“If you think you’d be safer hiding out here,” I started to offerautomatically.
She shook her head. “If I don’t come home, Celestine will panic. I don’t want to find out what she’d do then. To me and to anyone she finds me with.” She sucked in a breath. “It’s fine. I can do this. Like you said, just one moreday.”
I had said that, but as I waved her off, my throat felt even tighter than the crotch of myjeans.
At least one of those things I could fix. I ducked into the bathroom and brought myself over the edge with just a few strokes of my rigid cock and the thought of Rose moaning beneathme.
When I came out into the living room, the whole space felt more vibrant somehow. As if Rose had left some lingering brightness behind. Worry still nibbled at the edge of my mind, but otherwise my nerves were singing. My fingers itched to hold something a little more constructive than mydick.
I pushed past the door to my upstairs studio, what was meant to be the master bedroom with the largest of the second-floor windows. A piece that was only half-finished stood on the easel in the middle of the room. I’d been poking at the image last night but hadn’t managed to pull ittogether.
Now, stepping through the doorway, the blank space on the canvas struck me with a rush of revelation. In the back of my head I could suddenly see exactly how—if I brought the orange tones across here—deepened the purple that swirled through the lower edge—where was that clay I’d thought I might mix into some new work? Yes, yes, that was exactly what it needed. A smear here, a slap there. Rake the paintbrush through it. Building out and topplingdown...
When I stopped, my tacky hands falling to my sides, I was breathing hard. Fumes of oil and earth saturated my lungs. Staring at the picture I’d brought together made my heartsqueeze.
I hadn’t even known this wrenching beauty was what I’d meant to capture. The buildings I’d drawn roughly along the banks of a river bulged and melted down the bank. The sun burned through the haze to sear the water. The scene was ruined and breathtaking all atonce.
When was the last time I’d created something that made me feel thismuch?
My gaze drifted through the room, to the canvases leaning against the walls, ones I hadn’t chosen for display yet, others I’d been holding back for a larger auction. All work Ihadbeen proudof.
In comparison to the image I’d just pulled into being in the space of half an hour, all those pieces looked dull. Hollow. They showed the picture I’d tried to paint… and that was it. I’d been happy enough with them. I’d known I’d get compliments, buyers. But did they really stir anything inme?
Maybe they had when I’d constructed them. But not like this. Nothing likethis.
How had I started coasting on talent rather than pushing it harder, without evenrealizing?
Rose had helped me find my way back. I swallowed hard, swiping the back of my arm across my damp forehead. A tug of longing in my chest nagged at me to get her back here. Hell, to get her right inhere, to see her amid my work, to see what stirred in me then. I never let anyone come into the studio with me, buther…
I closed my eyes. I was getting too caught up. Rose was spectacular, I’d never doubted that. But I couldn’t make a decision about tying myself to another person—to four other people, really, if the other guys took her offer—for the rest of my life based on one ecstaticpainting.
I had time. There wasn’t any need to rush in. We could take more moments to… explore each other. Enjoy each other. I could see how I felt, how she felt, after more ofthat.
By the time I’d finished washing the paint and clay off my hands, the sink was streaked nearly as bright as the canvas was. I was rinsing the porcelain clean in turn when my phone rang where I’d left it in the living room. I gave my hands a hasty rub with the towel and jogged to getit.
It was my dad. “Hey,” I said. “How’s the recording going?” He’d been holed up with his latest rock star client laying down bass tracks for the last coupleweeks.
“Almost done,” Dad said in his usual jovial voice. “That’s why I’m calling. I just got a fantastic offer. One of the bands I worked with last year is hitting a bunch of the spring music festivals in South America and they want me along for theride.”
And he was so excited about that he’d needed to call me right away? “That’s great,” I said, not totally sure what to add. We might have had artistic temperaments in common, but sometimes I didn’t totally understand mydad.
“That’s not the point, Jin,” he said with a laugh. “It’s a very relaxed schedule, eight shows across a month. Lots of time to see the sights and enjoy the local scenery in between. I thought you might want to come withme.”
“Oh,” I said, with a weird twist of my gut. “When isthis?”
“We’d leave next week. I figured, the loose schedule you tend to keep, the short notice wouldn’t be too much of a problem? They only just asked me.” He paused, and his next words tumbled out faster. “It’s been a while since you hit the road with me—and we never did South America. It’d be good to spend some quality time with you again,kid.”
It had been a while. I should have been excited by the possibility. New places and cultures to absorb and pour back into my art—that was what I livedfor.
But all I could think of in that first instant was Rose. Rose and a month away from her, a month that might mean I lost her completely. I glanced back toward my studio, toward the work that had come to me in a burst of inspiration more intense than anything my jaunts with Dad had everprovoked.
Maybe I hadn’t been coasting at all. Maybe Rose simply woke up something deeper inmethan I would ever be capable on myown.
“Well, I…” I started, struggling to decide what tosay.
“If there’s some kind of conflict, let me know and maybe I can help you sort it out,” Dad jumped in. “I’ll be home for a few days before we’d need to take off on the touranyway.”
It hit me then: the desperate note in his voice. Dad was lonely. He wasn’t offering this only for my benefit—he was begging for thecompany.