Best Friends Don't Kiss

“I thought you had a meeting over at MoMA?”

“I do, but I wanted to let you know the newest Darrin Seals piece is up in the West Wing.”

My eyes light up like Christmas. “It is?”

Darrin Seals was a famous artist who died a few years back. His impressive fifty-year career ensured that his pieces don’t sell for less than seven figures.

Yes, seven figures.

The price of art can be truly mind-boggling. Especially after you’re dead.

And needless to say, it took a lot of wheeling and dealing for me to get one of his pieces in our museum. I’m talking nearly a full year of work.

“It is.” She nods, shrugs on her cream fake-fur jacket, and slips her black Chanel purse over her shoulder. “Ava, darling, you did good with this one,” she adds with a wink. “It’s absolutely fantastic, and I demand you see it before you leave today.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I answer and hit save on my Excel spreadsheet, a long, dull list of prospected investment pieces for the Met. “In fact, I can take a break from boring numbers and go look now.”

“Enjoy.” Daphne grins and offers a little wave before turning on her heel and walking down the long hallway that leads to the elevators.

Without delay, I stand up from my chair, smooth down the wrinkles of my pale pink pencil skirt, retuck in my cream silk blouse, and head out of my office and toward the West Wing of the museum where my latest curation hangs proudly on the wall.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing in front of it, staring up at the massive work in awe.

This artist, Darrin Seals, even after his untimely death, is considered one of the most prominent artists in the world. His take on surrealism is unsurpassed.

Damn, there’s just something about art like this that makes all the blood, sweat, tears, and money worth it.

It just…touches you.

My eyes scan the incredibly large canvas, taking in every minute detail.

A painting of a ballerina inside a clock, one hand reaching toward the twelve and one toe pointed toward the nine. Not only is it one of Seals’ most popular works he ever created, it’s the brightest and most confusing.

Which, when it comes to surrealism, is just par for the course.

This form of art expression is supposed to surpass realism by taking real objects and placing them in unreal situations. It’s free of consciousness and convention. It’s like living in a dream.

Frankly, in my personal opinion, surrealist art is better than drugs.

And while I’m more of an impressionist-style painter, my appreciation for this style of expression is immense.

Daphne was right. This is fantastic.

Once I note that a large group has entered the room, I step away from the painting, out of the way of their view, and find a small bench from which to watch their reactions to our newest piece.

And I’m not disappointed.

Like moths to a flame, everyone is drawn to this piece.

I smile to myself and watch as a thirtysomething man and woman walk toward the painting, their hands interlocked in a way that shows they’re together. Sleek suit, expensive but casual designer dress, and shoes that probably cost more than most people’s cars, their appearance is straight off the Fifth Avenue runway.

No doubt, they come from money. Lots of it, in fact.

The light-brown-haired woman’s mauve-painted lips form a small “O” as she stands in the very same spot where I was just moments ago. And then, her mouth morphs into a big smile as she moves her eyes away from the painting and looks up toward her guy.

He leans closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he whispers something I can’t perceive, and her grin only grows and it’s her turn to stand up on her tippy-toes and whisper something back into his ear.

Whatever she says, he likes, his eyes heating up with something that resembles love and warmth and passion.

He discreetly pinches her side, and she giggles, her first peals of laughter bouncing off the walls of the room before she snaps her hand across her mouth in surprise.

God, they’re cute.

Just…so perfect in the way they look at each other. The way that, even when they’re just simply walking around a museum, their bodies move together in synchrony.

There is so much you can tell about other people by just watching them, their body language, and the way they react to stimuli around them.

And there is no denying, whether they are married or dating, these two are in love.

Undoubtedly, together. A couple. A team.

Kind of like how you and Luke are supposed to be when you’re in Vermont next month…

Can Luke and I actually pull this off?

Can we look as convincing as that couple?

Or will it be painfully obvious that we’re just two friends pretending to be something we’re not?