“There was a Lichtenstein lithograph next to one of Joanna’s early sculptures at an exhibition years ago. I wound up knowing all about him.”

She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut, saying, “Shit, I’m sorry. I should have known that would be the connection.”

He placed his hand on her arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”

She shook her head. “Well, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I swear, Casey. It’s okay. I’ve gotten over it. It’s not as if I can’t be surrounded by the art world because of Joanna,” he said, and that was mostly true. Joanna’s star had risen quickly after she finished her MFA. Her works were featured, bought and sold at top galleries in Manhattan and London. He couldn’t insulate himself from the imprint of her.

“I’m glad she hasn’t totally ruined it for you. That woman did a number on you, though.”

He simply curved up the corner of his lips in acknowledgement. “I won’t deny that. But I also like to think I’ve moved on,” he said, and that was true too. He had moved to a better place. A spot where he could never be hurt like that again. Trust no one, let no one in, and you’re safe.

“I’m glad you feel that way, for you. And because it also means I can tell you that I’m going to an auction in London when I go there later this month to meet with my clients at Sofia’s Pharmacy. I’m so excited,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I have my eyes on a few items in the lot.”

“What are you hoping to bid on?”

“Nothing too fancy. I’m still just a working girl,” she said, jokingly. Then, she turned serious. “There are some gorgeous paintings from a newer artist, Miller Valentina, and I want to get them to finish out my collection of kisses. But I suppose, if you think about it, you don’t really ever need to finish a collection of kisses. They can keep going on.”

He looked at her, and she was gazing at the images on her wall—an image of a couple in the rain curled together in an embrace, then a black-and-white photograph of a sailor kissing his girl, and also a movie poster of Rhett locking lips with Scarlett from Gone With The Wind. “You are such a romantic,” he said.

“Yeah, I am,” she said, nodding, and owning it. “I completely am. All the more ironic, considering my parents are anti-romantic, isn’t it? They couldn’t wait ’til I left the house for college so they could finally divorce.”

“I like that they didn’t sap the desire out of you.”

“But aren’t you glad you don’t have to worry about tending to the overly romantic side of me? You only have to think about this side,” she said, gesturing to her body, as if she were presenting him with it.

Admittedly, there was a part of Nate that was immensely glad he didn’t have to worry about the romantic side of her. The evidence of her heart’s true desire for love was displayed on her wall for all to see—proof that she was the opposite of him. And she didn’t hide it. She didn’t try to deny it. She simply tried to live by it. Of course, now she was trying to both live by it and add a few new tricks to the mix in the proverbial quest to have it all.