“Oh, hey,” she said, giving me a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Surprised you haven’t gotten enough of this place,” I said, walking up a few steps to speak to her. The teens had a lot to say about that as well. It ranged fromUgh. Can’t a beautiful woman just exist without a guy thinking he can take her time?toI would be totally fine with a guy like that wanting to take my time.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“No? Then why do you seem a little down?” I asked, moving to sit next to her.
“Have you ever been told that you’re almost unnervingly perceptive?”
“My siblings have told me that a thousand or two times. Everything alright?”
“Yeah. I’m actually just frustrated with trying to get some fresh content for my blog,” she admitted, waving her delicate hand back toward the doors. “I feel like I’ve done everything I can do to give a different perspective. Without being one of those obnoxious people who set up tripods in public spaces to make content.”
“Hm. What about if someone else took pictures of you looking at art or standing next to art?”
“No one wants to see me.”
“Says who?”
“People who are on my blog are there for art.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, looking at her.
“Well, thanks. But you know what I mean.”
“How about I take one picture of you looking at art? And you can upload it and see.” At her hesitation, I stood and offered her my hand. I could have sworn I heard a collectiveawwfrom the girls. “What do you have to lose?”
“Alright,” she agreed, placing her hand in mine so I could help her to her feet.
But I didn’t exactly let go after she was standing.
It wasn’t until we were almost up to the ticket counter that I released her so I could reach for my wallet.
“Absolutely not,” I said when she went for her own.
“What?” she asked, seeming genuinely perplexed. Again, I was forced to wonder about her marriage, about how many times she had to pay because Matt wouldn’t shell out twenty-five bucks for admission.
“I know it sounds outdated and possibly even sexist, but no woman is paying when I’m with her. Regardless of what kind of relationship we have.”
The smile she gave me to that was soft.
“Well, thanks. I know we technically don’t have to pay full price, since we live here. But I think of all the times I visited asa kid and teen, when I could only pay a few dollars—if that—and how much those visits shaped my future. It feels right to pay now that I can afford it. To maybe help cover another kid who can’t.”
“That’s a really nice way to think of it.”
We made our way through the museum, me taking every opportunity to ask her about different art pieces, wanting to catch her in unguarded, genuine moments. It wasn’t hard to have a hundred snaps of her looking passionate or serious, staring at a canvas longingly, even mildly annoyed by a piece when she thought it had overshadowed better work from the same period.
It was too cheesy to say aloud, but Blair was her own work of art. And the juxtaposition of her beauty next to the framed art was breathtaking.
“Did you get anything that would work?” she asked when we drifted back out the front doors almost two hours later.
“Tons,” I told her, already dropping my favorites in a text to her.
She reached for her phone, scrolling through the images. “I guess this one could work,” she said, choosing the only picture I’d snapped of her where she was almost completely turned away.
It was contemplative and closed-off.
Which, it seemed, was the image she wanted to project to others. Even though I’d seen many instances of that not being who she truly was.
