7. Autumn

Chapter 7

Autumn

“ Y ou’ve been distracted all week, and don’t tell me it’s about the Stevenson collection.” Latisha set one glass of wine and a margarita on our high-top table at Lush Wine Bar.

I licked the salt off my rim and took a sip. “The magazine interview was... interesting.”

“The Art & Design feature? Girl, that’s huge. The whole museum’s buzzing about it.” She settled onto her stool, smoothing her geometric print dress. “Did something go wrong?”

“No, it went well. Too well, according to Victoria Maples.”

“ Thee Victoria Maples? Editor of A&D?” Latisha crossed her legs. “Details. Now.”

“She kept making comments about Tyson and me. About our ‘chemistry.’” I took a long sip of margarita. “And the photographer?—”

“What about him?”

“He said we had an amazing connection. Like we were—” I shrugged.

“Made for each other?” Latisha raised her eyebrows. “Baby girl, everyone sees it. Last month, when Tyson brought you lunch, three docents almost walked into walls watching you two.”

“He was just dropping off contracts.”

“Please. That man owns a dozen luxury hotels and probably has an army of lawyers, but he hand-delivers paperwork to you?” She shook her head. “And don’t get me started on how you act when he shows up.”

“How do I act?”

“Like someone turned on all the lights in the room.” She sampled the cheese board between us. “You practically float for hours afterward.”

“I do not float.”

“Yesterday, he called during the board meeting. Your whole face changed when you saw his name on your phone.”

“We’re friends,” I protested. “Best friends.”

“Mmhmm. And how many ‘best friends’ look at you like they want to devour you whole?”

I choked on my margarita. “Latisha!”

“What? I’m just saying what everyone sees. That man is fine as hell, richer than the devil, and looks at you like you hung the moon. Meanwhile, you’re going on dates with Marcus. Don’t get me wrong, Marcus is fine and well off too.”

“It was one date.”

“And?”

“And it was nice. He’s nice.” I picked at a piece of bread. “He sent flowers to my office.”

“Nice?” Latisha rolled her eyes. “Girl, ‘nice’ is what you call your neighbor’s potato salad. The way you talk about Tyson… that’s different.”

“How do I talk about him?”

“Like he’s essential. Like breathing.” She topped off our glasses. “When you told me about the Benefield Project, you didn’t mention the prestige or the money. You talked about Tyson’s vision of showcasing local artists and how you felt you may have inspired him.”

“He’s always believed in me.”

“Exactly.” She pointed her fork at me. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you wearing his old college sweatshirt while lounging in your office.”

My nipples tingled. “It’s comfortable.”

“It’s massive on you. And you only wear it when you’re stressed or sad.” She studied me. “Like Tuesday, after Marcus asked you out again.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Please. I know everything that happens at the Institute.” She popped an olive in her mouth. “Including how you haven’t given him an answer yet. Imagine having two fine, wealthy men after you.” She shook her head. “I’m so fuckin’ jealous.”

I swirled my margarita, watching the deep red liquid catch the light. “Marcus is no Tyson. There’s no one comparable to him.”

Latisha pointed at me. “Do you hear yourself? Jesus, you’ve got it bad.”

I blinked at her and took another sip of margarita.

“Don’t go mute now.”

“What do you want me to say? You seem to have it all figured out.”

“Try the truth.”

“Which is what?”

“That your heart’s been occupied for the past twenty years by a six-foot-five billionaire who carries your favorite coffee order in his phone and shows up at every one of your exhibitions.”

“He doesn’t show up at every?—”

“The student showcase last spring? He flew back early from Dubai. The contemporary artists’ panel in July? Rescheduled a hotel opening. That disaster of a pop-up gallery in August? He stayed the whole night, helping you salvage what you could.”

“That’s just Tyson being Tyson.”

“No, that’s Tyson being in love with you.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.” I drained my glass. “If he wanted me, he would’ve said something by now. It’s been years. I don’t think he wants to risk our friendship. Or maybe he’s just not interested in the way that you think.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. And neither do you.”

“Says you.”

“Girl, you are crazy. What could go wrong?”

“He’s everything, Tish. He’s my safe place, my biggest supporter, my partner in crime. It would devastate us if we tried for more and it didn’t work.”

“And if it did work?”

Her words floated in the air like a haunting symphony. I remembered waking up beside him last week, how right it felt to be in his arms, how his touch still burned on my skin, and how twenty years of friendship hadn’t dimmed our energy but ignited us.

“You should have seen Victoria Maples flirting with him,” I said instead. “She practically asked him out during the interview.”

“And?”

“And nothing. He barely noticed.”

“Because he was too busy looking at you.” Latisha signaled for another round. “You know what the best part of working at the Institute is?”

“The art?”

“The stories. Every piece tells one - about passion, about courage, about love. And honey, the story you and Tyson are writing is a masterpiece in the making.”

“Or a tragedy.”

“Only if you let it be.” She accepted fresh glasses from the server. “You want to know what I think?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.” She clinked her glass against mine. “I think you’re scared. Not of losing him, but of admitting how much you want him. Because once you do?—”

“Everything changes.”

“Everything already has.” She touched my hand. “The way you’ve been since starting this project together. The light in your eyes when he calls. Baby, that’s not friendship. That’s love.”

“I slept in his arms last week,” I blurted out.

Latisha’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that. I fell asleep at the building, and he took me home. He stayed like we used to in college.” I spaced out for a long moment. “The next morning, watching him sleep... I wanted...” I sighed. “Everything.”

The admission felt like jumping off a cliff. “But he’s built this amazing life. He has this empire. What if I mess it all up?”

She squeezed my fingers. “That man built a whole art center because you once mentioned wanting to help young artists. Imagine what he’d build if you actually let him love you.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.” She sat back. “He grounds you. Challenges you. Supports you. And you do the same for him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw him yesterday when he surprised you with lunch. The great Tyson Benefield, who makes CEOs nervous, was grinning like a teenager just because you liked the soup he brought.”

I smiled, remembering. He’d driven across town to get my favorite tomato bisque from that tiny cafe we’d discovered in college.

“But I mean, if you want Marcus instead, be my guest, just let me know so I know who to shoot my shot at.”

I gasped, and she laughed.

“Don’t be surprised. I need me a strong Mandingo, wealthy, warrior too. You can’t have ‘em’ all, shit.”

I laughed and shook my head.

“Tell me something,” she said, reigning in her mirth. “When you imagine your future - your dreams coming true, your life exactly how you want it - who’s standing beside you?”

The answer came instantly, without thought: Tyson. It had always been Tyson.

“Mmhmm. You don’t have to say it out loud because I know the answer. The question was for you to realize it, too.” Latisha gathered her purse. “Now, I gotta go.” She took a last swig of her wine. “Talk to you later, ya hear!”

I watched her walk away, her words echoing in my head, but I knew I wouldn’t make the first move. It couldn’t be me. If Tyson wanted more than friendship, he would have to tell me. And to be honest, I was worn down waiting to see if anything would come of us. I wanted to fall in love. Maybe Marcus had been sent for that reason and perhaps Tyson and I, weren’t meant to be.