Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
brEWER
The steady hum of voices in the grand entry of the old library was punctuated by the clicking sound of Tam’s high heels as she walked quickly to keep up with me.
“He’s so excited,” she said. “And don’t tell him I told you this, but he’s nervous, too. Palmer Kellogg is here from the New York Times . He’s been the art editor there for years. It’s a big deal.”
My eyes traced through the crowd in search of Delaney. What Tam didn’t know was that I already knew he was nervous as hell. And I’d spent a good two hours earlier this afternoon trying to fuck it out of him.
“He’ll do fine,” I said, finally spotting him in a cluster of Coppertians standing next to his favorite E. Winters painting.
“It was generous of you to take time out of your workweek to fix the display,” Tam continued, beaming at the way the art exhibition had come together. “The new lighting you installed looks amazing.”
It did. Especially because it lit up the man of the hour like he was a golden statue of love personified. His face was warmly lit as he gestured wildly around at several of his favorite pieces. Janice Plum looked on with rapt attention, clasping some kind of basket purse close to her chest. She’d claimed it was “representative of” a Passamaquoddy basket purse “from the same era as Elizabeth and Jean’s dear, brave love,” but I’d already heard Tam refer to it being a popular mini picnic hamper on sale at Costco over in Piermonte.
“Gonna be a good night,” I said to Tam before making a final beeline to Delaney. As soon as he saw me, his entire face lit up in a way that never failed to make my heart rate skyrocket.
“Here he is now,” Delaney said, eyes bright. “Brewer upgraded the display lighting for the entire exhibit. He volunteered for hours to make sure that everyone had a chance to see E. Winters’s work displayed as wonderfully as possible. Do you know there is a lighting quantity index for museum-level art displays? A study done at the National Museum of San Matteo in Pisa, Italy, showed that…”
As he continued to explain museum lighting theories to Janice, Hen Lattimer, Angela Ross, and a few people I didn’t know, I realized how often Delaney’s excitement and urge to connect with others was mistaken for intellectual snobbery or, more simply put, his being a know-it-all.
When we’d first met, I’d been put off by his constant quoting of “studies” because I’d thought he only used them to argue with me. But now that I knew him better, and I was aware of—and the lucky recipient of—his huge heart, I saw it more clearly.
He wanted others to experience the varied and rich world the way he did. If he learned something interesting that could improve someone’s experience, he wanted to share it.
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I love you so much,” I murmured too softly for anyone but him to hear.
The resulting splotchy pink that crept up his neck made me want to say many other things to him, too, just to see the red streak further down into his collar. But we were interrupted by my cousin.
“Hayes,” Delaney said. “Have you seen the lighting Brewer installed? He used energy-efficient?—”
“Don’t care,” Hayes grumbled before ignoring Delaney and glancing at me. “Can I crash in the attic for a while?”
I frowned at him. “What’s wrong with your place?” A quick glance around the room revealed his bestie was missing. “Where’s Kel?”
Guilt swamped me. I’d meant to follow up with either or both of them to see if they’d worked out Kel’s recent revelation, but then everything had happened with my father and Empire Ridge, prepping for the exhibition and settling into Delaney’s place for real, and I’d completely lost track.
Hayes’s shoulders were up around his ears. “He’s being super weird and won’t talk to me. I think… I think he’s mad at me.” He leaned in and lowered his voice until it sounded pitiful and small. “He’s gone back to independent sleeping.”
Delaney’s eyes bounced to mine. I’d told him about Kel’s visit, and we’d agreed to let Hayes and Kel sort things out for themselves. But now, I could see Delaney second-guessing our decision. He opened his mouth, no doubt to get involved, when I jumped in first.
“Talk to him, Hayes,” I urged softly. “You love him. Tell him you’re hurt and worried. Tell him you want to clear the air. Running away isn’t going to solve anything.”
Hayes’s eyes bugged out. “You’re telling me to stay and talk? That’s rich. Never mind. I’ll find my own place to stay.” He turned to walk away, but Delaney caught his elbow.
“Wait. Of course you can stay with us. But I agree with Brewer. Staying with us will only draw this out. You would never tell one of us to leave without talking things through, would you?”
Poor Hayes looked miserable. “Fine. Fine. But give me the key to the attic anyway, just in case?”
I pulled out my keys and slid the right one off the ring to give to him. “Take an allergy pill if you head over there. I haven’t had a chance to clean the dog hair out of that room yet.”
He grumbled and started walking away, a dejected slump to his shoulders.
“Hayes,” I called out. He stopped but didn’t turn around. “I love you, bro. Come find me if you need me, okay?”
I saw the edge of his lip quirk up as he held up a two-fingered peace salute.
Delaney slipped his hand into mine. “Look at you all up in your feelings. My stoic contractor’s come a long way from his grunting days.”
I met his eyes and lowered my voice again. “Seem to recall myself grunting once or twice a couple hours ago, Monroe.”
The red streaked down his neck into his collar. Bingo . “So you did,” he said in a higher-pitched tone. “So you did. And I, for one, am in favor of it. Never had a problem to begin with, quite frankly. In fact, I think we could probably afford to take a quick grunting break right n—” His eyes bulged as a woman I didn’t know stepped forward to greet us. “N-now, who’s this? Marjorie? What the heck are you doing here?”
I glanced at the woman I’d heard so much about. The woman whose voice had risen loud enough through the phone I could hear it from the other room when Delaney had insisted he’d really meant it when he’d told her he was done traveling far from home in pursuit of a story.
“I came to bring you a framed copy of the story as well as a few messages thanking you for writing it and finally exposing Empire Ridge to the public. Mardison-Solvey was especially grateful since they were in the midst of a liability trial against Empire. And the Ghazali family was over the moon. Apparently, their daughter was on the verge of turning down an opportunity to study abroad because of money, and your article returned their confidence in the future of their plumbing business. Once you figured out the Beatty Site Solutions piece and found their other fake layouts, Empire was toast. Well done as usual, Delaney. You’re my best and my favorite.” She beamed at him.
You can’t have him back , I wanted to blurt, but I kept my mouth shut. Delaney’s journalism career remained just as important to him even though he’d changed directions with it and was focused on stories closer to home. Still, I couldn’t help but worry I would lose him to the road one day, regardless of how many times he’d assured me he was mine for good.
Delaney’s relaxed smile reassured me. “Nice try, Marjorie. I’m not covering the broken dam story.”
“It’s in upstate New York!” she squawked. “Only a few hours from here by car. I don’t see why?—”
Delaney gestured around us. “This is why. See that woman in the painting? Her story was never told. And I’m in the process of telling it.”
“Why can’t you do both?” she asked. “Keep the money coming in while you work on the project of your heart. It’s a common enough tactic for writers.”
Delaney shook his head. “I don’t need the money coming in. I landed me a sugar daddy.”
I barked out a laugh, drawing attention from several Coppertians nearby. “Hardly,” I said. My arm snuck around his back and pulled him closer. “Although I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing anything I have with you. It’s not much in the end. My most recent client only paid me in sexual favors.”
Marjorie’s eyes lit with humor while other people’s eyes bulged in shock, not because of what I’d revealed—Delaney’s and my relationship was old news in O’Leary and Copper County—but because I’d been so casual about speaking of it publicly.
Delaney laughed up at me. “That’s not true. I paid you in cash money until you began refusing it. Then I had to get creative.” He lifted an eyebrow, reminding me of the “creative” things we’d done to each other the night I’d refused to take his final renovation payment. We’d spent hours closed inside the jam cupboard while I thrust many, many lessons about gratitude into him, and he’d sucked his frustration out of me.
“Creative,” I said, clearing my throat. “Yes.” Later, I might mention to him that creative was a near anagram for erotic cave . But there was only so far I would go right now in revealing our personal life in public.
While Delaney insisted jam cupboards didn’t need to be secret, they sure as hell needed to be private, especially on the odd Friday night.
I straightened my expression and offered a polite smile to Marjorie. “Has Delaney told you about the artist behind the exhibition tonight? About his discovery?”
“ Our discovery,” Delaney said, repeating a common refrain with a glare in my direction.
“Right. Our discovery,” I said softly. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “The first of many, hopefully.”
He stumbled over his words a little when he began telling Majorie about E. Winters and the paintings in the jam cupboard but eventually got on a roll. People moved closer to listen to him talk about the amazing artist behind the paintings and the lifelong love she had for her partner, Jean.
As I watched him hold court and share his passion for the story, I saw part of him come alive in a way I’d rarely seen when we’d first met last year.
Tam moved back over to me, this time bouncing little Tierney on her hip. Lucas wandered off to look more closely at the painting that featured the half-built observatory. Theo and Bennett had camped out near that one to answer questions about the observatory to anyone who wanted to know more since they lived there now.
“He’s in his element,” Tam said, tilting her head at Delaney as he launched into a timeline of E. Winters’s life in Copper County.
“Who would have thought?”
She laughed. “I knew he had it in him. The question was whether or not he’d let himself relax enough to realize it.” She glanced up at me. “He’s actually good with people. If he can get out of his own way and let go of his insecurity.”
I nodded. “I used to think he was a snob,” I admitted.
She laughed. “Oh, he is. Surely you’ve heard his lecture about why powdered tannins in wine are?—”
“A structural shortcut,” I finished the phrase with her with a chuckle. “Please don’t let him hear you, or he’ll start expounding on the use of Mega Purple in cheap domestic reds. Trust me, you do not want to get him started on Big Cab Sav.”
She nudged me with her shoulder. “I have to hide my boxed wine in a container that says ‘breast milk stuff’ just to keep him from discovering it.”
We watched him for a few more moments until Tam glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “Everything okay with you and your dad? Delaney warned me not to bring it up, but I can’t help but ask how you’re doing with all of this? Are you mad Delaney still wrote the story?”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Tam. I’m so fucking proud of Delaney I don’t know how to put it into words. He worked his ass off getting to the absolute truth of the situation and then presented it from all sides. Like a good journalist should. I would have been angry if he’d sat on it, and I would have been disappointed if he’d written it the original way he’d intended. But I also know he never would have done either one. He’s good at his job.”
“The best,” she said proudly.
I held out my index finger when Tierney reached for my necktie. Her tiny fist tightened around it. “As for my dad, things aren’t okay, and that’s okay. If that makes any sense. I finally met with him, after the story was published, and let him say everything he wanted to say. And then he let me say everything I needed to say. And nothing changed. As far as I’m concerned, we have closure. He’s not happy about it, but that’s not my problem. I suspect he was only trying to make nice with me to get me to come back to the family business and bring my trust money. And that’s not happening.”
Delaney threw his head back and laughed as Janice gestured with her wicker basket purse and nearly knocked the ladle out of a nearby punch bowl.
I glanced at Tam. “I’m using that money to help Delaney establish the permanent E. Winters collection in an art exhibition wing here in the library. Don’t tell him, though. Right now, I’m still negotiating with the head of the town council to get approval on the expansion before pitching the idea to Delaney. I know he wants to set up a permanent collection, but he hasn’t been able to find a place to properly care for it. With my trust fund, I can endow a foundation for local art like this here in town.”
Tam’s eyes filled as she looked at me. “That’s amazing. He’s going to freak out when you tell him. But he’s also going to insist on helping pay for it.”
I glanced back at the man I loved, holding court here in this quirky small town—a place neither of us thought we’d ever quite fit in. “I look forward to the negotiations with him. I’m sure we can get creative,” I murmured.
And later that week, in the warm lighting of our jam cupboard, we got very, very creative indeed.