Small City Heart

by Erin McLellan

  “I admire you. And Charlie and Suzy. You’re all amazing.”

  “Nah. We’re just people. I know it’s not much, but there’s a place for you at the Gazette as a freelance photographer, if you ever want it.” She laughed. “It feels dumb offering that. You’re an acclaimed photographer. You can do better than the local paper. But I’m here if you’re ever searching for a home.”

  “Fuck. You’re going to make me cry.”

  “Shut up. It’s not that good an offer.”

  He laughed. “It’s not a bad one, either. Thank you.”

  “Sure thing.” She grinned at him, and then her eyes got wide. “Incoming, lover boy.”

  He turned around to see what Rachel was staring at and got an eyeful of Charlie in his station gear, all turned out like a firefighter calendar cover star. There had been a firefighter float early in the parade, but Patrick, unfortunately, hadn’t been able to see it clearly over everyone’s heads.

  Charlie came to a stop in front of him with a huge, confused frown. He thumbed Patrick’s lip, which lit Patrick up like a sparkler.

  “Your mouth is blue.”

  Rachel laughed behind him, and Patrick’s cheeks caught fire.

  Good thing there was a firefighter so close by.

  He stared down at his snow cone like it’d betrayed him.

  “Is it bad?”

  Charlie laughed. “Like you blew a smurf.”

  Patrick glared at him and tried to fight his smile. He didn’t want to smile at Charlie. In fact, he wanted to put as much distance between them as possible until he’d figured his shit out. He’d kissed him goodbye for a reason last night. His emotions were too raw at the moment and Charlie entirely too enticing.

  “Go away,” Patrick grumbled, which only made Charlie laugh again.

  “Lucky for you, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now that my float is done, I’m set to volunteer at the face painting booth.”

  “That’s very . . . uh, adorable of you.”

  Charlie’s smile softened, and he touched Patrick’s chin, like he couldn’t help but put his hands on him. “I can do butterflies, hearts, and a cat face. That’s my repertoire, if you’re interested.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Rachel cleared her throat. “Can I tag along?” She lifted up her little camera. “Need some photos for the paper.”

  “Sure thing.” Charlie offered Rachel his elbow, and she took it with an eye roll. Before walking off, though, he turned to Patrick. “You’re going to be here tonight, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. I’ll be watching for you. I want a dance. Maybe more than one.”

  Patrick acknowledged that with a blush, and then in the blink of an eye, Rachel and Charlie had disappeared into the crowd.

  He turned to his mom. She was watching him with a little tilted smile. “Your mouth is super blue. Not the best look when trying to snag a boyfriend.”

  “I’m not trying to snag a boyfriend!”

  “It’s a good color on you, though,” she said decisively, and he couldn’t help but sling an arm over her shoulders.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “Maybe you need to not avoid Small City for years at a time. Then you wouldn’t be all full of missing, young man,” she teased.

  He crossed his hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear.”

  And he did. Even if he wasn’t sure about moving back here, it wasn’t the place of his nightmares anymore. He had Charlie North to thank for helping him see that.

  A muggy breeze sifted through Charlie’s short hair, and he closed his eyes to it. It was a perfect, Kansas evening. Not blazing hot now that the sun was sinking behind the hills, but not windy or rainy either. Limestone Drive had been blocked off for the dance, a stage set up at the end of the road in front of the courthouse, and it seemed like the whole town had turned out for it.

  Local vendors sold treats and drinks along the sidewalks, and strings of lights stretched across the street, from storefront to storefront, lighting the block like a fairytale.

  He was always in awe of the Alumni Weekend Dance, and it was one of the reasons he’d wanted to volunteer on the planning committee this year. The dance was straight out of a movie. Perfect atmosphere, perfect music and food. People actually danced, the street full of townsfolk two-stepping or swing dancing.

  It was beautiful—like the beating heart of the whole town—and he hoped he never missed it.

  Veronica sidled up to him an hour into the night, and his heart immediately began pounding. “Where’s Patrick?” he asked. Charlie had been busy helping set up and hadn’t gotten a chance to enjoy himself yet.

  “He’s stuffing his face with funnel cake and reminiscing about marching band with Suzy. How about a dance?”

  “Of course!” His father hadn’t taught him much, but he had taught him how to two-step.

  He quickly realized, however, that this wasn’t a simple dance between friends, but a mother looking out for her son with a proverbial shotgun.

  “Now, I quite like you Charlie North, but if you break my son’s heart, I’m going to stop buying you coffee once a week.”

  “Half the time I buy the coffee. Would that still be okay?”

  She glared at him, so he twisted her into a slow spin. “I’ll allow it,” she said when she returned into his dance hold.

  He grinned. “I like Patrick. I don’t want to break his heart.”

  Her mouth tipped down. “I don’t want him to move back here just for a man.”

  Neither did Charlie. That was the last thing he wanted.

  “I don’t think that’s his intention. If he wants to be here, I’ll fight like tooth and nail to have him. And if he wants to be in Chicago or some other big city, I’ll fight to be his townie friend that he visits once a year. I like your son. I want to be in his life, but I don’t plan to upend it either. I simply want to show him that he’s wanted, and that this could be a place for him.”

  And maybe Patrick would return that wanting. Maybe he’d fill that hole in Charlie’s chest that had been there for as long as he could remember, that he’d always tried to fill with flimsy, superficial attention.

  “I always knew I liked you,” she said, and he stopped their dance to hug her. “Oh, stop. You’re going to make an old lady cry, and then everyone would gossip. I’ve had enough gossip to last me a lifetime.”

  “Thank you, Veronica. For everything.”

  She patted him on the cheek, and he pulled her into another dance.

  Thirty minutes later, Charlie hadn’t managed to catch Patrick alone yet, and it was time for the auction. He wasn’t exactly prepared for this, but he hoped that his charm would help him through it. It hadn’t failed him yet.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His charm failed him all the fucking time.

  He walked up the steps to the top of the stage and stopped in front of the microphone.

  Maybe he wasn’t charming? Shit.

  “Excuse me. Hello. Hi. Now’s the time for our annual Alumni Weekend auction, so if you’re interested in participating, please gather around the stage. This is also a good time to go grab a bite to eat because dancing will resume lickety-split,” he said, nerves sneaking into his voice.

  The crowd around the stage surged and flowed as people moved around, some leaving the area, some finding their places for the auction. A few volunteers passed out fans with numbers on them to everyone. Thank goodness Charlie didn’t have to do the auctioning. He was basically the emcee for the event, and he had cards to read about each individual item.

  “So before we get started, a little bit about the auction,” he said, trying to smile. He caught sight of Veronica and Patrick on the edges of the crowd, and his stomach fluttered. “All proceeds from the auction will go to the Small City Youth Center Fund, which helps finance the after-school and summer programs at the Youth Center.” He took a deep breath, ready to blow through the list of benefits of the Center, but then he saw Patrick tip his
head back and laugh at something Veronica had said.

  Charlie cleared his throat. “Um, the Youth Center organizes and plans some great programs for Small City kids and teens, and I could wax poetic about them for ages.” He glanced down at the card in hand and decided to go off-script. “But let me just say that this is a place for our youth to go and be themselves, to find themselves. It’s a safe place where they’re always welcome, regardless of what they look like, who their parents are, their sexuality or race or religion or gender identity. Words can’t explain the immeasurable good this place does for our community, but I can tell you that I wish we’d had a place like this here when I was growing up.” Silence followed that statement, so he pasted on a fake smile. “And now, without further adieu, we have our first item: a family day pass to Groker’s Pumpkin Patch!”

  Embarrassment was pushing at Charlie’s chest, so he resolutely read the description of each item as the auctioneer flew through the bids. It wasn’t until they were five items in that Charlie risked a glance at Patrick.

  Patrick lifted his hand to his heart when Charlie’s gaze finally landed on him, and giddiness bubbled through Charlie.

  In no time at all, he’d made it to the last three items: a charity quilt made by a long-arm quilter who’d graduated a few years ahead of him, a handmade metal sign in the shape of Kansas, and Patrick’s photography print of a prescribed burn.

  The metal Kansas sign, created by a local blacksmith, went for about $1000, which was amazing considering Kansas was shaped like a slightly wonky rectangle. The quilt went for more. And at last, they were at Patrick’s photo.

  The print was large, and the vivid flames seemed to leap off the page. The photograph was of the fire line at dusk, the sun right on the horizon. The sky bloomed pink and purple, and the flames were stark yellow and orange. On one side of the photograph, the grass was black and charred and on the other it was golden.

  Charlie glanced at the card in his hand. Arnold Mikhailov had written it out for him this morning in spiky, hurried handwriting. He read the words out loud. “‘This original photograph is called Aflame. It was taken by Patrick Pearl, regionally renowned photographer and Small City alum, and donated on behalf of Patrick Pearl and the Chase Gallery. It is printed on Hahnemühle 100% Cotton Photo Rag paper, and was taken during the controlled burn season of 2014 at a ranch near Elmdale.’”

  He stared at the photo for a second, and took a deep breath. “I own five of Patrick’s photographs. He’s going to be shocked by that.” The crowd chuckled and people turned toward Patrick. “So needless to say I’m pretty fond of his art. I’m pretty fond of Patrick all around, actually. When I see the Flint Hills through his eyes, through the lens of his camera, it feels like home, but brighter. And better. He sees so much beauty and light and potential where I would normally just see hills or a plain old patch burn or a rundown farm. I don’t think a person could create art like this”—he gestured to the photograph—“unless the Flint Hills ran in their veins. This is a spectacular piece from a spectacular person, and I feel lucky to know Patrick, and am thankful for his donation today.”

  He took a bracing breath and stared out at the silent crowd. Fuck, that had been a little much, hadn’t it? The uncomfortable silence descended until someone gave a loud catcalling whistle. He glanced at the noise to see it’d come from Suzy. It broke the tension, and Charlie laughed uncomfortably. “We’ll start the bidding at $700.”

  He handed the mic over to the auctioneer, and the auction was off like a shot. The price rose so quickly, and the auctioneer’s words were so fast, Charlie thought he must have been mistaken. But before he knew what was happening the price of the photograph was close to $3000.

  Static was ringing in Charlie’s ears when the auctioneer shouted, “Sold!” The microphone was handed back to the lead singer of the band who had been entertaining them all night, and Charlie practically stumbled off the stage.

  “Now, let’s get back in the groove with something a little soft and sweet,” said the lead singer of the band. “Grab your honey. This one’s slow.”

  The crowd moved in an overwhelming rush as dancers displaced the auction participants. Charlie tried to peer over everyone’s heads, but there was too much movement. He felt a frantic pull in his gut, like if he didn’t find Patrick right away, everything would dissolve to dust.

  Someone grabbed his arm, and he twisted around, aggravated about being slowed down. It was Suzy and Rachel, dancing close, and Suzy had ahold of his sleeve.

  “He’s over there,” she said, with a nod of her head.

  And sure enough, there was Patrick, right on the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by admirers fawning over him. Charlie marched toward him.

  “Patrick,” he said, and then he lost his breath as Patrick turned to him. The crowd seemed to melt away.

  Or maybe it was that Veronica was herding the crowd away, saying, “Come on, off we go. Let’s go find some alcohol and leave these two chickens to it.”

  “Will you dance with me?” Charlie asked, and Patrick smiled.

  All the fear and emotions and panic in him floated away. Patrick was smiling. It would be okay.

  “Are you staking your claim, Charlie North?”

  “Would you let me?” He pulled Patrick into his arms and gazed down at him.

  Patrick’s hair was wild around his shoulders, and his eyes seemed to sparkle in the lights stretched above the dance floor.

  “I think I would.”

  “Good.” Charlie grabbed Patrick’s precious face in his hands and kissed him firmly.

  He barely noticed the hoots and hollers around them because Patrick stepped into his embrace and wrapped his arms around Charlie’s back, threading one hand up into his hair.

  They sipped from each other’s lips—soft, sweet kisses that made all of Limestone Drive spin—until Charlie finally had to pull back to catch his breath.

  “You really own five of my photographs?” Patrick asked, and Charlie laughed.

  “I do. I trade the one out above the sofa depending on the season. And there’s one in my guest room that you didn’t see. I’ve been saving up for one for my bedroom.”

  “Why in the world do you have so many?”

  He shrugged and kissed the corner of Patrick’s mouth. “They make me feel at home. And they’re yours, and I’ve had a crush on you since I was fifteen. Seeing this place I love through your eyes . . . It’s indescribable, Patrick.”

  “That’s how I feel, seeing it through yours. And now you, and Arnold, and Rachel and Suzy—you’ve all made me feel . . .” He shook his head and laughed.

  “What?” Charlie asked.

  “Like I could belong here. Like I’m wanted.”

  “You are. God, sweetheart, I want you. I know this is new and unformed, and maybe I’m pushing too hard or too fast, but I want you. Even if that only means pen pals or long-distance friends or—”

  “Boyfriends.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  Patrick nodded and a huge smile broke across his face. “I think I’m ready to come home.”

  Charlie sunk his fingers into Patrick’s hair, and they stared at each other, ridiculous smiles on their faces. The song switched from a country love ballad to a faster two-stepping song.

  “I don’t know how to dance to this,” Patrick said, his mouth twisting into silly smile.

  “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

  “Or we could keep on like this.” Patrick tilted his head back and stared up at the stars above them, and Charlie had to stop himself from mauling Patrick’s perfect throat with his lips.

  “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  The bell over the door of the Chase Gallery jingled, and in walked Patrick’s firefighter.

  “Hey!” Patrick called. “Almost done.”

  He was preparing to close up shop. He’d been put in charge of the gallery for the next two weeks while Arnold took an R
V trip to South Dakota. It was a bit of a trial run, and he didn’t want to screw up.

  Charlie shot him a grin and sauntered over to a portrait on the wall. “This is one attractive bastard.”

  “You say that each time you come in here, you weirdo.”

  Pride still rushed through Patrick. He loved his new series of portraits, all citizens of the Flint Hills, highlighting the diversity of the area. And yes, one of the portraits was of Charlie North, whose ego was obnoxiously and adorably large, standing outside Minky’s Bar.

  He had a whole line of Charlie images, but the more intimate ones were in a gallery in Dallas.

  Charlie leaned across the counter and planted a kiss on him.

  “How long do we have before the dance?” Patrick asked.

  “Exactly long enough to either, one, head home for a couple hours of hanky-panky, or two, go to Bakers Creek so you can take some picture in that perfect twilight hour you seem to get special boners over.”

  “Bakers Creek it is,” Patrick said, and laughed at Charlie’s fake pouting.

  It sounded tempting to go to their duplex, which Patrick had only recently moved into, but he suspected they’d never make it to the Alumni Weekend Dance if they went home and got naked.

  He wanted to go to the dance. He was looking forward to some time spent with Suzy and Rachel, as well as a few other friends he’d made over the last year. Plus, he was all prepped to meet Mom’s new boyfriend—Timmy Trinity, owner of Trinity Trucking, video gamer, and lover of blackberry cobbler. Patrick quite enjoyed Timmy’s company, but this would be the first time they’d be around each other since Timmy had started seeing his mom.

  Patrick locked up the Chase Gallery, activated the security system, and then followed Charlie to his truck. Charlie had dropped him off that morning so they weren’t juggling the truck and Blue this evening.

  In a matter of minutes, Charlie parked at Bakers Creek, and Patrick jumped down, camera gear in hand. Charlie lowered the tailgate of his truck and sat, his feet dangling.