“Sweetie, if he’s gay, he was most likely born that way. I’m only teasing. Maybe he’s bi. I don’t understand why there has to be a label, anyway. People should be with whoever they fall in love with regardless of gender.”
“Are you secretly hoping the Adonis will fall in love with you tonight?”
“Yes, but that’s not going to happen when he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”
He catches my eye again and smiles. I look away before I catch him smiling elsewhere. I daren’t look.
Mark wanders around the room giving advice. “Hey Steph, that’s looking good. Although you haven’t quite got the proportions right.”
“It’s abstract.”
“Then that’s brilliant. We all have our own way of interpretation.” He winks at me as he walks away, and I’m suddenly a teenager again. The way he made me feel was always so sweet, though I never got that stirring in my stomach from him. Apart from the time he bought me a hot dog at the cinema—the mustard sauce didn’t agree with me—but he always made me feel comfortable, at least. If it wasn’t for the way things went down, I think we could have been good friends.
“Looking good, Amy.”
“Thanks.” She flicks her blonde hair behind her shoulder.
“Are you still with that guy you were dating in uni?”
“Scott? He lives in the States, but we hook up when we’re in the same place. Sometimes he visits Paris, or I go to New York and vice versa.”
My eyes widen. “You didn’t tell me you still hook up with Scott.”
She shrugs her shoulders and continues to sketch. “It’s no big deal. We both agreed that if we’re still single at 45, we’ll get married.”
“You will actually get married?”
“Yes, but I told him I draw the line at kids.”
My stomach grumbles. “I’m starving. Is it dinner time yet?”
“You never change. Have another chocolate.”
The smell of cooked food travels through the window on the autumn breeze, and I hope it’s my dinner. I take a sip of the cranberry to satisfy me until then.
“Do you want another drink?”
“Yes, please… I just lurve cranberry,” I say in my most sarcastic tone.
Amy snatches the glass and returns, looking smug with a glass of cranberry for me and a full-bodied red for her. I inhale the sweet aroma, and I’m practically drooling. Trust me to come to a pissin’ art and wine workshop, and I can’t even friggin’ drink.
“You will get yourself up the duff. Haven’t you ever heard of putting a sock on it?”
“I’ve heard of putting a sockinit. Do I sense a hint of jealousy because I’ve actually had sex in the last six months?”
“Do you think this is in proportion?” Amy shows me her picture of Michael with an oversized shlong.
“Is that wishful thinking on your part? Or are you seeing something from your angle that I’m not?”
She giggles and takes a drink. “It’s the wine. Everything looks better with alcohol.”
I shuffle on the stool. “My back is killing me. Do you think Mark will get me a cushion or something?”
“I’ll go to the shop and buy you one if it will stop you whining. That’s all you’ve done since we arrived.”
“Well, it is an art and whine workshop.”
We both giggle. Finally, the door swings open. Servers’ wheel in two carts of pastries, sandwiches and cakes. The sweet pastries and sandwich fillings fill the room and my mouth waters.