Chapter 15
Fifteen
Jack and Pete have a huge backyard, with a big green lawn that extends to the ring of trees that demarcates their property, a big flagstone patio that has a table and chairs and a grill the size of my first flat, and even a pool, hidden behind a gate off to the side. When I arrive, toting my gift, the patio is already littered with people. Some of them I know, like Shay and his boyfriend Connor, who happens to be Luna’s vet’s son. I also see Van and Beck, who are playing with Jack and Pete’s dog, Cleo. I recognize some people from the Art Center—Dulcie and Che and a few others. And there’s Ivy, looking as polished as ever in a jade green off-the-shoulder sweater and a cream skirt, talking with an athletic-looking man who’s gesticulating with his hands. I set the painting down in a safe corner, face tilted toward the wall to keep the contents private, and head to Ivy first, since I don’t see our hosts. Kingston doesn’t seem to have arrived yet, either.
“More bike parking is really essential,” the athletic man is saying when I walk up.
“Oh absolutely,” Ivy agrees, “but who’s going to pay for it?”
“I was thinking we could get local businesses to underwrite the costs in exchange for signage. You know, like ‘this bike rack provided by Wine and Roses,’ sort of thing,” he says.
“I love it. Hello, Toby,” Ivy says smoothly. “Do you know Charlie?”
The man offers me a hand. “Charlie Linden.”
“Toby Wheaton,” I reply. The name jogs my memory. This is a good friend of Jack’s. “You just opened the bike shop, right?”
“I did,” he says. Fixing me with a keen eye, he asks, “Do you ride?”
“Ah—not as such,” I say, feeling inadequate. “But maybe I should get into it?”
I trade a glance with Ivy, who looks entertained. A fellow with messy dark hair comes up and stands next to Charlie. “Are you proselytizing again?” he asks, the fond note in his voice taking away the sting.
“We were talking about the shocking lack of bike parking in downtown Rosedale,” Charlie says a hair defensively. “But we can talk about something else. Drew, this is Ivy Miller; she just joined the Art Center board. And this is Toby.”
I wave at Drew, who I’ve never met but know of from conversations with Jack and Pete. “I loved Dessert First . Great film.”
“You work in the movies?” Ivy asks.
“Film editor,” Drew says.
“That is fascinating.” I knew Ivy would be intrigued. She quickly pulls Drew away and starts peppering him with questions.
It’s odd to be here with her, but not with her. It doesn’t feel awkward, but it doesn’t feel normal, either.
“You should come into the shop sometime. I could get you fixed up with a starter bike.”
I tune back into Charlie. “Uh, maybe when I’m a bit more stable. I’m living in a friend’s guest room for the time being and I already brought in a cat. I don’t think I can add a bike to the mix just now.”
“Fair enough. We have a cat,” Charlie says, nodding at Drew, who seems to be answering Ivy’s questions graciously. “But we’re thinking about getting a dog, too.”
“Dogs are a lot of work. I grew up with one.” Darwin was a high-maintenance poodle that I remember causing a lot of arguments between my parents when they were still together. Looking back, maybe Mom was more pissed about Dad running around on her with other women than about the fact he’d forget to take Darwin for walks when Mom was busy getting her Ph.D. “Cats are much easier.”
“But you can’t take them for a run,” Charlie counters.
“You could try. I knew a girl in London who took her cat about on a lead. Not sure if the cat really enjoyed it, though.”
“Cinnamon would never,” Charlie says. “So, what do you do?”
“I’m a painter.”
Charlie’s interest sharpens. “Really? Drew and I have been looking for someone to do our house.”
I’m taken aback by the coincidence. “That seems to be the theme of the summer,” I say. “I just did Jack and Pete’s.”
Now Charlie looks confused. “I didn’t know they’d had their house painted recently.”
“I haven’t shown it to them yet,” I say as Pete and Jack come out on the patio, each carrying a large platter of food. “In fact, I better take care of that now.”
I leave Charlie behind, tap Pete on the shoulder after he sets a tray of watermelon slices onto the table. “Happy birthday, man,” I say. “And I have something for both of you.” Jack joins us, looking excited as a puppy eyeing a tennis ball when I retrieve the painting.
I flip it so the picture faces out, to legitimate oohs and aahs from the nearby guests. “I hope you like it.” It’s a sincere statement and not a plea for compliments.
Pete and Jack just stare at it in silence, glance at each other in unison, then both burst out talking at the same time, so fast that I can barely keep up.
“Incredible, gorgeous. Do you see the light in the trees?”
“I can’t believe how pretty it is. Babe, it’s our home.”
“And is that Cleo? It’s Cleo!”
“Cleo. God. Toby. It’s amazing. Thank you.”
I let myself relax. They like it. Pete puts his hands out and I transfer the painting to his care. “You’re welcome, guys. You’ve been so kind to me, both of you.”
“It’s such a lovely memento,” Jack says.
“Wait ’til you see mine.” Kingston’s suddenly there. When did he arrive? I smile at him and he smiles back. The party suddenly seems much more enjoyable. “But yours is nice, too.”
“So you’re like a painter, painter,” Charlie says, his face oddly red.
“Yes?” I respond uncertainly.
“I thought you meant house painter, not painter of houses,” he says, sounding embarrassed.
“Oh! That’s my bad. Maybe I should have said artist?”
“You’re definitely that,” Charlie says, looking more closely at the painting in Pete’s big hands. “That’s impressive.”
“I like painting houses that have souls.”
“Then you actually do have to paint our house,” Charlie says. “It’s this old farmhouse, and it has soul up to the chimney. But maybe wait until we actually get the outside painted by an actual house painter.”
“I can give you a name for that, Charlie,” Pete says.
“But maybe I should take pictures of it the way it is now,” I suggest. “The painting might be more interesting if the subject is less polished.”
“Whatever you think is best. Wow, this is really cool. So this is your deal—you paint houses?”
“Among other things,” I say.
“By the way, I’m free tomorrow,” Pete says to me. “Early afternoon?”
My gut lurches when I realize he’s talking about the curation we need to do to prepare for Fernanda’s visit to my studio. “Okay, thanks.”
“Now, where should I put this masterpiece?” he says. “I want everyone to be able to see it.”
“It’s still a little wet,” I caution. “I’d put it out of reach, especially of the animals.”
Pete takes the painting inside to find it a safe home, and Jack gives me an unexpected hug, then leaves his hand on my shoulder so he can look into my eyes with his green ones. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Toby.”
“You’re welcome.” In my peripheral vision, I catch Kingston looking at us with a funny expression on his face. “Thanks again. Pete’s been a rock for me this summer.”
“He’s been where you’re at,” Jack says. “It’s all good. The world needs your art.”
I laugh. “I think I read that on a bumper sticker.”
“Doesn’t make it not true,” Jack says, unoffended by my flip remark. He turns to fuss over the buffet. “Time to eat, people!”
“Sounds like you have another commission in the works,” Kingston says.
“Maybe,” I say. “I’ll run out of Rosedale houses, eventually.”
“You’re going to be too big for Rosedale soon enough,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“Once Fernanda sets you up with your big New York show, it’s all over for us. You’ll be hot shit, and we’ll say, ‘We knew him when.’”
I laugh uncomfortably. “She’s only coming to look—no promises.”
“But you do want to have a show, don’t you?” he presses. “Get your work out there more.”
I sigh and cross my arms over my chest, feeling defensive even though I know he’s asking the right question. “I know I should, but it’s complicated. Right now I feel like I’m holding on so tight to my paintings they’re going to crumble in my hands. And that’s not what I want, either.”
“You’re doing the right thing by meeting with Fernanda. Sometimes to grow, things have to get scary.”
“Yeah—what scary things have you been up to?” It’s easier to turn things around on him than contemplate the terror that is exposing my work to the vicious tongues of the art world.
“Actually, I’m working on opening my own agency. It’s scary as hell.” He doesn’t sound scared, though. He sounds excited, in control. What I wouldn’t give for a fraction of his confidence.
“Wow! I had no idea. It sounds like a big undertaking.”
“It’s one of the reasons I’ve been in the city so much. I’m wooing a couple of agents who I want to set up shop with. We’ll pool our resources and make something new. I want a shop where agents don’t have to be worried they won’t make their mortgage payments if they don’t sell something that month. Everyone gets a guaranteed base salary and benefits.”
“That’s remarkable. And not usually how it works, is it?”
“It’s not an entirely new idea, but it’s risky. But I’ve been successful enough to be able to put plenty aside for a cushion. Hopefully, I’ll be able to nurture some new talent this way.”
Of course he wants to use his success to mentor others. “That’s so exciting, Kingston.”
“And scary,” he adds with a smile. “Suddenly I’m going to have all these people depending on me. But if it works, it’ll make things better for everyone.”
“I love that. And I have no doubt it’ll work. What’s the next step?”
“Well, publishing gets quiet in August, so I’m taking some time off to recharge, then in the fall it’ll be full steam ahead. Lawyers and LLCs and looking for office space.”
“Office space? In New York?”
“Where else?”
It is the center of publishing. Makes sense that Kingston would make it his home base. I’m just greedy for wanting him around more. Not that we’ll still be roommates by the fall. I should find someplace else to live by then.
“Kingston, hey.” Ivy walks up to us and greets him with a kiss on the cheek that makes me unaccountably grumpy. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for giving this one a roof.”
“My pleasure, darling,” he drawls. “How’ve you been?”
I excuse myself, for some reason, not wanting to hear them make small talk. I get some food, pour myself a tall glass of iced tea, and sit down next to Van Eastman. I was intimidated by the handsome, somewhat aloof actor the first couple of times I met him, but the more we talked, the more I got that he’s actually a softie, especially when he’s around his boyfriend, Beck. Something about the blond baker makes Van softer, more approachable.
I take a bite of pasta salad and watch Kingston and Ivy from afar. They seem to be deep in a conversation that apparently requires Ivy to touch Kingston’s arm every three seconds.
“Something wrong with the pasta salad?” Van asks worriedly. “It’s not off, is it?”
“Off?” I look down at my fork, then back at Kingston and Ivy. “No, it’s delicious.”
“You looked like you had a bad taste in your mouth.” He follows the direction of my gaze and hums thoughtfully. “I heard about you and Ivy. Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m getting there.” Ivy puts her hand on Kingston’s shoulder and they both let out peals of laughter that I can hear across the yard. My grip on my fork tightens. What is going on with me? Ivy is a gorgeous woman, but I was never jealous over her. I’m not even with Kingston, but I feel some kind of way about him being touched by other people, including my ex—which is absurd.
Abruptly, I put down my fork and flash Van a weak smile. “Sorry. Distracted.” It’s not like Kingston would be interested in her, anyway. From everything I’ve picked up about him from his friends and his own words, Kingston’s gay.
But what if I’ve missed something? I look around, see that Van and I are relatively isolated. “Forgive me for the question, but Kingston’s gay, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Van says in a knowing voice. I narrow my eyes at him.
“What? We were all young once,” he says. “Kingston and Pete and I have known each other forever.”
“Kingston and Pete—” The thought had never occurred to me before, but it’s not impossible that they could have been together at one point, though Pete’s obviously devoted to his husband now.
“No, I don’t think so. Just friends.”
I can’t help an audible sigh of relief. Something about picturing Kingston with anyone else makes my intestines feel like they’re tied in knots.
“So Beck was right,” Van murmurs lowly. “He swore you weren’t straight.”
I’ve been the topic of their speculation? That’s enough to take my attention off Kingston and Ivy to fully focus on Van. “I’m bi.” It seems important to be clear. “Always have been.”
“Awesome,” he says easily. “But you need to be careful if you’re thinking about hooking up with Kingston.”
I cough on my sip of iced tea, and it takes a moment before I can get a word out. “I’m not—Kingston and I are friends. He’s giving me a place to live. We’re just friends.” The denials come out as fast as I can make my tongue move.
Van’s blue eyes soften in something like sympathy. “Kingston is the most together person I know. He’s also one of the best men I know. But he hasn’t always had the best luck in love. And I like you, Toby, but it’s my job to watch out for him, if you get my drift?”
“Of course. But—” I’m about to deny everything when out of the corner of my eye I catch Kingston’s profile as he browses the buffet. I think about how we’ll go home to the same house, how he’ll be only a few rooms away for the next several weeks. He and I really are becoming friends, and this time is supposed to be about work for me. I can’t afford to destabilize my life even more right now. And Kingston doesn’t deserve to have even more of my chaos foisted on him.
Van’s right—I’m borrowing trouble. But I can’t help it. Kingston’s in my head and I don’t know how to get him out. The best I can do is keep my feelings to myself.
I offer Van what I can. “I’ll be careful.”
He slaps my back. “Good man.”
Kingston appears at our table like a jump scare. “What are we talking about?” he asks, elegantly settling into the chair to my right.
I freeze, then take a big bite of pasta salad to avoid having to answer.
Van smoothly steps in. “Did you know Beck and I got a dog?”
“Mazel tov,” Kingston says. “Tell me more.”
“Her name is Molly, and she’s a sweetheart. We’re still getting used to each other, but so far so good.”
I tune them out while they talk about Molly’s many fine qualities. Kingston and I are friends, roommates. No matter how my feelings for him seem to grow by the minute, I’m going to keep them locked down.