Page 69 of To the Chase

Bea

Tore’stasteinartwas nothing like I’d expected. I pictured him being into minimalism, like Donald Judd’s clean, simple lines in primary colors and subtle restraint.

This, though? This was something else entirely.

Maria Petridis made sprawling, intricate pieces on brushed aluminum. Tonight’s show was titledGlitch Cathedral. Each work depicted vintage technology, broken down, in haunting disrepair. It made sense Tore would be drawn to her style. As we stood in front of each piece and he quietly explained the meaning behind the pixelated spires and digital skies, I felt the pull too.

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” I murmured, mostly to myself.

One piece showed the ghostly outline of a disintegrated joystick, nearly lost in cascading strings of code was kind of…mournful.

Tore had heard and swiveled to face me. “It is. It’s a depiction of loss. History being rewritten so completely, it disappears. In its time, this technology was revered. Now, it’s something we look back on and laugh at.”

“Like it’s quaint.”

“Exactly.” He cupped the sides of my neck with both hands. “You see it.”

“I do.” I wrapped my fingers around his wrists, rubbing his fluttering pulse. “Do you have Maria’s work in your house?”

“Not yet, but I have one in my office. I’ll show you this week when you come to Nox.” He drew a line along my jaw with his thumb, slow and thoughtful. “I want this one.”

“I think that’s a very good choice. It’s my favorite too.”

He touched his lips to mine, humming as he did it. “Is there one that speaks to you? If there is, I would love to buy it for you.”

He meant it. I heard the sincerity in his offer and the honesty in his eyes. And while I had no idea how much one of these pieces cost, I knew it was far outside my price range—and much more than I could accept as a gift.

At least, not right now, when we were still new. Down the line, if we worked out, I would have no trouble with him being as generous as he wanted. I might’ve been proud, but I wasn’t stupid.

I liked fancy things as much as the next girl.

“Thank you, Tore. I love her work, but I can’t picture any of it hanging in my little house. This is your speed.”

He nodded. “Next time, we’ll find a gallery with art that speaks to you. I’d love to know what that looks like.”

“It’s a deal.”

He ventured off to find the art dealer while I strolled along, looking at everything again. It really felt like I was walking through Tore’s mind. There was no chaos here, only pattern and structure. It was beautiful, in a precise, obsessive way.

I liked it.

Very much.

We were late to dinner. I thought Tore might have been anxious about it, but he strolled beside me, completely unbothered, our hands twined between us like we had all the time in the world.

Undoubtedly rude, but I was taking my cues from him. If he wasn’t worried, I wasn’t either.

“Is Sam going to be pissed?”

He chuffed a dry laugh. “He’s already texted me seven times.”

“Wonderful. I’m looking forward to spending time with a grumpy Sam.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s in public. He’ll be on his best behavior. Image is incredibly important to him. He’ll only let his displeasure with me loose when we’re alone.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Does he do that often?”

He sighed. “Lately, yes. We’re in the midst of a fundamental disagreement over the direction we take Nox, and it seems we’re at odds more than we’re in alignment, which is frustrating. It’s been…tense.”