Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
CALLIOPE
This is crazy. I must be insane to follow him into the barn after what I just found, but the truth is I desperately want an explanation that will let me believe him. The way he makes me feel isn’t something I want to let go of, especially after how wonderful last night was.
The barn is cool and smells faintly of hay and horses, despite the fact it contains neither and clearly hasn’t for a long time. It’s been renovated into a large open space in front and smaller rooms on the back end.
He enters one of the smaller rooms, and I hesitate at the doorway, looking around. A camera is rigged up on the ceiling, pointed at an easel that contains a sheet draped canvas. He removes the sheet to display a drawing of cupped hands filled with water hovering over a creek. Stunned, I stare at the amazing detail. The river rocks look like you could pluck them off the canvas, and the water somehow seems to flow on the page. There’s something familiar about it. Something I can’t put my finger on, but it feels like I’ve seen it before.
My muscles tense and my stomach falls into my feet when Arlow turns his back and pulls a light gray hooded mask over his head. Confusion and fear battle inside me, sending me back a few steps. Why is he covering his face? I’m a half second away from running like hell when he turns, and comprehension strikes me.
The hooded mask that fits like a second skin and the round glasses are instantly recognizable. “You’re Nameless.”
This is why he doesn’t allow anyone in his barn. He said he likes to keep his art projects private, but that wasn’t strictly true. He shares them anonymously. I gape at him, trying to wrap my head around what he’s just revealed as he removes the glasses and mask.
Arlow is Nameless, one of the most well-known artists in the world, due to his unmatched talent at photorealist and hyperrealist drawings, his social media channels that allow the audience to watch him create the masterpieces, and the mystery that surrounds his identity.
His posture is rigid, and he brings his hand to the back of his neck. “Nobody knows except my family and a broker that helps me sell at auction and to galleries.”
The real depth of the power he’s given me sinks in—the trust he’s placing in me not to give away his secret. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I know it doesn’t excuse me following you like that, but I want you to see and understand. I explained before how random things stand out or scream at me to be drawn sometimes. It’s never happened with a person before, and I didn’t stop to think or consider what I was doing. Or how alarming and terrifying it would be for you to discover.”
“We didn’t meet by chance in the orchard. You followed me.”
His throat contracts on a hard swallow before he nods. “That was the last time I did. The decision to talk to you was impulsive, and I went about it in the worst possible way, approaching you in such an isolated place. When you took off, I felt terrible about how badly I scared you.”
My mind churns trying to grasp these new discoveries. Yes, I was being stalked through the woods but not for nefarious reasons. My neighbor turned friend who not six hours ago had his face buried between my legs is actually a famous artist that I’ve followed for years online. All those nights I wondered what he was up to in this barn, he was live streaming and drawing.
I don’t work a conventional job . I guess not since I recently saw one of his works go for over a million at auction.
Through the swirl of emotions that I’m trying to wrangle, a mirthless chuckle escapes me when I realize why the cupped hands drawing in front of me looks familiar. “I watched you start on this. The first week I moved in.”
It’s his turn to be surprised. “You follow me?”
“Well, not through the fucking woods like you did me, but online, yeah,” I scoff.
Relief starts to leak into his pinched face. “There’s another project I want you to see.” He leads the way out of the room and into the next one that has an identical setup. It’s apparent he has multiple projects in different stages of completion that he films or streams live from different rooms.
He rubs his fingers over his lips. “I want you to know that I haven’t shown this publicly and won’t without your permission. I recorded the process but didn’t livestream and nothing has been posted.”
The sheet is pulled away from a canvas half my size and my breath catches in my throat. In painstaking detail is a drawing of me lying on the log beside the bonfire. I’m looking up at the stars, one side of my face glowing in firelight, my hair flowing to nearly touch the ground. Thin gray smoke almost appears to be moving in the wind. It’s the same way the water felt in his creek drawing. I’m stunned beyond words at how he’s portrayed me.
The silence must be more than he can bear because my name comes out in a whisper. “Calliope. Say something.”
“You’ve made me so…beautiful.”
“I didn’t make you anything, I only showed it. Only a fraction of who you are could ever be embodied in any work. You’re my muse.”
My heart leaps in my chest, swelling with hope. Maybe I’m reading too much into that statement because my feelings are getting too strong to be ignored. The only reason he’s given for wanting to know me is that I inspire him to draw, but the soft way he treats me, the passionate night we had, it must be more than that, right?
“That’s why you want to be around me?” I clarify, fighting to keep my voice even. “Because it helps you draw?”
He walks toward me with an adamant shake of his head. “No, I want to be around you because you’re amazing. You’re sweet and smart and fun. I love talking to you. The way we can spend an entire night talking about everything and nothing, I’ve never had that sort of connection with anyone before. You don’t just shine, Calliope, you blind me with it.”
His words steal my breath and nearly bring tears to my eyes.
It’s unfortunate how often men ruin things by continuing to talk. “Please say you forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for following you in the beginning. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry for letting last night happen—as fucking perfect as it was.”
It feels like my entire body deflates, and I have to swallow before speaking. “You regret last night?”
“I regret letting things go too far between us when I can’t be with you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I’m grateful for the excuse not to answer him, to look away. “My friends are here.”
“Calli…”
Looking into his eyes, I find a matching pain there. “I have to go. We have a long drive.” When I turn to rush out of the barn, he follows, locking it behind us.
I’m surprised to see Leo’s RV sitting in Arlow’s driveway instead of mine. He, Freya, and Calvin all climb out, excited to see me. It’s been too long since our last concert together.
“I told you it was this place, not that creepy ass cabin!” Leo announces as Freya hugs me. “She swore I had the wrong house.”
“You do, actually. I was just talking to my neighbor. I do indeed live in the creepy ass cabin,” I inform him, hugging him as everyone laughs.
Calvin points at me and we both shout, “Cal!” before he charges at me, lifting me off my feet with a hug. It’s a silly joke on our names that always makes the others roll their eyes but never gets old. God, it’s good to see them.
“How are you?” he asks, placing me back on my feet.
My brain is pure chaos and I’m losing my shit in a stunning number of ways. “I’m great. I can’t wait to get going. Who’s riding with me?”
There’s room enough for all four of us in Leo’s RV but they’ll be heading off to another festival after this one, and if I drive separately, they won’t have to bring me home.
“I am,” Cal announces, pulling a bag out of Leo’s passenger seat and slinging it over his back. “I made a killer playlist with every band that we’re going to see this week.”
Leo looks past me and nods. “How’s it going?”
I didn’t realize Arlow was standing behind us until Leo addressed him.
Arlow gives him a nod back, then regards me. Words form and die on his lips multiple times before he mumbles, “Have a safe trip.” He doesn’t look back as he returns to his house.
“What was that about?” Cal asks before we even make it out of the driveway. “Your neighbor looked like he wanted to bury me in that graveyard. Are you seeing him or something?”
“No. We’re…friends.” Are we? I’m not sure about anything anymore. “He’s just not very social.” I nod toward the screen on my dash. “Connect your phone and let’s hear that killer playlist.”
“Hell yeah.”
This is what I need to clear my head. Music and time away. It may not give me any answers, but for a while, I just want to forget. Forget being followed through the woods. Forget busted windows and stolen ATVs and ashes that still need to be dumped. Forget the confusing man who goes from wanting me to wanting me at arms length. For a few days, I want to let it all go and have fun with friends I likely won’t see again until spring.
The rock and blues festival is the biggest of its genre in the country and the one I look forward to the most every year. It’s four straight days of some of my favorite bands along with a lot of newer and smaller artists. Alcohol flows constantly. There are too many delicious food choices to choose from. Just the energy of all the people together, hyped to see our favorites, is such an uplifting experience.
My mind is a mess on the drive but once I get into the crowd with music filling my ears and the drums rattling my chest, everything fades away. This is exactly what I need. We stay in a nearby hotel and exhaustion has me passing out the second my head hits the pillow every night.
It isn’t until the third evening that thoughts of Arlow drill their way through the wall of avoidance I constructed. The last band plays, and the soulful sound of the singer’s voice brings tears to my eyes. Stars shine overhead and all I can think is that Arlow would love this.
I make my way out of the crowd and wind through the blankets and chairs scattered over the back lawn section until I find a quiet spot. Tomorrow is our last day and then it’s time to return to reality.
The reality is that I’m falling for a man who simply doesn’t feel the same way about me. I know he enjoys spending time with me, and our chemistry is undeniable, but he doesn’t want anything more. Whether it’s the ex, a fear of commitment in general, or that I’m just not the one for him, his reasons don’t matter. The outcome is the same. So is the decision I need to make.
The truth is I’m not sure I can be his friend. Not right now. It’s not that he followed me in the woods or that I don’t trust him. I feel too much. His regret over kissing me stung. His regret over our passionate night of mind-blowing sex is devastating. The morning after, I tried to tell myself that even if it was a one time thing, I’d be okay with it, but now I don’t know if I can be.
“Hey girl.” Freya’s aunt Helen sits down beside me in the grass. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just needed a break.”
“You look like you’re going to burst into tears. What happened? Did somebody mess with you?”
“No, nothing happened.”
Helen is one of the most interesting people I know. She was a psychiatrist for over twenty-five years. A self-described hippie, she has always made time for concerts and festivals. After retiring in her fifties, she decided she was going to do the thing she loved most, watching her favorite bands. She’s laidback and such an easy person to talk to that when she tilts her head to look at me, the words spill out. “I’m falling in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”
Her face softens and she nods, pulling a tissue out of her bag to hand to me when a tear leaks out. “I’m sorry.”
“Happens all the time, right?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light as if that might change things. “So why does it feel like the world is ending?”
“Because love is a world all its own and the end of any world is tragic. Do you want to tell me about him?”
For the next ten minutes, I let it all pour out. Meeting Arlow, spending all our nights together, how I fell in love with nature along with him. I tell her he’s an artist, and even about the drawings he did of me, how he followed me, but not about his identity. Helen is a smart empathetic woman who counseled people and couples for most of her life. If I want her genuine opinion or input, she needs to know as much as I can tell her.
“An artist,” she says with a nostalgic smile. “No wonder he has you in knots. The creative types are always a challenge. They worship love like no other, but they live in their heads and it’s not always a good place to be.”
“I’ve never met anyone like him. Kind and gentle but with this rugged masculinity that’s irresistible. There’s this silent stillness in him that’s so calming.” My mind flashes back to him thrusting into me, his hands biting into my hips. “And it’s the best sex I’ve ever had, oh my god,” I exclaim, letting my head fall back with a laugh. Just getting it all off my chest has made me feel better.
Helen chuckles and pulls her jacket around her tighter. “In my experience, the calm kind-hearted guys are wild in the bedroom and savagely protective if you’re in danger. Quiet hearts are soaked in love, and the passion that comes from them can be addictive.”
“You sound like you had your own artist.”
A fond smile accompanies her nod. “The first man I loved was a painter. The last was a musician. None of the men between could even come close.”
“I’m not sure what to do. He’s been honest with me from the first time I kissed him that he doesn’t want to be with me, but then we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other. Is it even possible to be friends at this point? I want to think that I can set stricter boundaries and not lose him completely, but I don’t know. Tonight, I miss the fuck out of him.”
Helen rubs my shoulder. “I can’t tell you what to do, but if you want my advice, I think you need some space. It’s only been a couple of days. Do you have to go home tomorrow? Are there responsibilities you need to get back to?”
“I suppose not.”
“Don’t go back because you miss him. Give yourself a little time and get some perspective. We’re going to be traveling for the next couple of weeks, hitting the last of the festivals and a few concerts. Stick with us.”
There’s no job I need to return to and no reason not to go with them. No reason other than how badly I want to see Arlow. But then what? Try not to want him the way I do?
“Do you think a platonic friendship is possible when one person feels more?”
Helen considers it. “Feels more? Maybe. Love is a different monster.”
We stand up as our friends approach us. “Thanks for the talk. I’d love to hear about your artist and musician sometime.”
“Stick with us and I might even give you the details.” She grins at me. “And they are scorching. My musician was a master with his instrument.”
“What are you two laughing about?” Leo asks.
“Musician dick,” Helen says, and both of us crack up.
It’s late when we get back to the hotel but I’m not tired enough to sleep. Instead, I go online to look at the concerts on the itinerary Helen gave me in case I decide to keep traveling with them. A couple are sold out but there are resale tickets available that aren’t ridiculously priced. The last concert is eighteen days away.
Eighteen days of laughing and hanging out with friends, of trying different restaurants along the way, of camping in their RV some nights and staying in hotels on others. Eighteen days to try to get over this feeling that my heart is being slowly peeled like an onion.
Decision made. Once I order my tickets and snuggle down in bed, I’m finally able to sleep.
We wake up to torrential rain and a sharp drop in temperature on the final day of the festival.
“They’re delaying for two hours as of now,” Leo says. The four of us sit around a table in a coffee shop. It’s right across the street from the venue and filled with other concertgoers trying to decide whether to wait it out or not.
Freya holds up her phone with her weather app open. “The forecast isn’t looking good. I don’t think the rain is going anywhere. We could go ahead to Florida and have a couple of days on the beach before the Rock on the Water Festival.” The rest of the festivals and outdoor concerts on our list are in the far south where it’s still warm.
“What do you all think?” Helen asks.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Leo says, and the others agree.
I nod and sip my coffee. “Let’s do it. I need to stop along the way to shop for some clothes and a swimsuit. I didn’t think I’d be gone this long.”
“I’m so excited you decided to come!” Freya exclaims. “I’m riding with you today.”
“Me too,” Helen adds.
Freya beams at me. “Girl’s day!”
After finding a hotel online and making a reservation, we agree to meet there tonight, then split up for the drive that takes nearly seven hours. The guys beat us there since we stop at a few stores along the way, but I’m all set to travel with them now.
It feels so amazing to wake up to the sight of sunlight twinkling on the ocean from my hotel balcony.
After breakfast, we all hit the beach, and I send Silver a picture of my view with a text.
Me: Change of plan. I won’t be back for a couple of weeks.
My phone rings seconds later and she exclaims, “What the hell? Where are you?”
“Florida today, but I’m going to travel with my friends for a bit and go to a few more concerts before I come back.”
“You lucky bitch! It looks amazing. It’s freezing here.” She pauses for a few seconds. “Are you staying away because of that guy in the woods?”
No, because of a completely different guy in the woods.
“No, I need some space from Arlow.”
“Did something happen?”
So much has happened, and it sucks I can’t tell her everything. “I may have fucked the hell out of him the night before I left.”
Her laughter makes me smile. “And now you want to avoid him, yeah, I get that.”
“I take it you haven’t had a second round with Lee?”
“No way. The last thing I need is another man right now. What happened with Arlow? Was it…not good?”
“It was so damn good,” I sigh.
“And…”
“And then he told me he regretted it and now my head is all messed up.”
“Ugh! Why are they all like this?”
Digging my feet into the sand, I tilt my head back, letting the sun warm my cheeks. “I don’t know, but I’m not stressing over it for now. I’m going to get nice and tan, drink too many margaritas, and have fun.”
“Girl yes! Live your best life and send me pictures. Don’t play his damn games. You deserve better.” She mumbles something to someone in the background before returning to the conversation. “Mom says hi and to ask if you’ll bring her a magnet from Florida. She collects each state.”
“Absolutely. How are things there? Everything work out with having Charlotte back?”
“It’s like she never left. We’re good. Don’t worry about anything here. Go have fun. Get some selfies with a hot beach guy and I’ll accidentally send it to Arlow.”
Laughter spills out of me. She really is the best. “You’re crazy.”
I haven’t heard from Arlow since I left but minutes after talking to Silver, I get a text.
Arlow
I know you’re pissed at me. Can we talk tonight once you’re back?
As much as I miss him right now, I’m doing the right thing. Sparing my heart. Because just seeing his name on the screen makes my chest ache.