Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“We’ll play it by ear.”
“Deal.”
It’s not until we get to the art museum that I can actually feel Miles relax. “I’ve been really excited about this Van Gogh exhibit.”
“Do you come here often?” I ask as he leads me over.
“You sound like you’re trying to pick me up.”
“Maybe I am,” I tease. “Do you?” I prompt.
“Yes, when they have new exhibits. It’s relaxing, and you know I love art.”
“One day I’ll get to come and see your work in a place like this.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know. I’m saying it because it’s true. I believe in you. You’re really talented, Miles.”
He looks at me, maybe biting back a grin, but I can see how much my compliment means to him, how much he needs to hear it. He gets compliments online all the time. I’ve stalked his TikTok since I heard about it, and props to Tatum for his edits of Miles at work. Based on the comments, it’s clear some are only there to see a hot, faceless guy in sexy outfits working on his latest painting. But it’s also clear there are plenty more who see past the marketing and really appreciate the depth of what he creates. And even knowing he attracts all these compliments and interest from strangers, I wanted to share my own feelings because it’s one thing when it comes from a random person, and something else entirely when someone you care about tells you they like something you love.
“Thank you, Dax.”
And when I take his hand, Miles gives mine a strong squeeze in return.
“Tell me everything,” I say, and Miles leads me to the first display and does exactly what I asked.
27
Miles
I act as Dax’s tour guide, starting with photography and sculptures, then moving on to Southern and African art. I tell him about art movements and the histories of various pieces and artists. I’m shocked when we’re already at the farthest room on the top floor—where they keep the Van Gogh pieces so that visitors check out the rest of the museum—and I realize I’ve probably been talking for five minutes straight about the rise of realism.
“Fuck, I’m still talking… Sorry, I should give you a chance to get a word in on our date.”
Dax’s eyes flare. “This has actually been great. It’s nice getting to see this chatty side to Miles Tanner, especially when you think about how quiet and broody you were when we first met.”
It’s not only when we met, though. It’s the way I am. Keeping it all in. Stuffing everything down. But I get what he means.
“Clearly, you were intrigued by how quiet and broody I was,” I tease, and he shrugs.
“It looks good on you.”
“Damn right it does.”
Am I really smiling right now? No, not just smiling. Grinning.
What is Dax Armstrong doing to me? One day we’re at the auction and I’m having a panic attack over bidding on him for this date, and the next he’s got me all playful and excited.
I tug on his hand, which I’m still holding, offering a peck on the lips.
I don’t think about it until after. It’s not the way I usually kiss him, but I liked it.
“This the kind of stuff boyfriends do?” I ask.
Smirking, he says, “Why do you think I would know?”
“Right? Maybe someone else in here can tell us.” I pretend to search around, making a bit out of it, and he laughs.
“I get it all today, don’t I?” he says. “Sarcastic Miles, Smiley Miles, and now Goofy Miles. Wonder what I’ll get next…”
“Probably Horny Miles, and it’s gonna get much worse the longer this date goes on,” I joke.
“Then let’s not waste any time.”
I must admit, I enjoy these exchanges with Dax.
Fun.
Playful.
Goofy.
Very us.
We head into the room with the Van Gogh display. “We only get ten of his pieces here,” I say, “and only for a few weeks. Then they’ll head down to the High in Atlanta. It’s amazing they’re able to get them here at all, so I’ll take what I can get.”
I spot The Courtyard of the Hospital at Arles and head right to it.
“You’ve probably heard about how he had a mental breakdown. This was when he was hospitalized. Several of these are from that period when he was struggling. It’s incredible how you can be trapped in such dark places in your mind, yet create such beautiful work. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because you’re desperately grasping for it, looking for some kind of beauty to cling to. Something to make it all bearable.”
As soon as the words are out, I realize I’m not talking about Van Gogh. There’s a sinking feeling in my belly, but when Dax grips my hand gently, it helps soothe the discomfort.
“You good?” Dax asks, clearly picking up on my sudden mood change.
“I’m fine.”