer, pondering; almost hesitating. “I don't know. It's complicated and a very long story I don’t want to bore you with,” he finally says. “What about you, though? What made you want to become a curator?” he asks, steering the conversation away from his own history.
Sensitive subject. Noted.
It’s hard to explain why I love art without confessing that I love to paint. How can I explain that the only reason I became a curator was because I was so desperate to keep a connection with art. It was all I could think about doing that wouldn’t be as risky as becoming an artist. I’ve come to love and enjoy discovering new art. It’s the type of job that you’d have to be passionate about to succeed, and in a way, I am passionate about discovering new art.
Just not as passionate as creating my own, though.
“I've always loved art. I enjoy discovering new artists and learning the stories behind every painting. I like to teach people what I've learned because every painting tells a story—of love; temptation; sadness; and anger. To be surrounded by it every day is just wonderful.I love it.”
Art is also my safe space. When I paint, I can share the emotions and what I’m going through at that moment in life. It’s helped me countless times. Art has been the only constant thing in my life.
He nods in understanding, giving me his full attention. We look at each other for what feels like a long, intimate moment. A silent acknowledgment of what’s happening between us.
Louise walks up to our table, asking, “Can I get you two lovebirds anything else?”
“Just the check, Lou, thanks,” he says.
She shakes her head. “No, on the house, so don’t even try. I will always be thankful for all you’ve done for me. For Fred. All of us.” She grabs his cheeks in a tender, loving way. “Thank you for coming, as always.” Her gaze finds mine. “And I hope I get to see you more often. He’s never brought a girl here, you know.” She winks, walking away.
That makes my insides melt. And deep down makes me feel straight up special. Like I’m worthy to be a part of his life.
We get up from the booth as he places a few hundred bills on the table. My eyes bulge in surprise and I bite my lip, trying to contain my smile. That’s Damian for you, he’ll be hell bent on doing whatever he wants out of kindness. He grabs my hand and interlaces our fingers as we’re walking out of the restaurant.
Something is eating at me, so I ask, “What did she mean by that she will always be thankful to you?”
While he opens the passenger door for me, he says, “Fred died of cancer. I covered his chemotherapy since their business wasn’t doing too well.”
My eyes find his in surprise. “Wow, that’s amazing, Damian. Really.”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
I’ve come to understand that he has a good heart that’s often misunderstood. Helping someone without expecting anything else in return? Helping a struggling family? That’s the kind of man Damian is.
A primal sensation to feel his lips on mine comes over me. He’s significantly taller than me, so I tip-toe, grabbing the nape of his neck and kissing him softly. A kiss that conveys all the emotions words can’t possibly articulate. This is a man that has wanted nothing but to be loved, and I can tell, that is the one thing he’s never gotten. A broken soul can recognize another, after all. And Damian? He’s been trying to pick up the broken pieces of his life, overcompensating with the money, the cars, the success. In the same way, I overcompensate in my work, looking for anything that can fulfill that damn void.
As I retreat to my seat in the car, the realization washes over me—I'm falling in love with this complex man, and it terrifies me to my very core.
First thing I did when I landed was go straight to the gallery in hopes of seeing Aria. I fucking missed her. Being without her these past few days were strange, and my body was just itching all over with the need to see her bright smile and sunny personality.
My body hums with excitement and relief that I got to share a favorite childhood memory of mine. I’ve never shared that my favorite place out of all places is a ‘50s-themed diner, but it felt right. And she loved it, which made me feel instantly at ease. Not that I ever doubted she was going to like it.
