I’m just Finley.
I’m just me.
“Listen,” Fallon says, putting her hands on my shoulders. Her palms are cold, and it causes me to shiver. “Tonight is an opportunity for you.”
Tilting my head, I ask, “Opportunity?”
“To gain some culture and socialization. You need to meet people outside your little circle.”
“I like my circle,” I say, fondly thinking of Rainey, Myles, and Adira, and also of Rich, who will be less of a presence in my life soon.
“Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with expanding it. And who knows, maybe you’ll even meet someone tonight.”
“Someone?”
“A man,” she says with a laugh. “Or a woman if that’s your thing. Is that your thing?”
I shake my head, but whether I like women or men is beside the point. “I’m not here to find a date, Fallon. I’m not interested.”
Fallon scoffs, letting her hands fall away from me. “Seriously… when is the last time you even went out on a date?”
My mind races, flitting back through the weeks and then months. I had sort of a fling with a guy in a band before Christmas, but that was fun and short-lived—exactly what we’d both been looking for.
Instead, I shrug. “I’m too busy running One Bean. With what little time I have left, I like spending it in the gym.”
Fallon wrinkles her nose. She’s incredibly non-athletic, and she doesn’t understand how I love getting into the gym to practice my mixed martial arts. There is no stress reliever like throwing punches, kicks, and elbows. It’s something my dad started me on when I was about ten years old. First, it was karate, and then I tried jujitsu. When I was older, I moved into the realm of mixed martial arts, enjoying learning the various disciplines involved. Moreover, I love sparring with other fighters, testing out my skills. There’s empowerment in being able to defend myself if the need were to arise.
“Hmm,” is all Fallon replies with. It’s that low hum of disapproval I’ve heard often over my life. “Well, let’s get going. I have a show to open.”
The next hour is a whirlwind of activity. The gallery has been transformed into a magical place with focused lighting on the art pieces, beautiful strains of music in the background, and delicious food. Fallon keeps me by her side as she introduces me to more people than I could possibly keep track of. It could be a pleasant time, except Blain is by her side as well, and I have to suffer his boorish behavior, which causes my headache to increase.
For only the second time since Fallon and Blain started dating, I meet his parents again. They give air kisses to Fallon, and they pretend like they don’t remember meeting me before. I’m relieved when they move off to mingle.
“Oh, there’s Michael,” Fallon gushes, grabbing my wrist. “I’ve wanted to introduce you.”
She drags me across the slick floor, leaving Blain behind—thank God—and I pray I don’t go down in a tumble of limbs and exposed leg because I’m pretty damn wobbly in these heels. They’ve got to be a good five inches with a bit of platform under the front part, which is about two inches higher than I normally wear if I were to go out.
Internally, I groan as she pulls me along, but I knew this was coming at some point. I figured Fallon had someone in mind she wanted me to meet, thus her pointed comment earlier about me needing to get out and date.
Fallon weaves me through the crowd, then I see a man who isn’t dressed in finery like the rest of us. He has on faded jeans, hiking boots, and a flannel shirt. He’s tall and lean with longish brown hair that’s messy and unkempt. He’s talking to a man and woman about a beautiful abstract painting on the wall that isn’t in the bold, primary colors that are often seen, but instead in subtle creams, barely-there grays, and muted yellows.
I’m so captivated by the painting that I miss the beginning of the introductions, tuning in when Fallon mentions my name to the group.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head and smiling sheepishly. “I was so taken by the painting that I didn’t catch everyone’s names.”
Fallon gives a light laugh, then introduces me again. The couple—an older, wealthy man and woman—smiles graciously and then bid their farewells as they move on to look at more artwork.
Then Fallon says, “Finley… this is Michael Varrons. He’s the artist who did this painting.”
Oh, wow. Okay, yeah… so that explains why he can get away with dressing the way I wish I were dressed right now.
“So you like it, huh?” Michael asks as he sticks his hand out to me.
We shake, and I can’t help but notice how cute he is. Maybe a few years older than Fallon and me, but with his stubbled face and dimpled smile, he’s totally charming.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, turning to give it another critical regard.
“Well, your sister seems to think it’s worth seven thousand dollars, but I’m sure we can convince her to give you a discount if you really want it?” His smile broadens, the dimples going deeper.
We all laugh, including Fallon. But then she decides to abandon me, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’ll leave it up to you two to work out the details.”
And with that, she drifts away to circulate among her patrons and potential buyers.
When I look back at Michael, I immediately set the record straight. “I manage a coffee shop. Just so you know I could never afford this no matter how steep the discount.”
Michael leans in, glances at Fallon across the room, and then brings his eyes to mine. “That’s okay. Between you and me, I don’t think it’s worth the price she’s asking.”
I give a chastising shake of my head. “Now, there you’re wrong. My sister knows her art and the value of such in Seattle. If she says it’s worth seven thousand, then that’s what she’ll get for it.”
“Are you flirting with me?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.
“Not yet,” I reply with actual flirtation in my tone. Maybe Fallon was right. Perhaps I need to get back into the dating scene, and Michael is handsome, accomplished, and seems to like me.
For the next hour, I stand with Michael by his painting as patrons circulate. He’s duty-bound to talk to them, explain his process, his medium, and the story within his art. He includes me in the discussions, and yes, I’ll admit… I actually enjoy myself. In his down moments where no one is complimenting his work, he and I joke and laugh, and, admittedly, some of it is because of the two glasses of champagne I have. I’m not much of a drinker.
“So,” I hear my sister drawl from behind me, then I feel her arm around my shoulder as she joins Michael and me again. “You two seem to be getting along famously.”
I blush because it’s so obvious Fallon is trying to set us up. But she doesn’t belabor the point because she turns to Michael. “I sold your painting.”
“What?” he exclaims, his eyebrows shooting up.
She grins, then nods toward the counter where her assistant is handling the monetary transactions. The couple he was talking to when we first walked up is standing there, the man pulling a credit card out of his wallet.
“And…” Fallon drawls as her arm falls away from my shoulder and goes to Michael’s. She gives him a little side hug. “They want to talk to you about commissioning a piece for their dining room.”