First Sight (13 page)

I laughed when he mentioned my least favorite sculpture.  “I never liked that
one
either.”

“It’s weird, right?” he asked, continuing to stare down at me.
  His brown eyes were so intense, I found myself having trouble concentrating on what he was saying.

“Definitely
,
”
I agreed.

“So
,
how was your night?”

For a second he looked almost wistful, like he
had
wanted to be
with me
last night
. 
I was sure
that
he didn’t want to spend Friday night watching a bunch of girly movies
with my friends
though.  Was
he feeling wistful
because yesterday was Valentine’s Day?
  Or just because he didn’t know many people here yet
and wanted something fun to do on a Friday night
?

“Oh, it was fun,” I said casually.  “
We had some wine, watched a bunch of chick-flicks….”

“Ugh
—chick-flicks!”
Travis teased.

“And what did you do last night that was so
much better
?”
I asked, taking a sip of my cappuccino.

“
Not much actually,” he said with a wry smile.  “
Ordered a pizza, had a few beers…and I watched an
action
movie. 
Definitely
better than those chick-flicks.”

“Right,” I scoffed. 
“
Typical guy response
.”
I smiled to let him know I was just kidding.

“Hmmm…
you might be right,
”
he mused.
  He paused a moment
, as if deciding to go on or not.
  “Actually, my ex-girlfriend texted me while I was watching it—although she wasn’t really someone that I wanted to hear from.”

“Did you just break up?”

“No, we broke up last summer.”  His voice had taken on a serious tone.  I searched his face for any kind of indication that he was still interested in her, but his countenance seemed perfectly neutral—comfortable, like it didn’t matter at all that he was discussing his ex-girlfriend with me.  I wondered if that meant his relationship with her really was over—
ancient history
.  That seemed to be the case.
 
“She just sent me a message because it was Valentine’s Day.  We don’t keep in touch, and I didn’t bother
texting
her back.  I actually think she was out at a bar with her friends and sent it to me
then
—sort of like drunk
-
dialing.”

“Drunk texting?” I asked with a grin.

“Exactly.
 
So I guess you didn’t have any ex-boyfriends calling you last night?”

“No, nothing like that,” I said
,
shaking my head.  “My ex and I are definitely over.”

Travis nodded
thoughtfully
, seeming to note that piece of information.  “Do you mind if I join you to check out the National Gallery?”

“Not
at all.
 
You haven’t been there yet
?”

“Not
yet
.”

“
I want to see a special exhibit, but I can show you some of my favorite pieces
in the permanent collection
there
, too
—if you want.”

“That’d be great,” Travis said, smiling.

We exited the sculpture garden and walked over to the intersection to cross the street. 
I tossed my cup into the trashcan as a
crowd of people
started to gather
, waiting for the light to change. 
There was a group of students there, seemingly on some type of school trip. 
A teenage boy squeezed by me, pushing me against Travis. 
I saw him watching the boy, as if annoyed
by the fact that
he had
shoved by me
, but then he glanced down
t
o make sure I was okay. 
As the “walk” sign lit up, people surged forward.  Travis easily moved ahead, but as people around me elbowed by, I started to fall behind.  He turned back to look for me and saw me struggling to keep up with him.  He reached back
,
and his hand gently grabbed my arm, tugging me toward him.

“Thanks,” I said breathlessly.

“That crowd looked like they were going to swallow you whole,” he chuckled in amazement.

“You’re lucky that you’re so tall; you can just push through people.”

Travis laughed harder as we continued across the street.  He had let go but held his arm protectively around me, so that his hand barely grazed my shoulder, as we walked along.
  “I never thought of it that way.  But you’re little, so I gues
s I need to look out for you.”

I laughed and glanced up at him. 
He
was already
gaz
ing down at me
,
a smile playing on his lips,
and
as I
looked
into his brown eyes
,
I felt
a tiny flutter in
my heart.

***

The West
B
uilding of the National
Gallery
of Art
has always been one of my favorite spaces in DC. 
The grand
white
structure
is located on Constitution Avenue, right on the
National
Mall. 
I
t stretches
down the city block
and is
rectangular with a dome perched at the center
.
After walking
into the building
,
you
enter
into
a large
rotunda
,
where thick
,
white
marble
columns surround
a fountain in the
center
.  The space is vast and dimly lit.  I
always
feel like
I can breathe a sigh of relief
inside
as
I leav
e
the
rush
of the city behind.

Travis followed me
to the center of the room
,
near the fountain,
looking around in awe.  “Wow, this is really beautiful.”

“I know,” I said, nodding in
agreement
.  “It’s one of my favorite buildings in DC.”

“I can see why.”

“
At
Christmasti
me they have poinsettias displayed all
around the fountain.  It looks really amazing to see all the red flowers against the white marble.”

We stood
there a
little while
longer
before
I pulled Tr
avis over to the Impressionist G
allery, explaining that they were my absolute favorite
paintings
.  Travis seemed to appreciate them as well.  I showed
him
some of my favorite Impressionist
pieces
,
pointing out
the muted colors of Monet’s landscapes and the soft features i
n Renoir’s women and children.
 
I
remembered coming here during college to take notes on various paintings for my Art History c
lass
.  I’d sat on a bench in front of a Titian painting with my notebook and tried to
write down all
the various techniques
seen in the painting
that we’d
been taught
in class
. 
I had no talent for painting, but I absolutely loved studying
the artwork
. 
The colors, the artistry, the symbolism in th
e pieces—it all fascinated me.

“What’s your favorite painting?” Travis asked quietly, so as not to disturb the other patrons.

“Here?” I asked, looking around.

Travis studied me for a moment before answering.  “
Here,
and your actual favorite painting.”

I turned to him and smiled.  “My favorite painting here is that one of Monet’s with water lilies.
”

Travis walked over to the painting that I was pointing to
and stood in front of it
.  I followed him and heard him read the title out loud.  “
The Japanese Footbridge
,” he said softly, mostly to himself.  “I like it,” he said
,
agree
ing
with my choice. 
Then he glanced down at me. 
“And your actual favorite painting?”

“It’s not here,” I said with a smile.  “It’s in the Phillip’s Collection.  But my absolute favorite painting is Renoir’s
Luncheon of the Boating Party.
”

“Where’s the Phillip’s Collection?”

“Near
Dupont
Circle.”

“It’s in DC?”

“Yeah,
sort of the northwest area
,
” I said nodding.

“We’ll have to go there sometime.
  I’d
love
to see it.
”

“It’s a date,” I
replied
, suddenly stopping
myself
when I realized what I’d just said.  If Travis had caught
on
, he didn’t
give any indication
.  “Well, you know what I mean,” I continued.
 
“
Shall we go see
some
other
exhibit
s
?”

Travis and I
spent the rest of the afternoon
at the National Gallery
.  We
walked over to the East
Building
to see the special exhibition
, but we
also spent some more time in the main
building
, admiring the Italian Renaissance paintings and few
other
things along the way that caught our eye
.
 
A
s we walked out
of the museum
at
5
:00,
t
he streetlights were
already
on, providing a
warm
glow against the darkening sky. 
T
he air was crisp
, a
nd I could smell the
smoky scent
of wood burning,
coming from somewhere else in the city.
 
I shivered in the winter air, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Wow, I hate winter,” I said.  “I’m so ready for it to be springtime.”

Travis grinned
as he
looked
down at me.  “Oh come on,” he teased.  “This isn’t that bad.”

I smiled up at him. 
“It’s not that good either.”

He laughed, and the twinkle was back in his eyes again. 
“
Well, I’m starving. 
Do you want to get
something to eat?”

“Sure,
that sounds good.  W
hat do you feel like?”

“Oh, I like everything.”

“There’s a good tapas place not too far from here,” I said, pointing in the direction that we needed to go.

“
Tapas
sounds
good.  Let’s try it,” Travis agreed, rubbing his hands together.

I remembered that his hands
were
in his pockets earlier in the sculpture garden.  “Don’t you have any gloves?” I asked.

“I forgot them,” he replied.  “I’m okay though.”  He shoved his hands in his pockets again
,
and we started walking.
  People were bustling
about
on the street, coming back from running errands or heading out for an early dinner. 
One man walked by carrying a bouquet of red roses, and I wondered if he was having his Vale
ntine’s celebration a day late
.
 
We crossed the street and a cab honked at us, even though the crosswalk light was in our favor.  “Wow,
that’s the first time I’ve gotten honked at all day,” Travis joked.  “Drivers are so much ruder in New York.”