Free Fall From Grace by Kelly Hogan Page A

bond, sort of like a mother and daughter might. Well at least I assume that's what it's like; I certainly don't have any reference points.
    "Would love to Mrs. Castillo. Glad you like my work Stella."
    I turn back to face Ash. He's staring at me with a crooked grin; his green eyes put me under a spell I swear, he can't be of this world. My hands are vibrating again with nervous jitters. I know he's trying to be confident and cocky but I can see something flicker in his gaze and understand immediately that perhaps he's just stepped out of his comfort zone with displaying his work in public. Putting yourself out there is a scary and palm sweaty thing. You constantly await approval, props that you are actually talented. You sometimes get it, but more often then not you get the shaft. It isn't for the faint of heart.
    I found a poem once, which both inspires and terrifies me.
    Creativity is essentially a lonely art. An even lonelier struggle. To some a blessing. To others a curse. It is in reality the ability to reach inside yourself and drag forth from your very soul an idea.
    Mrs. Castillo makes a hasty exit to deal with a panini disaster leaving us alone to 'further the critical analysis' of his prints. Her words, not mine. I can see Francine stuck behind the counter stabbing me with her eyes. I'm so dead.
    I glance back to Ash who's waiting and gauging my reaction of the prints. I should make him suffer for the Francine comments but when I catch his stare it feels like his gaze is boring into my soul. I can't remember my own name let alone a witty comeback. Being left alone with him has switched my anxiety into high gear. Panic starts to raise the hairs on the back of my neck as a heat travels up into my cheeks making it very clear I am so out of my element. Really Stella, you can handle this, he's just some random guy right? He's even off the market, much easier to remain blasé around.
    I turn back and stare at the prints, trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure. Maybe if I remain mute long enough he'll just leave. I really can't see anything in front of me anyways, fear has made me temporarily blind.    
    No dice, he moves to stand beside me with his hands in his back jeans pockets. God he's hot, we're such suckers for the tortured artist. I guess knowing we all have insecurities, even drop dead gorgeous ones like Ash, make us want to jump their bones even more. I blink a few times, take a number of deep breaths and try to relax. The sooner you look at the damn photos Stella, the sooner you can get the hell out of there.  
    Finally able to see again, I move along the wall on shaky feet and look at the rest of his prints. They seem to be all shot in New York. Gritty but beautiful New York. I can't WAIT to live there. His shots really are amazing, Mrs. C was right. Just as most right brain folks would agree, sometimes you can get totally engrossed in something visually incredible and I have to say that his work really drew me in. So much so that I actually started to relax. I almost forgot he was standing less then a foot away from me. Almost.
    "So, Parsons or NYU?" his voice snaps me back into the noisy, bustling cafe.
    "Um, Parsons. Graphic design will be my major," I say sneaking a peek back at him.
    He nods and smiles, still staring ahead, "Great choice."  
    Focusing back on the next shot, I sense an odd vibe coming from him, like he knows me from somewhere. Maybe we knew each other in another lifetime, God Stella don't say THAT out loud. I sneak another glance over at him, looking really home sick.
    "Do you miss it?"
    "Miss what?"
    "New York. Do you miss living there?"
    "Yeah. Yeah I do," he says with a sigh. "The city is just so alive, with people and sounds, and a vibe that just permeates your soul. I feel a strong connection to it even now, while I'm stuck here." He lifts his hands emphasizing the crappiness of 'here'.
    I nod slightly. We lapse back into silence and move onto the next one. A young