“Ma’am, do you know this man?” one of them asked.
Let me take you back to the beginning.
I met Elias seven months ago at a local art gallery. My best friend, Callie, had dragged me there on a rainy Thursday evening when I would’ve much rather stayed in with takeout and a blanket.
“Come on, June,” she had insisted. “A little art won’t k.1.ll you. You might even meet someone who can explain all this weirdness.”
“I doubt it,” I replied. “But fine. Thai food after?”
“Deal.”
I went, grumbling, expecting an evening of overpriced wine and vague interpretations of abstract work. Instead, I saw him.
