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“You know he is right,” I admit. “In a way, this is your party.” I pause. “Iamvery happy for you, in case that didn’t come through properly.”

“I know you are,” Ster says, smiling. “But thank you for saying it. And you did help a lot already.”

“Right, it wasShades of Bluethat caught Aden Randall’s eye,” Mateo muses.

“Any art of yours would have,” I point out.

“I think it struck something in him,” Ster says. “And as an artist, that’s what makes me happy. I mean, how high are the chances for one of the most popular gallerists and art patrons to discover one of my paintings, fall in love with it, and then decide to mentor me?”

“I agree,” Mateo inspects his own suit. As usual, he got it tailored. His legs are just too long for anything you can buy in a normal shop. “But youaregood, and you worked hard.”

“A lot of artists are good and work hard,” he argues. “And yet they will never be able to make it big. Part of it is luck. And I know I got lucky. There is no need to pretend I made it on talent alone. I am very thankful for the help I received.”

“At least show me that Randall guy,” I say. “I need to know who you are dealing with.”

Mateo takes one of the art brochures he has been carrying around, because they feature Ster’s art, too, as he was part of that huge opening exhibition. “Here,” he says, opening a page and showing me the man.

I was expecting an older man. “Just how old is he? I thought he would at least be in his fifties!”

“I believe he is in his late thirties,” Mateo says.

True, Aden Randall looks like he is in his 30s. He is wearing a suit, he’s neatly combed his hair, and his expression is serious.

Ster was right. Heishandsome.

“He looks neat,” I say instead.

Mateo snorts. “Right.”

Furrowing my brows, I inspect the picture closely. Something about this dude rings a bell. “Are there more pictures of him?”

“He is pretty private,” Mateo says. “But his gallery has a social media account. He is in some of the pics there. Wait…” He searches for something on his phone before handing it to me. Most of the pictures are of artworks and artists, but there aresome funny reels, too. Occasionally, though, there are pictures of the staff working for Aden Randall.

And…

“Here, he is wearing a suit again, but the quality is better.” The comments seem to fuss over him. I am not surprised. He looks composed and well put-together, a tad mysterious even. A person who doesn’t give away too much. I zoom in on the pic, staring at the face now. “I know him,” I mutter.

“What?” Mateo stares at me.

“I have seen him somewhere before… but where…” I search for another pic with Aden Randall in it, and stare at it again. This time he is wearing a long, elegant coat, and his hair is styled, but not as neatly as for the official picture. “OH MY GOD!” I blurt out, tossing the phone away in shock.

Ster catches it last second. “What now?”

I throw my hands in the air, pacing up and down the room while hiding my face. “Fuck, it’s him!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Mateo mutters. “And next time, please don’t throw my phone.”

“So, who is he?” Ster urges.

“The guy!” I say, turning to them. “The macaroni guy!”

It takes a while to sink in, but once it does, realization dawns on my friends’ faces. “No way,” Mateo exclaims.

“He is the guy who saved your ass?” Ster asks. “When you shoplifted?”

I was seventeen back then, and my situation was getting worse every day. My father had used me for shoplifting before, so I knew some techniques. I was just hungry. But this time, the shop owner spotted me. If it weren’t for Aden Randall, who was coincidentally at the same place, the shop owner would have called the police.

“It’s really him,” I say in disbelief. He has been living in my mind, rent-free, for a while now. For him, it might have just been a small kind thing to do, but for me, it was more.