Chapter 19 #2
He shows us around his garage, which is actually his artist’s studio.
It’s filled with wooden tables stacked high with plates and vases and bowls.
There are carvings made from wood and rock and molded from clay.
Tiny fish and birds with details so intricate you expect them to swim or fly away.
Abstract pieces with beauty drawn from delicate curves or stunning blends of color.
Every few steps, Marcus picks up a different piece to show us.
“The inspiration for this one came from a seashell I found on the beach.”
“I saw a squirrel just like this the other week. The little guy jumped right out in front of my truck.”
“My cousin Bert told me I couldn’t make a vase that felt like a summer night, and man, I proved him wrong.”
We wander for almost an hour before Marcus invites us back to his cottage for hot chocolate. “It’s an old family recipe,” he says, winking at me while tearing open a pack of Swiss Miss.
We sip our drinks around his kitchen table while a fire crackles in the old stone fireplace beside us.
“This is beautiful.” I lift my mug; it’s a stunning blend of ombre green, the handle shaped like one of the pine trees outside.
Marcus smiles at my compliment. “I did a whole series of those. They sell fairly well with the tourists. I kept all the ones where things went a little wonky.” He points at the imperfect shape of the tree trunk.
“The shops don’t like them, but to be honest, they’re my favorites.
The most beautiful parts of nature are found in the flaws.
I’ll send you home with one.” He leans back in his chair, dropping his feet on the stone hearth of the fireplace.
“So, do you live down there among the chaos with this one?” he asks me while clapping Reeve on the back.
It takes me a moment before I register that he’s asking if I live in Toronto.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Not yet.” Reeve taps my arm with his. “Jules lives in West Lake, but she will hopefully be in the city for school in September.”
“Hmmm.” Marcus raises a brow at me. “OCAD? Are you another artist?”
I try to imagine myself at the world-renowned art school. “No, U of T medical school.”
Marcus takes a sip of his hot chocolate, masking his expression.
“I moved down there once, back when OCAD opened. I was accepted into their inaugural class, ya know?”
I nod, impressed.
“Wasn’t the place for me,” he says, placing his mug down and pushing it away. “I didn’t even make it till Christmas. Too many people.”
I picture him in his wool socks and sweater and can’t imagine him in the city. I look down at my own North Face hoodie, bought secondhand and weathered with years of use, and wonder if I’ll fit in any better.
“Speaking of the city”—Reeve checks his watch—“I have got to head back there tonight, and it’s a bit of a drive, so we should probably get going.”
Marcus hugs us both goodbye. He and Reeve disappear while I put on my shoes, and when they return, Reeve has what looks like a wrapped vase in his arms. Marcus waves at us from the frame of his doorway as we make our way to the car through the light layer of snow that has fallen since we went inside.
Reeve starts the engine. He blasts the heat and insists I wait inside while he brushes off the windshield. When he finally joins me, the air has warmed enough that I can no longer see my breath.
“Thanks for coming with me,” he says, leaning across the center console.
“I like him,” I say. “I can see why you’re friends.”
Reeve smiles slowly, and I can tell he likes what I’ve just said. “He understands what I’m about, and when you find people in your life like that, you keep them close.”
We’re talking about Marcus. I know this. I’m the one who made the comment in the first place, but the way his eyes linger on my neck, my lips, and then my eyes, it makes me think we’re also talking about me.
And as if confirming that theory, he cups my cheek in his hand, pulling my head to his. I can smell the chocolate on his breath. “I hate that I have to go back tonight, but at least I don’t have to wait too long until…”
Until I’m in Toronto and we’re alone for an entire weekend.
He reaches for the zipper of my hoodie, his chilled fingers dragging along my skin, sending a shiver up my spine.
“Sorry,” he says. “They’re cold.” His nose skims along the curve of my neck. “And you’re so warm.”
He bends so his lips hover over the spot—his spot—just along my collarbone, the heat from his breath teasing the surface of my skin.
“Thursday,” I say as he finally places a kiss just there. Exactly where I want it.
“Thursday.” He kisses a tiny trail all the way to the corner of my mouth, where he kisses me again a little longer. A little harder.
I pull him closer. His hands slide under my shirt and up my back. Our tongues intertwine as my hands slide into his hair. I’m contemplating climbing up and over the console into his lap and am working out the logistics of my move when there’s a loud tap tap tap on his window.
Reeve lets go of me with a frustrated growl.
The sudden absence of his touch makes me acutely aware of the chill still lingering in the car.
He reaches over and tugs up the zipper of my hoodie with a grin that sends another wave of pulsating heat through me, before he turns and presses the button to roll the window down.
Marcus stands on the other side.
“I’m glad I caught you.” He holds up the green tree mug. “Didn’t want you to leave without this.” He hands it to Reeve, who sets it down in the cup holder.
“I just heard on the radio there’s some weather coming in later tonight,” Marcus says. “I’d get on the road sooner rather than later.” He taps the side of the car. “You kids be safe!”
Marcus lingers as Reeve rolls the window back up.
It becomes clear he intends to see us off.
I clip my seatbelt into the latch, and Reeve shifts the car into drive. He looks over at me, his foot still on the brake. “Thursday?”
I nod. “Thursday.”