Joke’s on me,I guess.
“Sorry,” Julian mumbles, pocketing his phone. “It’s work.”
We walk toward the main road in one of the more suburban parts of Crestwood. The coffee shop down the road is decent, albeit usually very crowded. It’s not the first place I’d choose to catch up with my ex-best friend, but it’s better than nothing.
“And what is it that you do for work?” I ask.
I’d somehow resisted googling Julian for all of these years, so I have no idea how he occupies his time now.
“I’m an art consultant.”
We begin walking down the street. Julian walks a step ahead of me—not by much, but enough to notice. He’s always been like that. If he can’t control the situation, he’ll control the pace. I don’t call him out on it, but I let him have it.
“Really? That sounds cool. What does it entail?”
He shrugs. “Most people have no idea what kind of art they want in their homes. I’m the person they come to when they want to invest, but they don’t know what they want. I match them with meaningful pieces, and we go from there.”
He rattles off the details too fast, like he’s reading from a brochure. I watch the way his eyes flick to the ground—calculated, as if keeping his gaze there will stop me from seeing whatever’s hiding behind his words.
“How’d you get into that?”
“I’ve always had a passion for art, and after graduating with an art degree, I decided to channel my energy into helping others find investment pieces for their home.”
It sounds like he’s answering interview questions.
Which means he’s probably not super comfortable being around me.
Should I apologize? For the kiss, and for walking away?
I’m quiet for several seconds, trying to place this version of Julian. I never even knew he liked art—it must’ve been something he picked up after going back to England.
“Do you have a favorite artist?” I ask.
Julian laughs and looks away. “You haven’t changed.”
I stop walking—we’re standing in front of the coffee shop anyway—and cock my head.
“How so?”
“You were always so curious about other people. Notice how you haven’t offered me anything about your life?”
My lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “Well, what do you want to know?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. I rub my mouth with my hand, and his eyes catch on my tattoo.
I can hear the question before he even asks.
“That tattoo…” he says slowly. “I noticed it earlier. You could start there.”
“Let’s get coffee first.”
His eyes narrow slightly, but he follows me inside the small café. It’s crowded, so we wait in line as Julian takes in his surroundings.
“Much different than London,” I muse, as we creep forward in the long line.
“Very.”
I don’t say anything in response. A minute later, we place our order, and I pull out my card to pay before he has a chance to.
