I turned and gazed at the display. My first impression: These are beautiful. Every picture captured complete vulnerability. Every photo portrayed the man’s complete love and adoration for the woman beside him. The emotion was open and apparent in every shot. Some shots were in profile, while others were full facial, or wide-angle close-ups. The women were in various positions and with a variety of responses. One was on her blackberry, ignoring her lunch date. One was returning the passionate expression. One photo seemed to be of a kiss a fraction of a second before it happened—eyes closed, lips parted. The photos were completely raw and human. And yes, they did appear to be affairs. In one picture, the woman was furtively looking over her shoulder. The expressions so sensual, I found it hard to believe the couples were married. Married couples don’t look at each other like that. Do they?
“What do you think?” Drew asked from behind me. “I’ve been watching you, but you haven’t moved for five minutes. I couldn’t wait any longer.” I turned, and he looked nervous.
“Oh, Drew, they’re breathtaking. They’re amazing! I can’t believe you took these.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No, not at all. This has nothing to do with me. These are beautiful. They’re almost hard to look at because they’re so… graphic. Not sexually, but raw human emotion boiled down to a single moment in time. And you captured that. These people were going about their day, meeting their spouses for lunch, and you snapped the shutter at the right moment to capture a whole life’s emotion in one shot. It’s crazy.” I shook my head. “I’m explaining this terribly.”
“No, you’re saying it wonderfully. Thank you.” He hugged me.
I rested my cheek on his chest, relaxing into the embrace, our bodies connecting down to our toes. His breathing quickened ever so slightly, but enough for me to detect it. For a split second, he pulled me closer, and I concentrated on the cadence of his heart. I imagined it speeding up, or maybe it wasn’t my imagination. Matching my breathing to his, I watched his neck as he swallowed. What if I kissed it? Right here?
We broke apart, and he held my gaze for a second longer before we were interrupted by someone asking a question about the pictures. Drew’s eyes found mine, saying… what? I’m sorry?
He introduced me to the person, then they made small talk. I looked around the room and spotted Olivia. She moved effortlessly from group to group, each clique opening to let her in immediately. She circulated and laughed, her hand on an arm, even a cheek—Who does that?—flirting with men and women alike, bestowing her light on everyone equally. She reminded me of Sarah, but even Sarah didn’t shine that brilliantly.
She caught me looking, came over, and squeezed my hand. “What did you think?”
I realized that her eyes were different colors. The right one was a deep blue, almost purple, exotic in its own right, while the left one was green. The effect was mesmerizing.
“The pictures? They’re amazing. Of course I’m not mad! I don’t know why he would think I would be.”
“That’s what I told him. He is such a wonderful photographer.” She gazed fondly across the room and gave Drew a little wave.
He waved back, his expression unreadable. For lack of things to do, I downed my merlot.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. I drank about three more large glasses of wine. Olivia doted on me like a mother hen. Do you have enough to drink? Have you tried the appetizers? The canapés are amazing. After the last of the gallery patrons had left, all that remained were Drew, Olivia, me, and the owners, John and James, waiting to lock up for the night.
“Drinks?” Olivia suggested.
Drew looked to me for an answer. It was almost midnight. I really just wanted to sleep, but I gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Maybe one,” Drew acquiesced.
We walked about five blocks to a pub, which surprised me. I would have thought a martini bar or a trendy nightclub would be more their speed. The place was dimly lit, a jukebox in the back played loud Janis Joplin, and the bar spanned the entire right side. Booths and tables peppered the back, heavy oak, nicked with years of use and abuse.
We sat in a booth, Drew and Olivia on one side, me on the other. I felt out of place and awkward.
Olivia was bursting with excitement. She kissed Drew’s cheek, leaving a tiny remnant of sticky shine, like a small brand. “I’m so thrilled. That was incredible!” Her arm linked through his, and he looked equally excited.
“I know. I can’t believe all the comments I received.” He flushed with pride. “Thank you so much for everything you did.”
I almost replied, “You’re welcome,” but realized just in time that he hadn’t been talking to me. Of course not. What had I done? Nothing. I showed up.
He gazed at Olivia with an expression I had seen on his face a hundred times, a mixture of love, lust, and adoration.
I stood up unsteadily and excused myself to the bathroom. I stood in front of the cracked mirror, took deep breaths. Get a grip. Drew’s been watching me with Greg for years. How many times had I kissed Greg or told him I loved him in front of Drew? A million. I was instantly sorry. This is what Drew felt.
I returned to the table, smiling as brilliantly as I could muster. I would have to fake this. Somehow. Drew and Olivia were bent together, heads touching, talking softly. I sat down, cleared my throat, and looked away.
Olivia stood up, leaned over, and kissed my cheek. “Claire, it was so wonderful to finally meet you. Can we all do lunch tomorrow before you go?”
“Sure, but are you leaving? Why?”