Uncertainty.

Lance. 

He parks his motorcycle in front of an art gallery. 

I release my arms from his waist as we both get down. I don't know what we are doing here. 

I know he likes art. I mean, his house is covered in beautiful paintings.

I shouldn't be here; I should be with Ford. we need to talk about all that has happened. I am going to be upfront with him. Tell him that if he doesn't open up to me, I don't want to do this anymore. 

She said he was sick. 

I know there is something wrong with him and I won't take all these secrets anymore. 

He can't keep hiding these things from me.

''Why are we here?'' I ask him as he straps out helmets to the bike. 

''This is where I work?'' 

I nod.

I guessed as much. 

''I am an artist.''