Chapter 21 Cal
CAL
The first time I remember holding a paintbrush was when I was six years old. It was the first time I ever felt grounded…not just in a place but in myself.
I’d lost track of the month and day, the open road the only thing I’d ever known, only knowing the season because it was getting colder and the leaves were changing.
My parents had pulled the camper into some town in Vermont the week before, working odd jobs and touting another place for my sister and I to explore.
Another adventure.
But I was already sick of adventures.
I saw the other kids with their houses and dreamed that could be for me, my little body so tired of being constantly on the move.
Hannah and I had decided on another day at the library.
The woman at the desk had been kind to us the day before and it would be nice to escape the wind for a little while.
We’d walked the same path we had before, pulling our jackets tighter as we passed all the stone and brick buildings in the quaint little town.
The library, with its white siding and heavy wooden door, was in the old town hall.
Hannah and I had read the little placards on the way in like we always do.
Our mother’s favorite thing was to remind us to pay close attention—that those little signs are a look into the past and that the smallest ones are often the most insightful.
Smiling, I pick up my paintbrush and twirl it between my fingers, the weight familiar, the movement fluid.
This week had been busy, Blake and I both running back and forth to Ellison’s to spend time with Lyric Presley.
She’s perfect and I’m so thankful to be a part of this new chapter in their lives.
The same goes for Arden and Jude and their little girl, Salem Harmony.
Blake had made some freezer meals that I dropped off for both of them before returning home and falling into bed with the man that never fails to make my heart race and my cock hard.
Blake is out helping Ellison’s father with something and I felt inspired. This week’s miracles mixed with a whole lot of nostalgia had me walking into my studio before I even realized what I was doing.
Closing my eyes, I let myself fall back into the memory that brought me here, the old man in the library vestibule adding color to a canvas with long brush strokes and bold hues.
I’d been captivated. Hannah tried to pull me toward the kids’ section but I was transfixed—just stood behind the doorjamb and watched.
His mouth had curved up on one side as he went, his eyes finally turning to meet mine once he’d finished a section of trees.
“You ever painted before?”
“No, sir.”
“Hmm, maybe not but I can tell you have a knack for this.”
“What’s a knack?”
“Talent, my boy. Come here and look,” he said, motioning toward the canvas, “and tell me what you see.”
Eyes opening, my gaze settles on the painting I’d done of the two of us years later.
I didn’t know it then, but Hannah had taken a picture of us with the small, used camera she kept in her backpack.
She wasn’t really passionate about photography until a few years later, but even then you could tell she had a knack for seeing what most people couldn’t.
The man, Mr. Pace, had been sitting in a chair facing the painting and I’d leaned in, pointing at the scene he created.
Hannah had begged Mom to let her develop the roll and had traded one of her books for a picture frame at a thrift store.
It’s still one of my most prized possessions.
Smiling, I turn back toward the blank canvas, already seeing the completed painting in my mind. My fingers had itched to paint Blake that night when he’d been leaned back on the rock. I just hadn’t gotten the chance to do anything about it.
Until now.
BLAKE
It’s quiet when I get back to the house, but I know Cal is in his studio when I see the light shining under the door. Not wanting to disturb him, I drop the pizza I picked up onto the counter and startle when I hear the squeak of a door behind me.
“Hey, I didn’t realize how late it was.” Cal smiles, pulling the door hard a second time when the first doesn’t allow the latch to engage. He’s adorable with paint spatter on his clothes, a smear of green on his cheek.
“You missed a spot,” I tease, swiping my thumb through it as I lean down to kiss him.
“I’m sure that’s not the only one,” he murmurs, his hands running over my sides and down to cup my ass, squeezing hard as he pulls me against him.
“I think we should get you cleaned up.”
“I think you just want me naked.”
“That is definitely a bonus. Did you have a good day?” I ask, backing him toward the stairs.
“I did. I probably have a few more hours with that painting, but it’s going to be incredible.”
“You’re incredible.”
“You’re laying it on thick considering I’m a sure thing,” he deadpans, his face serious for only a second before his lips curve up into a smile.
“I like your passion for art.”
“You do, huh?”
“It’s sexy.”
“You’ve never seen anything I’ve done.”
“I said your passion is sexy, although I’m confident your work is just as gorgeous as you are.”
“You are awfully complimentary right now,” he breathes as I pull his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor as we reach the landing.
“I really want my dick in your mouth.”
“I told you it’s a done deal.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Well, let’s see what else I can get away with then.”