Get Lost Read Free Page B

sketch, “wasn’t paying attention. They ran out of mashed potatoes, and when she turned around to grab more, he slipped back in line and received another scoop. Who knew people liked Jell-O that much?”
    Justin accidentally knocks my pencil off my desk, quickly leans over to pick it up, and once he’s up, he turns the page to the sketch I was working on yesterday. “And the pale pink flowers on this piano.”
    “Those are lilies,” his friend speaks up.
    “No, those are belladonnas.” Justin corrects him, tilting his fedora up. “In fact, belladonnas contain ingredients that are used in several lifesaving drugs. Why would you put those on top of a piano?”
    I sigh and nervously scratch the back of my neck. “Because some people believe that music is the medicine of the soul.”
    The look on Justin’s face becomes rather pale, as if what I said yanked on his calm chord. His dark blue eyes begin to fade to a lighter shade, and he looks up at his friend for help.
    “So, it’s safe to assume you must be the lovely Peyton my main man here couldn’t stop talking about.” His friend sits on the edge of the desk behind me. With a soft run of his fingers through his straight, bright- blond, mop top hair, he finally introduces himself. “I’m Peter.”
    “Nice to meet you.” I slowly close my sketchbook and slide it underneath my arms on the desk.
    “Pleasure’s all mine. Justin was bragging all about this pretty little thing he met when he ran into the art building. If I do say so myself, you, Ms. Peyton Darling, are unmistakably perfect. Love the necklace, by the way.” His cheerful tone is only matched by his extraordinarily bright, emerald eyes.
    “Thanks.” I touch the pendant and adjust my red uniform shirt. “How long have you guys been friends?”
    “Seems like forever.” Justin’s answer is followed by a stroke of his chin.
    “You could almost say it’s more like we’re family than friends,” Peter says, adjusting his rolled up black sleeves, which is when the star tattoo with a broken heart inside of it on his inner wrist catches my eye.
    “A sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother.” The quote rolls off Justin’s tongue as he gives his loose black tie an adjustment. “Homer.”
    With a small head tilt, I sigh. “You know an awful lot of wise words right off the top of your head.”
    Quickly, Peter interjects, “And I heard you know an awful lot about art history off the top of yours.”
    “You could say that,” I answer cautiously. “Did you two need help with something? Is that why you came to see me?”
    Justin stands up, planting his hand firmly on my desk, before asking, “Can you excuse us for a second?”
    “Sure.” I nod quickly, catching Justin in what seems to be a significant glance at his own hand.
    He slips an arm around Peter, who gives me one more shot of his perfectly sculpted face. I wonder if, maybe by that quote, he means they are brothers and he just doesn’t want to tell me.
    My eyes fall to where Justin’s palm was, revealing a folded, flower shaped piece of white paper I don’t recall being there. Carefully, I open the piece of paper, while the two of them remain engaged in a quiet conversation by the window.
    It’s beauty that captures your attention, personality which captures your heart.
    Smiling, I slide the note under my book as the two of them stroll back over to me. Justin casually sits on the desk in front of me, while Peter adjusts his red tie nervously before sitting on the desk behind me.
    “So, Peyton,” Peter begins, diverting my attention to him, while Justin leans over to retie his white tennis shoe. “I was wondering if you could help me out. I really need some information on this piece called Sous Clef.”
    “The Italian painting titled Under Lock and Key.” I nod, pulling down my skirt before crossing my legs. “I’m sorry, that’s a French painting.” Peter’s attempt to correct me brings out my condescending