The Crush List

Chapter Five - A Night in Color

The soft hum of city life wrapped around them as they stepped out of the car in front of the gallery. Emery tried not to let her nerves swallow her whole. Her heels clicked across the pavement like a metronome to her racing heart. She wore a silky navy slip dress Cal had insisted she keep from the stylist's rack. It fit like a second skin. Too elegant. Too exposed. Too... adult.

“You look incredible,” Cal said beside her, calm and collected in a dark blazer and open-collared black shirt.

She glanced up at him, her cheeks heating. “You have to say that. You paid for the dress.”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” he said simply, and opened the door for her like a damn movie scene.

Inside, the gallery was intimate and bathed in soft lighting. Walls were lined with vibrant, chaotic canvases—splashes of emotion in color form. The space buzzed with quiet admiration and whispered critiques. People sipped cocktails and circled like moths drawn to the brightest palette.

“This is stunning,” Emery murmured, taking in the pieces.

“I thought you’d like it,” Cal said. “The artist’s name is Lianne Ray. She’s only twenty-four. Wildly talented, a little eccentric, sweet as hell. Reminded me of you.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Eccentric?”

“In the best way.”

As if summoned by the compliment, a young woman with cropped pastel-pink hair and paint-stained hands approached them. Her expression lit up when she spotted Cal.

“Cal! You made it.” Her voice was airy, genuine. Then her curious eyes landed on Emery. “And this must be the muse you mentioned.”

Emery blinked. “Muse?”

Cal smirked, unbothered. “Emery Blake, meet Lianne Ray. Lianne, Emery.”

Lianne offered her hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “The pieces in the back room are more... untamed. You’ll get it, I think. There’s something in your eyes. Like you’re on the edge of something. That’s where the best art lives.”

Emery smiled, touched by the strange compliment. “Then I’d love to see them.”

Lianne winked. “Come. I’ll give you the real tour.”

As Emery followed Lianne toward the back, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Cal stayed behind, letting her go with a look that said: This is your night too.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe—just maybe—it was.

Lianne led her through a narrow hallway into a more secluded part of the gallery, away from the polite murmurs and curated poses. This section felt less polished—raw, personal. The strokes were messier, the colors bolder, and Emery found herself breathless at the energy they exuded.

“Okay, tell me,” Lianne said, crossing her arms and watching Emery carefully. “What do you see?”

Emery stepped closer to a canvas that looked like fire bleeding into the ocean. “Conflict,” she murmured. “The red’s aggressive, almost violent, but the blue’s not giving in. It feels like someone’s trying really hard not to lose themselves.”

Lianne’s eyes widened. “No one ever gets that. That one’s called Undertow. I painted it right after my ex told me I was ‘too much.’”

Emery laughed softly. “That line should be retired.”

“Seriously. Men who say that are usually not enough.” Lianne smiled, clearly pleased. “So, are you an artist too, or just unusually perceptive?”

“Neither, I think,” Emery admitted. “I just love art. My college electives were full of modern art theory and color psychology. I almost switched majors to art history, but...” She shrugged. “Life.”

Lianne grinned. “You sound like me. I almost went into music instead of art.”

“What kind of music?”

“Indie rock, synth pop. I love female vocalists with gritty tones. You?”

“I have an embarrassingly detailed playlist of exactly that. And I’ve rewatched Fleabag more times than I should admit.”

Lianne gasped. “Oh my god, I quote Fleabag like scripture. Did we just become best friends?”

Emery laughed, something warm blooming in her chest. “We might have.”

They talked more—about food (they both lived for spicy ramen), their shared hatred of olives, their low-key obsession with weird documentaries. Every time they discovered another overlap, Emery felt more seen than she had in months.

As they made their way back toward the front room, Lianne bumped her shoulder gently. “Cal was right, you know.”

“About what?”

“That you’d get my work. That we’d click. Said you had a kind soul with a sharp mind.”

Emery’s steps faltered for half a second.

He’d said that?

Lianne tilted her head, smirking. “He knows you better than you think.”

Emery didn’t respond right away, but her heart squeezed a little tighter. She scanned the crowd until she found him, still standing near the entrance. He looked effortlessly composed, chatting with a gallery owner—but his eyes found hers instantly.

He smiled.

And just like that, Emery knew.

Cal hadn’t brought her here just to check a box on her list.

He’d brought her to remind her who she was—and maybe, who she could still become.

The hum of the city blurred past the windows as the car moved through the sleepy streets. Emery sat tucked into the leather seat, her heels already discarded and her legs curled beneath her. She was still riding the high from the gallery—her cheeks faintly flushed, her chest buzzing with the kind of thrill that only came from real connection.

Cal sat beside her, one arm draped casually along the back of the seat, his shirt collar undone, tie long forgotten. The city lights flickered across his sharp features, casting golden shadows that made him look more like a painting than a man.

Emery turned to him, her voice soft. “So... I think we can already cross something off the list.”

Cal glanced at her, one brow arched, amused. “Yeah?”

She nodded, smiling. “The ‘make a friend for life’ part. Lianne is amazing. I don’t know how you knew we’d get along like that, but...” She shrugged. “You nailed it.”

Cal’s expression softened, something proud flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I just had a feeling. You were starting this new chapter—figured you needed someone who’d meet you right where you are. No pretenses. Lianne’s that kind of person.”

Emery studied him in the dim light, her voice quieter now. “It still surprises me. That you know me like that.”

A beat passed.

“I used to think I was just your friend’s daughter. This shy, awkward girl who had a stupid crush on a man way out of her league.” Her gaze dropped, brushing over her fingers. “But tonight felt like... you saw me. Really saw me.”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand slid from the back of the seat to rest gently against her shoulder. His thumb brushed the fabric of her dress—slow, grounding.

“I’ve always seen you, Em,” he murmured. “Maybe I just didn’t let myself look too closely until now.”

Her heart stuttered.

She didn’t know what to say to that—what could she say when her breath caught like that in her throat? So instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder, letting the moment settle around them in warm silence.

The city kept rolling by outside.

But here, in the back of this car, wrapped in low lights and quiet words, Emery felt something shift between them.

Something real.

And impossibly close.