toward the nine. Not only is it one of Seals’ most popular works he ever created, it’s the brightest and most confusing.
Which, when it comes to surrealism, is just par for the course.
This form of art expression is supposed to surpass realism by taking real objects and placing them in unreal situations. It’s free of consciousness and convention. It’s like living in a dream.
Frankly, in my personal opinion, surrealist art is better than drugs.
And while I’m more of an impressionist-style painter, my appreciation for this style of expression is immense.
Daphne was right. This is fantastic.
Once I note that a large group has entered the room, I step away from the painting, out of the way of their view, and find a small bench from which to watch their reactions to our newest piece.
And I’m not disappointed.
Like moths to a flame, everyone is drawn to this piece.
I smile to myself and watch as a thirtysomething man and woman walk toward the painting, their hands interlocked in a way that shows they’re together. Sleek suit, expensive but casual designer dress, and shoes that probably cost more than most people’s cars, their appearance is straight off the Fifth Avenue runway.
No doubt, they come from money. Lots of it, in fact.
The light-brown-haired woman’s mauve-painted lips form a small “O” as she stands in the very same spot where I was just moments ago. And then, her mouth morphs into a big smile as she moves her eyes away from the painting and looks up toward her guy.
He leans closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he whispers something I can’t perceive, and her grin only grows and it’s her turn to stand up on her tippy-toes and whisper something back into his ear.
Whatever she says, he likes, his eyes heating up with something that resembles love and warmth and passion.
He discreetly pinches her side, and she giggles, her first peals of laughter bouncing off the walls of the room before she snaps her hand across her mouth in surprise.
God, they’re cute.
Just…so perfect in the way they look at each other. The way that, even when they’re just simply walking around a museum, their bodies move together in synchrony.
There is so much you can tell about other people by just watching them, their body language, and the way they react to stimuli around them.
And there is no denying, whether they are married or dating, these two are in love.
Undoubtedly, together. A couple. A team.
Kind of like how you and Luke are supposed to be when you’re in Vermont next month…
Can Luke and I actually pull this off?
Can we look as convincing as that couple?
Or will it be painfully obvious that we’re just two friends pretending to be something we’re not?
Eek. I can’t stop myself from pulling my cell phone out of my pocket and typing out a discreet text message.
Me: What are you doing right now?
Luke: At the gym, why?
Me: I think we need to do trial runs.
Luke: ?
I loathe when he just sends me a question mark or one single emoji.
And he knows it.
I mean, type actual words, for goodness’ sake.
Me: Trial runs, as in practice dates. We need to make sure we can actually look like we’re dating.
Luke
I’ve barely finished my second set of biceps curls when my phone buzzes with another text. Normally, after a six-mile run through Central Park, I can speed through my weight workout at the gym, but my best friend is apparently adamant on slowing me down today.
And, practice dates? Fucking hell.
I set my dumbbells back on the rack and sit down on a nearby bench to shoot her a message back.
Me: I thought we already agreed no lists or complicated plans, Ace.
Ava: Excuse me, but I recall tossing my Best Friends Don’t List in the trash…
Pretty sure she didn’t toss that list in the trash, and if I know Ava, she’s probably hoarding it somewhere in her apartment. But I choose to pick my battles.
Me: What do these practice dates entail exactly?
Ava: I don’t know. Just…practice. Like, scheduled dates where we go out in public and act like we’re in a relationship. Get a feel for it, you know?
The sound of weights clinking muffles my chuckle as I shake my head.
First, lists.
Now, practice dates.
Ava obviously doesn’t realize it, but the two of us? We don’t need any of that shit.
We’ve seen each other at the highest highs and the lowest lows. We’ve been there for every relationship and every breakup, and at this point,