7
“Your roommate let me borrow some clothes. Also, I remembered how to walk,” he said, setting a plate with a rolled omelet down on the counter. “And how to cook.”
“Clearly,” Blake said, staring at the omelet in amazement. He dropped his voice so that Ryan couldn’t hear. “That’s really good, though. It means that your memories are starting to come back on their own.”
After one of the more enjoyable breakfasts he’d had in several months, Blake took Marin out to the parking lot twenty minutes early to see if he could manage riding pillion.
He handed Marin his spare helmet before wincing at the long sheet of lavender hair that cascaded down his back.
“Yeah, might wanna braid that before you get on. It’s gonna go everywhere once we get on the freeway. ”
“Ah,” said Marin, turning to present Blake with his back. “Please do.”
“Oh, you want me to—?” Blake blinked, taken aback. He’d seen Marin braid his hair when he’d still been attached to the aft of the boat, so it stood to reason that he could do so again. Marin glanced over his shoulder, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
“Do you know how?” he asked, quirking a scarred brow.
“I… can do a basic braid,” Blake admitted, recognizing the flirtation for what it was.
Haltingly, Blake reached out and ran his fingers through Marin’s hair.
It looked like something out of a shampoo commercial—pale and shiny—and it glided through his fingers like silk.
Blake managed to braid it into a simple plait, securing the end with a spare hair tie Marin had pilfered from Ryan.
The simple action of touching someone else’s hair was unexpectedly intimate.
“There,” he said, settling the helmet down over Marin’s head. “You should be good.”
“Thanks,” Marin said, approaching Blake’s Kawasaki. He cocked his head, peering at it this way and that. “You put it between your legs, right?”
That’s one way to phrase it , Blake thought before mentally punching himself. Making innuendo the first thing in the morning probably wasn’t the ideal way to start the day.
“Y-yep, that’s the gist of it,” he choked, trying his best to conceal his flush. “Here, it might be easier if I get on first—oh.”
Marin mounted the Ninja with ease, grabbing the handles and turning his hand as if he were revving the throttle. “Like this?”
“Yeah, just like that,” Blake said, stunned.
Then, to his complete and utter shock, Marin said, “1980 Ducati Super Short.”
“Excuse me?” Blake blinked, mouth hanging agape.
“Sorry, it popped into my head.” Marin smiled at him.
“No, don’t apologize, that’s a good bike,” Blake told him, waving his hands at Marin in dismissal. “That’s… I wasn’t expecting you to say that. It makes me wonder if you had one in your first life, you know?”
Marin shrugged, as nonchalant as ever. “Who knows?”
Who knew, indeed? Blake made a mental note to text Celeste about it later. Maybe it was another lead they could go off of.
Marin scooted back onto the bike, allowing Blake to climb on. He easily secured his arms around Blake’s middle, peering up at him from over his shoulder. Through the visor, a bright, toothy smile worked its way onto his face, eyes flashing with excitement as he met gazes with Blake.
So cute… Blake thought, fighting the warmth that inched its way across the bridge of his nose.
He tried to ignore the way that Marin’s warm, soft body pressed eagerly into his back, attempting to reorient his attention onto the road. He didn’t want to end up crashing because he was distracted by a handsome guy clinging to him.
“You ready?” he asked. Marin squeezed around his middle. The merman’s chin tapped into Blake shoulder several times as he nodded, eager.
“Yeah,” Marin assented, tone laced with anticipation.
Blake did several laps around the block to make sure that Marin had the hang of it and only when he was absolutely certain that the merman had no risk of falling off did he head towards the freeway.
It was a nice change, having someone to ride along with him.
Matt almost never did so after getting his own ride, and it was a gentle reminder to be a little extra cautious in traffic.
They arrived at Lakeside Art Studio shortly after opening.
It was located in an old industrial park down the street from Folsom Lake, the mural covering its exterior setting it apart from the other businesses.
It displayed a stretch of the waterside, all rich green and red trees curved around a lake slashed through with golden ripples.
Marin jumped off the bike the moment Blake parked, his eyes glowing with delight as he pressed his hand against the front of the building.
“This is gorgeous!” he marveled. “It looks like it was painted to mimic an encaustic mural—that sort of craftsmanship takes a lot of talent!”
“What does ‘encaustic’ mean?” Blake asked as he removed his helmet, curiosity piqued. Thankfully, it appeared that Celeste’s suggestion had been working—getting Marin out and about was awakening all sorts of familiarity in him. It was quite clear that he was very knowledgeable about art.
“It’s a form of painting using molten wax,” Marin explained. He gestured towards a small hole intentionally painted into the image, revealing the bare wall beneath. “On an actual encaustic, this would be where the wax had been scraped away over time.”
“That is impressive,” Blake agreed, leaning in to observe the detail. “I’ve always really appreciated when art uses one medium to mimic another. You really seem to know your stuff—that’s another great lead.”
“Thank you.” Marin beamed back at him before inquiring in excitement: “Are you an artist?”
Blake laughed and shook his head. “Nah, just an appreciator. I’ve always had a thing for art since I was a teenager—my foster dad was an illustrator.”
Marin was sparkling with enthusiasm at this point, his dark eyes agleam. “That’s so exciting—I’d love to see some of his work!”
“I’ll pull some up for you when we’re finished here.” Blake smiled, directing a warm gaze at the merman.
“I’d like that,” Marin told him before taking Blake’s hand and turning towards the entrance proper. Blake flushed at the sudden, unexpected intimacy, but made no attempt to pull his hand back.
Blake held the door open for him and stepped inside of the studio.
Inside, the space was decorated with the artwork of students and instructors alike.
Everything from colorful tile mosaics on the walls to clumsy—yet loving—clay renditions of animals occupied the shelves and walls.
Two large glass windows took up the majority of the space on two walls; one allowed onlookers to peer into a room filled with kilns and another into a sun-dappled ceramics studio.
Within, a woman looked up from her project as Marin approached the viewing window, craning his head to get a better look.
He really does seem interested in art , Blake thought. It’ll be a good angle to jog his memories, and he looks so happy here besides. Maybe if I broke into my emergency fund, I could afford to—
Wiping her hands on her apron, the woman from the studio stepped through the open doorway and greeted them with a warm smile, “Hi there! Are you guys here for open studio hours?”
“Hi, uh…” Blake began, not quite sure how to broach the topic. “Sorry if this is weird, but I had a question for you.”
“No question is too weird in an art studio.” The woman laughed, leaning one elbow against the wall. “Shoot.”
Blake reached into his pocket, taking out his phone and bringing up the photo of the vase that Celeste had texted him earlier that morning. “I was actually curious if you were familiar with this vase?”
“We saw your logo on the wall in the back of the picture and wanted to come in and get a better look at it,” Marin explained.
She stepped over to Blake, glancing down at his phone and squinting in thought. For a terrifying moment, Blake was concerned that she didn’t recognize it—before an expression of familiarity crossed her features at long last.
“Oh yeah! I think we still have that one on display in the gallery if you wanna come take a look,” she said with a smile.
She headed off towards a door in the back, beckoning them with a wide sweep of her arm.
Blake and Marin followed her into a spacious side room that looked as if it had once been a garage.
One half was dedicated to an extensive gallery full of carvings, sculptures, and ceramics, while the other was sectioned off for a workspace occupied by a handful of larger projects that were halfway complete.
Marin immediately gravitated towards a hand-carved carousel horse mid-transformation into a robot.
“This is amazing!” Marin marveled, craning his head to peer at the horse from every conceivable angle. “Is this Gundam-inspired?”
I’m going to have to start taking notes about everything he knows, Blake thought, taking out his phone to do so.
“No idea.” The woman helping them grinned. “The guy that restores those usually comes in on the weekends to work, if you wanna ask him. He’s a real treasure let me tell ya—aha! Here’s your vase, my guy.”
She stopped in front of a corner display, gesturing for Blake to look.
It looked different from the photo, like its placement had been rearranged.
The vase was surrounded by dozens of wooden carvings of bears, and several other smaller ceramics—the majority of which were painted with the visage of an elegant woman, or featuring thick groves of apple trees.
“Looks like the previous owner rearranged these by artists awhile back,” the woman was saying. She knelt down so that she was at eye level with a small plaque. “All these were made by a ‘Paul Aberley’ between 2006 and 2010.”
“Are you familiar with him?” Blake asked, crouching beside her. To his disappointment, the plaque bore nothing more than the artist’s name, the materials, and dates—not even the names of the pieces were listed.