midnight rain [f. colapinto]

s i x t y - s i x

The Blanton Museum of Art was everything and more. Evita could have wandered the exhibits for hours admiring and studying all of the different art pieces. Even the architecture of the building was perfectly crafted, creating the perfect day off for Evita.

Their footsteps echoed softly on the marble floor of the museum, the only noise in the empty gallery. It was relaxing, especially considering the events of the hectic race weekend and the two more left to go in the triple header.

Evita and Franco wandered through the exhibits, exchanging comments about the artwork. At one point, Franco stopped in front of a painting. It was a vibrant abstract piece, filled with chaotic brushstrokes and bold colors.

"This is what I imagine it's like in your head," joked Evita. "Pure chaos."

"I like it," said Franco. "It's like the artist just threw everything he was feeling onto the canvas. Messy, but honest."

Just like Franco. But Evita didn't say anything. She simply nodded, her eyes on the painting, but her mind racing with thoughts about the young driver standing next to her. She'd never seen him this quiet. It was a side of him she wasn't used to, and it unnerved her how much it pulled at her heart.

"You're surprisingly good at reading art," said Evita, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Franco turned to her, his smile soft but completely genuine. "You'd be surprised what I'm good at when I'm not on track." There could have been an innuendo in his words, but his voice was so gentle, it didn't come across as a flirtation at all.

Evita's breath hitched slightly, her usual defenses faltering under the weight of his stare. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words died on her tongue. There was a charged silence between them, filled with all of the words neither had the courage to say.

"Want to go check out the ceramics next?" asked Franco, breaking the tense silence.

Evita blinked, her mind descending back to reality. "Sure."

As they walked to the next exhibit, Evita drifted closer to Franco, her arm brushing against his, testing the waters. He didn't pull away. She took a deep breath and linked her arm through his. He turned his head to look down at her, and she met his gaze with a small smile, but neither said a word. They just walked, arm-in-arm, through the nearly empty museum.

As they walked, Evita pointed out various pieces she enjoyed. She explained to Franco the techniques that went into the art, the types of clay, the glazes, everything. And he listened. He listened to every word, asking her questions about works she was particularly excited to see. But mostly he let her talk. And Evita could have talked for hours.

Franco's eyes softened as he listened to Evita tell him about a particularly beautiful Greek ampula. "I like seeing you like this," he said, his voice gentle.

Evita glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. She dropped his arm, turning to face him/ "Like what?"

"I don't know, happy." His smile was playful, but there was a deep sincerity behind it. "Passionate. You're glowing."

Evita rolled her eyes, though she could feel the blush rising to her cheeks. "I'm not glowing, I just- this is what I love."

Franco smiled wider and leaned a little closer. His hand brushed the small of her back. "And I love watching you love it. I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you this hooked by something."

"Like you know anything about it," joked Evita.

"Maybe not, but I know a thing or two about being captivated," he replied, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone.

"You're the most beautiful thing here, you know that, right?" Franco's voice was quiet, nearly a whisper.

Evita felt exposed under his gaze, like he could see right through her carefully constructed walls. Franco closed the small distance between them, his hand reaching out to brush against hers. It was a light touch, but it sent sparks through Evita, a connection that ignited the sparks that had been growing within her for weeks.

"Franco," began Evita, her voice soft, matching his own.

Franco took one of her hands in his. Evita didn't pull away. "What?" he asked.

"What are we doing here? Why did you bring me here?"

"I thought it'd be the one place where we could stop pretending," said Franco.

"Pretending what?" Evita asked, her voice shaky.

"That this doesn't mean something," he said, gesturing between them with his free hand. "That I don't look at you and want more than a professional relationship."

Evita's heart raced, her blood rushing in her ears. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes searched hers for a sign of how she felt. And in that moment, she knew she couldn't keep pretending either.

"Fran-" She tried to speak, but the words couldn't leave her mouth. Instead, she reached up with her free hand and gently touched his face, a soft smile on her face.

Franco's grip on her hand tightened slightly, and without saying a word, he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was soft, tender, and filled with so many unspoken promises and apologies. Evita melted into him, the hand that was resting on his cheek slipping down to his chest as he pulled her closer.

When they broke apart, Franco's forehead rested against hers as they caught their breaths.

"Don't leave me again," breathed Evita, standing on her tiptoes and closing the distance between them once more.

The second kiss was deeper, more passionate. Franco's hand slid to the back of her neck, pullign her closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that made Evita's knees weak. Her hands gripped the front of his jacket, holding on to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control. She could feel the warmth of his toouch, the way his thumb traced a gently line along her jaw, grounding her.

When the kiss ended, Evita's lips tingled, her heart pounding in her chest. There was no going back now.

"I'm not going anywhere," promised Franco.

"Good," said Evita, giving him a final short kiss on the lips.

"You know, we probably shouldn't be kissing in a museum," said Franco.

"Probably," said Evita. "At least no one's here to see. Come on, let's keep going."

The pair continued their walk around the museum, fingers intertwined. The feelings that had been brewing between them had finally overflowed, leaving new mysteries in their wake.