by Alexa Land
“Will do. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”
Ignacio led me to Chinatown, which as always was bustling with both locals and tourists. As we left the main thoroughfare and window-shopped on a quieter side street, he said, “I love it here. It’s like being back in Shanghai. Well, one older part in particular. A lot of it’s very built-up and modern, but some neighborhoods are just like this.” He gestured at an apothecary shop with golden lettering on the glass. The window display included a lot of spices and teas, which were heaped in wooden boxes inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“You’ve been to China?”
“Yeah. I spent almost a year backpacking through Asia when I was in my early twenties.”
“How could you afford that?”
He shrugged and said, “I took odd jobs wherever I found them, camped out a lot, hitchhiked, and ate cheaply from street vendors. Even with airfare, it cost me less than renting an apartment in the states would have.”
“What kind of jobs?”
“Seasonal work, mostly. I harvested soybeans in Japan and sweet potatoes in Vietnam, and for a week, I worked on an aquaculture farm in China’s lower Yangtze valley, where I cleaned out enormous tanks and was paid under the table, partly in dried fish. But only for a week. The smell of those tanks was something else.” He wrinkled his nose, which was very cute.
“Not exactly glamorous work.”
“No. But I didn’t travel because I wanted to be a tourist and take pretty pictures.”
I watched him for a few moments before asking, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
He seemed surprised by the question, but then he smiled and said, “No one ever asked me that. I think I did, eventually.”
“What did you find?”
“Me. I think that’s why most people with wanderlust travel the way we do. We want to learn about the world, but we also want to discover ourselves. I was so lost in my teens and early twenties. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to be a painter, but I needed to figure out who I was and what really mattered to me. I gained a lot of perspective during my travels.”
“I admire you for doing that.”
He picked up my hand and kissed my knuckle, then said, “Let’s keep walking. The best restaurant in the city is right at the end of this street.”
I was skeptical, especially when he took me to an unmarked door and we cut through a cramped, greasy-looking kitchen. Ignacio greeted the restaurant owner by name, which I was beginning to realize was a thing with him, and they shook hands and chatted in Mandarin like old friends before we were led to a little table beside a fake window. There were no actual windows in the restaurant, so someone had gotten the idea to make pretend ones, in the form of large shadow boxes inset into the walls. The boxes were lit from within and housed weird little gardens of dusty, plastic flowers, and they were so quirky that they put a smile on my face.
As we settled in, I turned my attention from the ‘view’ and told Ignacio, “You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met, hands down. I can’t believe you speak Mandarin, and that you somehow knew about this place. I also love the fact that you’re friends with people everyplace we go.”
“I happen to think you’re pretty extraordinary yourself.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at that, because compared to him, I was as extraordinary as a wet sock. Instead, I looked around and asked, “No menus?”
Ignacio shook his head. “Mr. Zhang is just going to bring us whatever his cooks are making today. Everyone is served the same thing.”
I glanced around the restaurant. All the other patrons were Chinese, and I had no idea what was on their plates. It looked like a thick, brown stew over rice, and it smelled delicious. I turned back to Ignacio and grinned. “You probably would’ve ordered for me anyway, so really, this is just a variation on that theme.”
“I only did that once!”
“But I could tell from the way you did it that it was going to become a thing with you.”
He chuckled at that and said, “Possibly.”
The restaurant owner swung by our table to drop off a couple of bottles of Tsingtao beer before going to check on our lunch. I raised a toast to Ignacio and said, “To you, and to the best Friday ever.”
He clinked his bottle to mine and took a drink before saying, “Thanks for letting me lead the way. You’ve been a good sport about all my random ideas.”
“Letting you lead was obviously the right call.” Mr. Zhang returned just then and put a heaping plate of food in front of each of us. I thanked him, then asked, “What’s in this?”
The man answered me in Mandarin, then smiled and said, “Ignacio can translate that for you after you eat it. Enjoy.”
He hurried off to assist another table, and I picked up my chopsticks and cautiously tried a bite of…whatever. It was absolutely delicious, and I said, “If this is something weird, I don’t want to know.” Ignacio just grinned at me.
Chapter Seven
After lunch, we resumed our walk and eventually ended up at an art gallery owned by one of Ignacio’s friends. We paused on the sidewalk, and I looked up at the 1960s-modern, two-story structure and said, “This is beautiful.” Elegant metal letters spelled out ‘C.R. Andrews Gallery’ above the doorway, and most of the ground floor walls were glass, offering a glimpse of the artwork inside.
“It really is. Christopher and his husband Kieran bought the building three months ago, and this will be the first time I’m seeing it all set up. It’s twice the square footage of their original gallery, and they have a spacious apartment upstairs. I’m so happy for them. They deserve this success.”
We climbed the steep staircase to the front door. On either side of us, the sloped front yard was covered with some sort of low-growing shrub that was dotted with tiny white flowers. The building stood apart from its neighbors on top of the small hill, and a driveway wound around to the left and ended in a parking lot, which was unusual for San Francisco.
A soft chime went off when we stepped through the door, and a slender blond stuck his head around the corner of a white partition near the back of the building. The partitions were repeated throughout the space and held paintings by different artists. I immediately recognized Ignacio’s work right at the front of the gallery.
The blond yelled, “Iggy!” Then he jogged across the room and grabbed Ignacio in a hug. He’d been wearing a pale blue bandana to hold back his unruly curls, which matched his T-shirt and jeans, and it fell off when the two men embraced. I stooped to pick it up as he exclaimed, “You didn’t tell me you were back!”
“I flew in late last night to surprise Cameron.” When they let go of each other, Ignacio said, “Christopher Robin Andrews, this is Cameron Doyle, the guy I was telling you about. Or have you already met, since you’re both friends with the Dombrusos?”
I shook hands with Christopher, then handed him his bandana as I said, “You look familiar. Maybe we’ve seen each other at one of Dante’s massive family functions.”
As if on cue, Dante stepped around the partition at the back of the building and quipped, “Dante’s massive what now?” My friend looked sophisticated as always in his black-on-black tailored pants and dress shirt, and he strode through the gallery with his usual bold confidence. “Good lord, did you actually leave work early, Doyle? I thought that was against your religion.”
“It took surprisingly little arm-twisting to convince him to play hooky,” Ignacio said, as he draped his arms around my shoulders. “Nice to see you, Dante.”
“You too. Ollie’s going to be happy to hear you’re back,” Dante said. “He and Christopher have been scheming about a one-man show for you. My grandmother keeps trying to get in on the planning, and as usual, her ideas are less than conventional. How do you feel about reptiles?”
Ignacio smiled at that and said, “Generally speaking, I’m pro-reptile. How about you, Cameron?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever formed a strong op
inion about them.” A thought occurred to me, and I asked, “Were reptiles involved in our lunch? Those pieces of meat were on the long and thin side.”
Ignacio shook his head. “Eels aren’t reptiles.” Then his eyes went wide, and he blurted, “Oops, you didn’t want to know what was in that dish.”
Dante raised a brow and asked me, “You ate eel, and you’re ditching work? What have you done with my friend Cameron Doyle?”
I said, “That eel was delicious. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”
Dante muttered, “Yeah, because that might happen.”
“Come on back to my studio, guys,” Christopher said. “We’re right in the middle of a painting lesson.”
As we headed to the far right corner of the gallery, I asked Dante, “You’re learning to paint? It’s literally impossible to picture that.”
“Oh hell no,” he said. “I have no talent or patience for stuff like that. My son has to do a painting for school, so Christopher was nice enough to offer his expertise. I came along for moral support, since Jayden was pretty intimidated by this assignment.”
It made me happy to hear him use the word ‘son’. Dante and his husband Charlie were foster parents to two teenage brothers. It hadn’t been an easy transition, partly because the older boy didn’t trust anyone, especially where his kid brother was concerned. But over the past several months, they’d slowly been learning to be a family, and Dante and Charlie had begun the adoption process to make it official.
Christopher’s sunny studio was at the very back of the building. The walls were glass, and wide doors were open to a deck and a narrow yard. Beyond that was a sharp drop-off, and in the distance was a jaw-dropping view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin headlands. I mentally bumped up my estimate of how much that place must have cost.
Jayden was a short, African-American fifteen-year-old with glasses and stubby dreadlocks, who looked a lot younger than his age. He stood at an easel with his back to the view, and he shot me a look and said, “You totally blew off dinner last night, Cam. That’s not cool. Charlie and I made lasagna.”
I said, “I’m sorry, Jayden.”
“Don’t apologize. Just show up next time.”
“I will. So, how’s the painting coming?”
I took a step toward the canvas, which was facing away from us, and the kid threw his arms out to the sides and acted as a human shield as he exclaimed, “It’s horrible, don’t look at it!”
Ignacio gestured at a bowl of fruit on a nearby table and asked, “Are you painting a still-life?”
“Yeah, and it looks totally dumb. I tried to paint the view of the Golden Gate Bridge first, but it was all jacked up, so we switched to this.” He turned to Christopher and said, “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I tried to tell Dante I couldn’t do this, but he said I had to give it a shot. I just need to take the ‘F’ on this assignment.”
“Your painting’s not bad at all,” Christopher said.
The kid muttered, “It’s not good, either.”
“I think I’m just not the right teacher for you. Ignacio’s impressionistic style is very different from the way I paint, and you said you loved his work. Maybe he could give you some pointers.” Christopher glanced at Ignacio with a pleading look in his blue eyes.
“I’d be glad to help,” Ignacio said. “May I please see your painting, Jayden?”
The boy reluctantly stepped to the side, and Ignacio circled around the canvas, which he studied for a moment before saying, “This shows a lot of potential, but you know what else it shows?” Jayden shook his head, and Ignacio said, “That you’re not very excited about the subject matter.”
The kid said, “Well, no. It’s a painting of fruit. How could anyone get excited about that?”
“Let’s start again with a more inspiring subject, okay? Christopher, can we look around for something to paint?” As Ignacio was talking, Jayden quickly swapped out the canvas for a blank one and hid his painting by leaning it face-down against the wall.
Christopher said, “Of course. Go on up to the apartment, maybe you’ll find something there.”
Ignacio flashed me a smile, and then he and Jayden hurried to the staircase in the opposite corner of the building. I turned to Christopher and said, “Congratulations on your new gallery. It’s spectacular.”
He looked around and smiled. “Thanks. I still can’t believe it’s ours. And really, it’s all thanks to Dante. He hosted my debut art show a few years ago, and then he leased us the building that housed our first gallery. Kieran and I are forever grateful.”
Dante waved his hand dismissively. He was terrible at taking compliments. “You were going to succeed with or without me. Your paintings are phenomenal, which is why they’re in high demand. Speaking of your husband, do you think he and Charlie are buying out the entire electronics store? One of us probably should have gone along to act as the voice of reason.”
It was such a clumsy attempt at changing the subject away from himself that I had to grin. Dante turned to me and added, “Christopher and his husband are fixing up the apartment on the second floor. We somehow got on the subject of entertainment systems, and technology junkie Charlie got Kieran all hyped up on the idea of a home theater set-up with surround sound. They’ve been gone over two hours.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said as I headed into the gallery. “Excuse me for a minute, I want to take a look at Ignacio’s paintings.”
Christopher and Dante both followed me into the gallery, and I glanced at the slim blond and asked, “Does Ignacio really talk about me?”
“Literally every time we’re on the phone,” Christopher said with a smile. “I called him in Barcelona a few times to try to hammer out some details for the one-man show Ollie and I are trying to put together for him, and all I heard was Cameron this, and Cameron that. He’s really taken with you.”
The three of us stopped in front of a five-foot-wide painting of a tropical street lined with candy-colored houses, and I muttered, “God knows why. He’s traveled the world and speaks six languages, including Mandarin Chinese, and he makes friends literally everywhere he goes. That’s all on top of being a talented artist, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. Seriously, what’s he doing with me?”
“If I had to guess,” Christopher said, “I’d go with falling in love.”
I wouldn’t have been more surprised if he’d hauled off and punched me in the jaw. But I shook it off after a moment and murmured, “We’re just keeping things casual.”
Christopher said, “Are you, though?” When I shot him a look, he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and said, “I know it’s none of my business, but I really like Ignacio, and I’ve never seen him so happy. I want more of that for him.”
“We barely know each other. This is only the second time we’ve even been together,” I said.
“If you don’t count the month and a half of five or six calls and video chats a day, on top of hundreds of texts and emails.” I frowned at Christopher, and he flashed me a smile. “Just saying.”
A minute later, Ignacio and Jayden came barreling down the stairs. Each of them was clutching a pair of vintage, metal robots, and Jayden exclaimed, “These are awesome! Is it okay if we paint them, Christopher? I promise we’ll be careful.”
He readily agreed, and Dante turned to his friend and said, “Really? You have a robot menagerie?”
Christopher put his hands on his narrow hips. “Kieran and I have started a tin toy collection, because they’re freaking awesome. Quit judging me, Mr. Maturity. Jayden already showed me the videos of your ongoing attempts to turn yourself into Johnny Surf Pro, proving that even you sometimes do things just because they’re fun.”
“See, you’re totally wrong there. Surfing isn’t fun at all. It’s slow, painful, cold, embarrassing torture. But my son loves it, so I promised him I’d learn so we could surf together.” Dante frowned and added, “I can’t believe he showed you the videos.”
Christopher smiled at him and said, “They’re hilarious. It totally proves that expression, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. You don’t just tumble off the surfboard, you crash into the water. It’s like you’re trying to aggressively body-slam the waves to teach them a lesson.”
I burst out laughing as Dante scowled and said, “That makes no sense.”
A few moments later, Ignacio breezed into the room and literally swept me off my feet. He’d traded his leather jacket for a paint-smeared red apron, and he kissed me before putting me down and saying, “Is it alright if we hang out here for a bit? I’d only intended to say hello to Christopher and show you the gallery, but Jayden’s really excited about this painting and I’d love to help him.”
“Of course,” I said, as I brushed his hair back from his eyes. “Take as long as you want, we’re in no hurry.”
Christopher, Dante and I got some coffee from a little station in Christopher’s posh office and made ourselves comfortable on the deck. Fortunately, we were flanked by two patio heaters, which we dialed up as high as they’d go to counteract the steady breeze. Maybe fifteen minutes later, we were joined by Kieran and Charlie, who were buzzing with excitement. Charlie nestled beside his husband on a teak loveseat, and Christopher climbed onto Kieran’s lap and grinned while his husband gushed about all the cool home theater equipment they’d found (although they managed to limit their shopping to a set of surround-sound speakers).
I lost track of the conversation as my gaze wandered to the beautiful man on the other side of the glass wall. Ignacio and the teen were engaged in an animated discussion. I couldn’t hear it, but I assumed it was about composition, judging by the way they held up the toys at various angles.
Jayden knit his brows as he carefully made some light pencil sketches on the pristine canvas. Next, they mixed some paint, and the teen tentatively dabbed a shaky red line onto the canvas. Ignacio waved his arms around and said something to the kid that made him laugh, and Jayden loaded his brush with more paint and really went for it, crisscrossing the canvas with a couple big swaths of color. Then he beamed at Ignacio, who cheered and applauded.