Fake smile!!
Chapter 7
SAMANTHA
We drove back to my apartment after breakfast. Romeo and Kamiko hung around for a few hours until Kamiko was finally up for the drive back to her dorm on campus.
When they were gone, I suggested Christos and I go for a stroll on the boardwalk.
“Do you wanna do some crayon paintings?” he asked.
“That’s a great idea! There’s a new cafe I’ve been meaning to try.”
We grabbed paper and my box of crayons and headed down to the boardwalk. At the cafe, I found a table outside while Christos ordered our drinks. I was so tickled to be sitting outdoors on January 1st. In the sun, no less. Not even remotely possible in D.C. this time of year.
Christos arrived with an Italian soda for me and an iced tea for him.
“You remembered!”
“What?” he scoffed.
“That I love Italian soda!”
“How could I forget? It’s been less than a month since the last one you had,” he smiled.
No matter how much he dismissed it, I loved that he knew what I liked to drink. “What flavor did you get me this time?” It was a green one I didn’t recognize.
“Celery.”
I grimaced. “Celery? You’re not serious, are you?”
He grinned. “No. It’s kiwi.”
I took a sip. “Mmmm, I love it! Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” Christos opened the box of crayons for us and we both went to work on our own crayon paintings for a time
“So,” he asked, pausing to peel back the paper on his lemon yellow crayon, “you still planning on changing your major?”
“I’m thinking about it,” I sighed while selecting a crimson crayon from the box.
“You sound like you’re not sure.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
“What’s worrying you?” Christos asked.
I leaned back in my chair and looked around the cafe while collecting my thoughts. I noticed an older couple sitting next to us stealing glances at our crayon pictures.
I don’t know what it was, but whenever I was out drawing in public with Christos, people wanted to watch. It wasn’t just because of hot-bodied Christos either. Sure, women were always checking him out, but when we were drawing, the people seemed genuinely interested in what we were doing. I guess it wasn’t every day that you saw people over the age of eight or nine drawing with crayons in a public place.
“Lost in thought?” Christos asked.
“Oh, sorry. What was the question?”
“Changing your major to Art?”
“Oh yeah. Hmmm. I’m worried my parents will freak when I tell them I’m changing my major to Art. They’ll probably threaten to send me away to a convent or make me get electro-shock therapy.”
“That’s crazy,” he said dismissively while sipping his iced tea. “Don’t they see how talented you are?”
“Don’t you remember what they were like over Winter Break?”
Christos nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, they did seem somewhat uncertain about the whole idea.”
I choked out laughter while shading purple shapes on my drawing. “Somewhat? You literally told my dad you made over six figures in one night of selling paintings at Charboneau, and he acted like that was something that only happened to other people, like you were a myth or something.”
Setting his crayon down, he grinned. “Just because your parents don’t realize that an art career is an actual possibility for you
“I feel like the only way they’re ever going to believe Art is a valid career choice is if I show them the mansion I bought with my as-of-yet unearned art earnings, and a hefty art-funded retirement portfolio.”
Christos smirked. “I get it. It’s just not real to them. So put a piece in the Contemporary Artists show at Charboneau Gallery. When you sell it, you can show the check to your parents. Take a photo of you standing in front of your painting during the show.”
“Wait, you’re talking like I’ve already sold the painting! I haven’t even
“Not in my book. You’ve got to set the intention.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to buy
“I could,” he smiled, “if you wanted.”
“Thank you, Christos,” I said, picking up a tangerine crayon to draw some squiggly lines. “I totally appreciate the offer, but if this crazy idea of yours is going to make any kind of sense, some stranger would actually have to buy it. And that’s never going to happen.” I glanced at the older couple, who were still sitting next to us. They looked like they were eavesdropping. For some reason, I felt like they were going to report everything I was saying to my parents. Whatever.
Christos said, “Don’t start doubting everyone else in the world. You already doubt yourself, and that’s more than enough of a struggle. Your job is to put your work out there, and hope for the best.” He winked at me, flashing his sexy dimples.
“Thanks, Christos,” I sighed, doubt dragging me down. I completely appreciated his confidence in me, but it all seemed like a distant fantasy.
“Excuse me,” the eavesdropping man sitting next to us said. He had salt-and-pepper hair and wore reading glasses. The woman with him wore her hair in a short silver bob. She set down her eReader and smiled at me warmly.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man continued, “but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with your friend here.”
I was right. Eavesdroppers! And there weren’t any eaves for miles around. At least this guy was with his wife, so he
The man continued, “My wife and I have been watching both of you drawing this whole time, and we were wondering, are you Christos Manos?”
“That I am,” Christos nodded at the man and they shook hands. “How do you know my name?” Christos asked casually.
“We’re both fans of your grandfather’s work,” the man said.
“You know my grandfather?” Christos smiled.
“No,” the woman grinned, “but we’ve met him.”
“Really,” Christos smiled.
“Yeah,” the man said, “my wife and I used to go to the gallery openings here in town quite a bit. We’ve chatted with Spiridon more than once. In fact, I seem to recall seeing you as a young man at one of the openings. Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Oh yes,” his wife beamed, then said to Christos. “But you wouldn’t remember us boring old farts—”
I giggled when she said “farts”.
“—but you must’ve been twelve or so at the time.”
“That’s great,” Christos smiled. “So, are you guys collectors?”
“We are,” the man said. “We bought several of Spiridon’s smaller seascapes back in the day.”
“That’s terrific,” Christos said smoothly. I could tell he was used to conversations like this. I was in awe of how comfortable he was.
