Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (9 page)

I stifle a giggle.

“Phoenix, this is Brock, the artist behind our next installation.” I gesture to my black-haired friend on the floor. “Brock, this is Phoenix. My—”

“Her boyfriend,” he proudly interrupts.

“Hey, man.” Brock tilts his head up to greet him. “Your girl here is quite talented. She’s been working
hard
for me these past couple of weeks.”

I hate his tone more than I hate his insinuation, but I love watching him taunt my overprotective boyfriend.

“I know.” Phoenix clenches his fist at his side and shoots daggers from him eyes. “She’s been working late the past few nights.”

Brock nods and moves to his feet, coming over to shake Phoenix’s hand. Both men stand unfriendly and firm. It’s as if a high-noon showdown scene from an old western movie is unfolding before me—two men sizing each other up, on the verge of taking ten paces and drawing their weapons.

If Phoenix had come down to the gallery and met him a few weeks ago like I’d wanted, we would have avoided this whole situation. I wonder how long it’ll take for him to realize that Brock will inevitably be more interested in him than me.

Brock’s hand hangs vacant in the air before Phoenix musters the decency to reach out and grab it. “Shit, man. You don’t have to break my fingers.” Brock shakes out his hand.

“Sorry,” Phoenix lies.

Brock looks thoughtfully at him for a moment and then back at me. I bite the inside of my cheek and subtly roll my eyes.

“Look. If you think I’m interested in Ivy, you’ve got it all wrong,” Brock says, sensing my dilemma.

Phoenix narrows his eyes at Brock but says nothing.

Brock over-dramatically mouths the words
I
’
m gay
before putting his finger over his lips like it’s some big secret. If Phoenix had spent five minutes with this guy before passing judgment, he easily would have realized this without making an ass out of himself.

“I’m going to the restroom, Ivy. I’ll be back in a few.” Brock slaps Phoenix’s ass with an earsplitting squeal and throws a wink over his shoulder.

I double over in laughter and watch Phoenix’s face fall in horror.

“Fuck. Ivy! Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks down at me in disbelief.

“Why? It doesn’t matter.” Phoenix is utterly ridiculous. Gay or straight or martian or purple it shouldn’t matter. He has absolutely nothing to worry about. There’s no one else out there for me and he should know this by now.

“So what’s up?” I ask, taking his hand in mine and giving it a little squeeze. Sometimes even the most secure guy needs a little reassurance.

“It’s been a while since I’ve made it down here and my afternoon meeting was canceled. So I thought I’d bring you lunch today.”

“You mean you thought you’d come check out your nonexistent competition,” I tease.

He smirks, flashing his dimple. “Yeah, sorry about that. I just feel like I haven’t seen you much lately. You’ve been working late a lot, and I’ve been really busy with the blueprints for the new rooftop garden at work. And well, I just miss you. Like hell.”

I mold perfectly into his body as he wraps his arms around my waist. “I know. I miss you, too.” I reach up and give him a soft peck on the lips. “Things here have been really busy. I’ve got less than a month to pull everything together for this show and construction on the new walls has to start this week if we’re going to open in time.”

Really busy is an understatement, but I leave out the part where Brock is making things especially difficult for me with his constant changes. He nods, understandingly.

“Okay. Well, why don’t I pick you up tonight and take you to dinner?”

“I’d like that.” For a split second, I wonder if he remembers it’s my birthday. I’m certainly not one to make a big deal about it, but at the very least it’s nice to have it recognized. However, it’s been months since I even mentioned it to him, so I have no expectations.

“Great. I’ll swing by at six thirty. Will that give you enough time?”

“It should. Thanks again for bringing me lunch. I appreciate it.”

“It’s a date!” It’s funny … a few months ago he said the exact same words to me with the exact same enthusiasm. Some moments are impossible to forget.

“I’ll see you tonight, babe.”

He leans down to kiss me goodbye and I grab his face, pulling him in closer. He tastes like heaven. I know that I will never grow tired of kissing this man.

When Brock makes a crude gagging sound that launches him into a coughing fit, I pull away from Phoenix. He takes my hand and kisses my palm before he winks and heads out the door.

I return my attention to Brock, who continues to look at me with a mix of boredom and disgust. “What?” I ask.

“It’s just such a shame …” He shakes his head and returns his attention to the floor plans we’ve spent the morning discussing.

“What is?”

“That you and I both share the same
divine
taste in men. God I wish I could bend him over and—”

“Hey, paws off, princess. He’s mine.”

Brock covers his face with his hands, protecting himself from my playful swatting. He is not allowed to have his choice of all the men in the world, especially when it comes to my boyfriend.

Now look who
’
s the jealous one.

“I’m serious, dude. Don’t even think about it.” I give him one final smack on the shoulder before he leans away from me.

“Did you really just call me dude?” Brock cackles.

I need to get him focused again before he spends the remainder of the afternoon plotting how to turn a straight man gay. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had success on that front in the past. He senses my annoyance and changes the subject without me even prompting.

“So what’s next? Paint colors?”

“I thought you made your final color selects last week? I already ordered the paint.” I look at him in disbelief.

“Meh. I made that decision on a powder blue day. I’m feeling like dark beige or perhaps a sandy brown would be a much stronger choice for the show. I’d get a better contrast of shadows.”

I inwardly cringe at the thought of beige. Not because it’s yet another change on his never ending to do list, but because it’s so lifeless and brings me back to a time when my life lacked color. I take a calming breath and count to five before plastering on a phony smile.

“Sure, Brock. I’ll add that to my list of things to take care of.”

BROCK LEAVES LATE IN THE afternoon, and a bike messenger arrives shortly after, carrying a medium-sized box. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he looks down at his clipboard. I walk from the back of the room to greet him.

“Hi, I’m looking for a Miss Ivy Phillips?”

“That’s me.”

“Delivery.”

Obviously.

I sign my name on the confirmation clipboard as he pulls out a box from his messenger bag. It’s a standard white shirt box wrapped with a royal blue satin ribbon. When he leaves, I tug on the tail of the ribbon, unraveling the knot and slowly open the box. The meticulous wrapping and carefully plaited tissue paper tell me its contents are of value. When I peel back the wrappings, my breath is stolen.

It’s stunning.

I run my fingertips over the soft, gray chiffon before pulling it out of the box.

It’s a cocktail dress. And it’s exactly what I would have picked out for myself if I were to go shopping for something of this caliber. I look back through the packaging and there’s no note. I can only assume it’s from Phoenix.

And he wants me to wear it.

Tonight.

Which can only mean one thing: he remembered that it’s my birthday.

Of course he remembered, you idiot. He remembers everything.

Phoenix’s gestures are rarely over the top. If anything, they are perfectly understated. Making sure the freezer is stocked with my favorite waffles. How the toilet seat is
always
left down. His thoughtfulness perfection makes me feel so unworthy of his love. But this …
this
is almost too much.

As the clock nears six thirty, I quickly slip into my new dress and touch up my makeup, dabbing a bit of cherry red gloss on my lips and adding more mascara. It’s no surprise that it fits perfectly, but what is surprising is how it makes me feel radiant from the inside out. I hardly recognize the girl in the mirror from the undeniable glow of anticipation.

But when I watch the clock hit and pass Phoenix’s arrival time of six thirty, my insides begin to go haywire. Phoenix is never late. And when he is, he always gives me ample notice.

I grab my phone and fire off a quick message, trying to calm my nerves.

Ivy
:
Hey … are we still on for dinner?

Phoenix:
Yep! Come outside in a moment. It should only be a few more minutes...

Tossing my phone back in my purse, I head outside, locking the main gallery door behind me and wait …

And wait …

And wait some more.

Seriously. What the fuck, Phoenix?

Just as I’m about to give him a call to make sure he’s all right, an old-fashioned bike bell draws my attention. A hipster on a rickshaw pulls up to the curb with a wide, gap-toothed smile.

“Are you Ivy?”

I nod in confusion.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I had some issues finding the building. Hop in. Your chariot awaits.” He gestures grandly to the bench behind him in the tiny cart and senses my hesitation.

“Um …” I eye him suspiciously.

“Phoenix sent me.” He nods to a small bouquet of sunflowers on the seat behind him. It isn’t the first time he’s sent me sunflowers and I can’t help but wonder if it has any significance to him. “I’m your ride. And you’re already late. Besides, you have no idea where you’re supposed to go, so you’re kind of stuck with me.”

He makes a valid point. And whatever Phoenix has planned, he’s gone to great lengths to make it happen. The dress … the rickshaw … and whatever he has planned for what he’s trying to make a memorable evening.

I hop off the curb and climb into the seat. I’m still anxious, but the sentiment is more akin to the time he picked me up for our first date back in Madison. The rickshaw driver stands up on the pedals and pushes us into traffic. As the sun begins to hide behind the mid-rise buildings, we cruise through Chelsea and into the streets of Washington Square Park. Fifteen minutes later, he turns onto MacDougal Street and pulls up in front of a small Italian restaurant.

“Here you go!” He beams back at me.

I reach for my purse, but he refuses to take any cash.

“That man of yours generously took care of everything,” he says with a wink. “Have fun tonight. And happy birthday.”

I smile at him then turn around to the building behind me. The green awning is weathered, but there’s an indescribable charm about this place that reminds me exactly of my boyfriend.

“Welcome to Dinner La Lanterna di Vittorio,” the hostess says warmly when I walk through the door. The dining room is loud with conversation and a bustling wait staff, but the aroma of the food is already making my mouth melt. The interior is a scene right out of a movie and immediately transports me to my time abroad in Italy. This place has all of the rustic Italian charms but without the language barrier and smelly Europeans who don’t believe in showering on a regular basis.

“Let me show you to your table.”

She turns and guides me through the dining room and to the back of the restaurant into a space reminiscent of a greenhouse. Lush plants crawl up a brick wall across from me, but the sidewalls and ceiling above us are glass, spilling ambient light into the room. Hanging from the ceiling are four colorful blue lanterns, casting a soft, romantic glow to the tables below.

Standing next to a small bistro table in the center of the room is Phoenix. He’s handsomely dressed in charcoal pants and a button up shirt with his sleeves rolled up casually. The smile he wears is infectious and makes me glow from the inside out.

Damn, I love this man.

It’s not a room. It’s an indoor garden, complete with a greenhouse ceiling covered in vines, minimizing the city lights above us. Tiny wrought iron bistro tables fill the room with small flickering votive candles scattered throughout. This place is otherworldly.

Phoenix walks to meet me at the bottom of the stairs. “You …” he says, breathlessly, choking on his words. “You look exquisite.”

And even more, this dress makes me feel exquisite. I remember Gen prattling on about how radiant she felt when she found her wedding dress. She automatically knew it was
the one.
I imagine it’s something like this feeling. I reach out and take Phoenix’s hands with a smile.

“Thank you for the dress. It’s perfect. And for the flowers. And the rickshaw ride.” I smile and know that nothing else in the world matters except for what is standing before me.

“Happy birthday, Ivy.”

Phoenix remembered.
My heart skips a beat and I can’t avoid the subtle blushing that floods my cheeks. He pulls my hands and greets me with a quick kiss before leading me to the table and pulling out my chair.

I can’t recall any other guy I’ve dated pulling out my chair.

Moments later, a server appears and a bottle of pinot noir is poured into two glasses and a plate of antipasto set between us. In spite of the busy dining room, the entire winter garden is empty except for us.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering for us.”

“Not at all,” I say, taking in the beautiful, thoughtful man in front of me. Some girls may be offended by having someone order on their behalf, including me.
Well, the old me.
But I like how Phoenix wants to take care of me. I look around the room in awe. “This is really impressive.”

“I never want to stop impressing you, Ivy.”

I imagine that my parents stopped trying to impress each other years ago, and it likely helped contribute to the demise of their relationship. For things to work, you always have to be trying. No matter how big or small, love requires effort, even when it comes naturally. But especially when it doesn’t come naturally. That’s when you risk losing it all. Love takes work. And the two of us know this.
More than most.