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“Mostly, I was nervous because of this one,” his knee nudges mine beneath the table as his eyes find mine, before focusing back on my friends again. “Of all the people I could’ve asked to come watch, I had to ask the one whose opinion mattered to me the most.”

They all smile, eating up his words. But it’s those same words that latch themselves onto my throat and constrict my airways with raw emotion. Because I didn’t see it then, but I see it now—how much he means that.

“You didn’t seem that nervous,” I lie despite my thoughts, and the conversation easily moves on.

“So, the showing!” Ricky squeals. “Can you believe it?!”

My friends are the best at this—rerouting my attention. I shake my head, because I can’t believe it. Any of this, really. But I’ve never had that many paintings sell this fast. “I can’t,” I say truthfully. It blows my mind.

Sita asks about a few of the sold paintings. If they mean what she thinks they mean. I give her some short, vague answers about some and a few in depth ones about the others, feeling Greyson’s eyes burning holes into the side of my face the entire time. He continues to watch me as I talk.

When I glance at him—mid sentence—he’s wearing a smile. A proud smile. An adoring smile. One that ignites a spark low in my stomach, and I have the sudden urge to reach over from my seat and straddle him.

Ricky clears his throat purposefully. “You were saying?”

I choke back my laughter.Wow. Get it together, girl.

But Greyson’s knee grazes mine again and again, until he gives up and lets it rest against me.

And that spark I mentioned a few moments ago? It ignites. Bursts into flames and rapidly spreads through my body. How does the touch of a knee feel like so much more?

“I was saying,” I refocus my attention with a much-needed breath, “that‘Sign of His Time’,” the portrait painting of a man’s face gazing—smoldering—at the viewer—me—through burning smoke, “was really just the channeling of my unhealthy obsession with Harry Styles.”

Maggie and Kat burst into laughter, Sita with a, “Oh, god, not this again,” and Ricky with an, “Mhmm. I totally understand, baby doll.”

A funny look flits across Greyson’s face as he smiles at me, subtly shaking his head.

And yep.

I still want to straddle him.

Thirty-seven After

SITTING HERE NEXTto Greyson, in a private little bubble of friends and laughter and a past momentarily forgotten, has filled me with a buzz even alcohol can’t compete with.

I should be exhausted after tonight. After these past few weeks of battling with the sunrise, painting until its glow crept through my studio windows. But I’m filled with so much energy right now I could run a marathon.

“Alright, ladies and gents, I’m out.” Kat is the first to throw in the towel and call it a night, backing her chair away from the table.

“Yeah, me too. Sitter’s waiting.” Maggie boards the leaving train.

But I’m not ready to go,I want to whine like a five-year-old.Just five more minutes.

But everyone begins to stand and pull themselves—and their belongings—together, getting ready to head out. Everyone except for me. And Greyson. I’m glued to my seat, and he’s glued to his, and we sit here, in this mildly uncomfortable state of limbo.

I have no idea what’s running through his mind right now.

Why he’s still sitting there, eyes drawn to mine.

Maybe there’s a tiny toddler dictator in his mind, too, screaming that he doesn’t want to go home yet either.

I laugh at myself, and eventually embarrassment wins over. I give in to the pressure building between us, the pressure to say or do something—anything—and come to a stand.

“It was really good to see you again,” I say at the same time that he asks, “Can I drive you home?” His lips softly say the words, but his eyes beg the question, and my heart beats a little faster.

“Ricky is supposed to drive me.” I don’t know why I say it. Who cares who’s supposedto drive me; we all know who Iwantto drive me. And God knows I don’t want to play another round of Twenty Questions with Ricky. He certainly didn’t hide his excitement over this turn of events on our way over here, so I can only imagine what the ride home will be like.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” Sita interrupts my thoughts.