Boys were the worst.

My phone buzzed with a text from Shay.

What was wrong with the two of us? Why did my and Shay’s brains keep trying to turn this into something it wasn’t? It sometimes felt like I was so caught up in my imagination that I had practically started hallucinating things that weren’t there. Looks, lingering touches, feelings.

I’d always been a dreamer. I liked hoping for a better world and doing what I could to make it happen. But in this situation? The reality was pretty clear, even if I kept resisting it.

My reply was short and to the point.

Something both of us needed to remember.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“So what’s the verdict?” I asked. Tyler had gone through most of the exhibit with me. He carefully followed my instructions to read the titles of the artwork, along with any wall text that would further explain the piece, and to just let himself absorb each painting, see if he had any kind of emotional response to one.

“I’m a . . . what’s the word? Troglodyte? Philistine? Because I don’t get any of this. I feel like I’m missing something.”

“You don’t have to get them,” I explained. “In fact, I think the mystery of not knowing what the artist was thinking makes it more of a challenge. Where you get to decide the outcome and how you feel about it. I think the great thing about abstract art is that there are no rules. It’s all about freedom of expression.”

“If you say so.”

I giggled at his frown. “It’s not that bad. Like this one. I love that the splotches of colors are so vibrant and happy. What do you think?”

“I don’t want to be that guy in the art museum, but I think this is . . . not all that impressive. If I’m being honest, it looks like the colors got drunk at a party, threw up, and then started procreating with the other colors in the room, creating color-spot babies and then they also threw up and this is the end result. It’s too bad we can’t talk about reality television at society functions. That I think I could do, and with conviction.”

“Unfortunately, nobody here considers reality TV to be art, and you’re right, it’s not exactly something you can bring up with socialites at parties. Well, except for the ones that starred on Real Housewives.”

“I don’t consider any of this art, either. I’m sorry. Am I being too blunt?” he asked as we started walking away from the color-vomit love-in painting.

I found it refreshing, considering the other men in my life. “Your honesty is one of the things I like most about you.”

“Oh yeah? What else do you like about me?” He sounded flirtatious, but I wasn’t sure if I was again projecting my own feelings onto him.

And there were so many things I liked about him. His devotion to his dog, his kindness, his charm, his sense of humor, his intelligence, his thoughtfulness, the way he made everyday things seem like adventures. And then there was that thing where he was in possession of a face that would make an angel hurl herself from heaven just for the chance to be with him.

None of which I could say. “I like that your name can’t be turned into a pun.”

“That’s kind of a weird thing to like.”

“You didn’t say it had to be normal.” We passed into another room and I said, “They do have a couple of Rothkos here.”

We walked over to stand in front of one and Tyler said, “I hate to tell you, but they’re just rectangles of color. Again, I’m not getting it.”

“Don’t worry about it. My guess is ninety-nine percent of people don’t, either, and just pretend they do. But in Rothko’s defense, one of his most famous paintings sold a few years ago at auction for over eighty million dollars.”

His eyebrows shot up. “On purpose?”

“On purpose.”

“Miss Huntington?”

I turned to see Mrs. Adams, the destroyer of souls and giver of pom materials, standing just behind me. “Mrs. Adams! How nice to see you. This is Tyler Roth.”

They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries, and then Mrs. Adams asked, “How are the decorations coming along?”

Ignoring the amused glint in Tyler’s eye, I said, “It’s . . . a process.” After my initial meeting with her and the headmistress, Delia and Shay mentioned that the Adamses were heavy-hitting donors for the academy and that it was in my best interests to smile and play nice.

“Well, I’m so glad I ran into you because I’ve been meaning to call you. I don’t know if Ms. Gladwell mentioned it, but in addition to making the decorations we will also need you to hang them up.”

Was she serious? Had I not already done my penance?

When I didn’t respond, she just kept talking. “Feel free to bring your boyfriend here to help out. I’ll see you at the festival!”

I tried to protest that he wasn’t my boyfriend, but she just wiggled her fingers at us and was gone.

I had really thought that I was going to make the decorations and then pass them along to some other poor schmuck to take care of. I’d never considered the possibility that I’d be the poor schmuck.

Tyler’s voice interrupted my woe-is-me train of thought. “I guess that makes it official. I’m going to help you hang up decorations at the winter festival.”

The last thing I wanted was for him to feel obligated toward me. “You absolutely don’t have to.”

“I was there when they were born. I feel like I should keep going on this journey with them, all the way to the end.”

It made me feel better that I wasn’t in this mess alone. “Only if you really want to.”

“Hanging up decorations in a school gym? Does it get more exciting than that?”

I laughed softly and we walked over to another art piece that was bright red with various slivers of other colors showing through.

He pointed at the canvas. “That kind of looks like the borscht Oksana made me, doesn’t it?”

“A little.” Bringing her up made me wonder if he had someone else in his life that he hadn’t mentioned. I knew it wasn’t really my place to ask, but I had to find out the truth. It felt really important. “So I know Oksana’s not your girlfriend, but do you have a girlfriend? Or people that you’re dating?”

“Not at the moment. Not for a long time, actually. I’ve been too busy. The only special lady I have time for in my life is Pigeon.”

He flashed that megawatt grin of his at me and I pressed my arms against my sides so that I wouldn’t visibly react to his news. Because I wanted to jump up and down and that would get us thrown out of the art museum. Not to mention that he’d specifically said he was too busy to spend time with anyone yet that’s all we’d been doing recently. Spending time together. Was I becoming a little bit special to him, too?

He walked over to a painting that was mostly yellow crescents and circles, making me think of bananas and lemons.

Tyler doesn’t have a girlfriend, Tyler doesn’t have a girlfriend was on a singsong loop in my head, so I was startled when he said, “You’re stroking your purse.”

“Am I?” I glanced down and my hand was on my bag. “Sorry, I just really love it.”