Page 23 of Earned Husband

I grinned at him. “This is definitely more my speed.”

Unfortunately, it turned out I hadn’t accounted for the fact that this was amodern artmuseum, which wasn’t really my thing. We stopped in front of a massive white canvas and I stared at it, searching for any sign of anything else but finding none.

“What is it supposed to be?” Colin asked from my side. “Am I missing something?”

“If you are, then so am I,” I admitted. “Perhaps we’re not evolved enough to understand.”

“I thought you said this was more your speed?” he said, his lips tugging into a slight smile. “Doesn’t that mean you should be explaining that canvas to me? I explained baseball to you. It seems only fair.”

“I would explain if I had any clue how to explain something I genuinely don’t understand myself. To be honest, modern art has never made much sense to me.”

He grinned. “Well, then that’s something we have in common.”

We moved through to the next exhibit, finding an entire room dedicated to what appeared to be no more than three traffic cones arranged in a circle. Colin folded his arms after walking around the display a couple times. “You know, I think we’ve accidentally produced art more meaningful than this in some of our manufacturing processes.”

I burst out laughing. “You should open a gallery.”

“I’d probably make millions,” he joked dryly, then forced a straight face when our comments drew a disapproving glance from another patron.

The next exhibit consisted of tangled extension cords hanging from the ceiling and another was simply a television displaying static. When we reached even a chair masquerading as art, Colin became visibly amused.

“Do you think someone accidentally left it behind while they were arranging the displays?” he asked. “I’m genuinely not sure if it’s supposed to be art or if it’s simply part of the gallery’s furniture.”

“Neither am I,” I agreed, laughing again. “Can you imagine if someone just used it to have a break while they were setting up displays and now people are going to spend months trying to work out the meaning of it?”

Colin rolled his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing when we drew more disapproving stares, but it was also at that point that we decided to leave the museum. We emerged onto the sidewalk still laughing, neither of us able to keep a straight face now that we’d escaped.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that we don’t appreciate modern art,” he said as we strode back to his car, people hurrying past us on the sideways carrying coffees, briefcases, or shopping bags.

Colin didn’t even seem to notice, but I slowed, suddenly realizing that the late afternoon light was painting the city in warm shades of orange and gold. He matched my pace without hesitating, suddenly looking around himself.

“You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve noticed the sunset.”

I glanced at him. “Life gets busy. It’s easy to miss the glimmers.”

“Glimmers?”

I shrugged. “It’s just something I read. It’s basically a small, everyday moment of beauty, or peace, or joy. Too often in our lives, we don’t even notice them because we’re always on the move, but they’re there, just quietly waiting for us to open our eyes and appreciate them.”

To my surprise, he nodded slowly instead of laughing me off or dismissing the notion. “Glimmers. I like that. I’m going to try to remember it.”

“So will I,” I promised both him and myself.

Contrary to how it might sound right now, I didn’t take enough time to notice them on a day-to-day basis either. It was simply easier now because I was on vacation and in a beautiful, unfamiliar city where everything was interesting and new.

Colin showed me around the path beside the lake. We meandered through a park and even stopped for coffee before ending up in a bookstore. This was the kind of exploring on foot I’d been wanting to do since I’d gotten here and it was even better having his company while I did it.

We spoke almost the whole time, the conversation flowing naturally and easily as the late afternoon progressed. As we strolled down a tree-lined street, both us with several new booksin paper bags he was carrying, I finally glanced up at him again. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

He looked genuinely surprised by the question. “I don’t think anyone has asked me that in at least twenty years.”

“That’s only because adults stop asking the interesting, important questions.”

He laughed. “That’s a fair point. We do tend to get caught up in the boring stuff, don’t we?”

“It’s a real pity,” I lamented, not even really joking. “It’s like you turn thirteen, and suddenly, your imagination just dies.”

“It’s probably the hormones,” he said, humor twinkling in his eyes. “We get so flooded with teenage angst and lust that it eats up our imaginations.”