by C. S. Poe
“I feel a bit like a moocher,” Shota stated, wincing a little.
“You’re not,” I quickly said, shaking my head. “I want to do this for you. Really. It—it makes me happy.”
He tilted his head to the side, shook it, and said in a tone that hinted toward defeat, “Dearest Declan.”
I smiled, having won the continuous battle of bring-the-dinner-date-to-you. “I’m finishing the film tonight.”
“Oh, really?” Shota leaned forward on his elbows again. I loved that about him. He didn’t listen for when it was his turn to speak. He simply listened.
“Laying down the voice-over I recorded at home and it should be about done.”
“Every little frame?”
“All four thousand three hundred and twenty.”
“That’s crazy. If I didn’t know you better, I wouldn’t believe anyone had the patience for that artistry.” He patted my hand briefly. “Except you’re not like most people.”
I wanted to kiss him so badly. But not here, not at the studio.
The front door of the studio opened, and we both instinctively leaned away from each other and looked to the entrance. Noah removed a snowy cap from his head and nodded in our direction.
“Good evening, Mr. Carney,” Shota said brightly.
“Shota,” he said. “What’s up, D?”
I shrugged. “The usual.”
He looked from Shota to me, then at Shota again.
I took several steps backward from the desk and in the general direction of the elevator. “Heading upstairs?” I asked Noah.
He followed at a leisurely pace. “Yup.”
“Have a good evening, gentlemen,” Shota called politely.
I pressed the fourth-floor button after Noah joined me, and the doors slid shut.
“Were you talking to him?”
“Hmm?” I glanced sideways.
Noah’s expression was serious. Searching. “Talking to Shota.”
“A little.”
“But you know he’s going to turn you down, right? Per their ‘policy.’” He made air quotes.
I stared at my shoes and shrugged absently. “I was talking. Not proposing marriage.”
The doors opened and Noah stepped out first. “You talking to a crush is basically like proposing marriage, dude.”
“Stop it.” I moved past him and led the way down the hall to 14-0848, Mimosa. I unlocked our studio door, flipped on the light switch, and glanced behind me. “Coming?” I asked, watching as Noah slowed and removed his cell from his pocket.
“In a sec. I have to make a phone call real quick.”
I frowned. Noah was being… cagey? But I left him to his conversation and gently shut the door behind me.
I SPENT a good deal of the evening packing up my materials. Now that the set was done being utilized and I could move it without affecting the photography, I really did intend on renting a studio at a different location. I’d miss getting to see Shota’s smile every time I walked through the doors, but I was hoping it’d be a short-lived sense of loss.
Because as soon as his coworkers returned from their bouts with the flu and becoming a new mother, he’d have more time for himself. For us, even. And for the date I could finally take him on that wasn’t dinner at his desk in between handling clients.
I’d feel much better meeting with him before or after his shift with this new setup. I didn’t like him testing the boundaries of that no-fraternizing policy, so if I could make it easier with a simple change on my part, I’d do it.
I WALKED briskly across the slick, wintry sidewalk the next evening, heading to the glass doors of Wandering Artist. I’d finished the final edit of my film at home, very late the night before. I probably wouldn’t have if Shota had come with me to sleep, but Noah had left the same time as me and I didn’t have an opportunity to make the offer on my way out.
It was okay, though. I’d finished the movie and was ready to show it to Shota. Anxious to, even. I’d tried seven different ways from Sunday to tell him how much he meant to me, and that the little things I was doing to make his life easier came from a place of love. But despite being able to better breathe around him—talk around him—those intense emotions were still hard to find words for. I was worried it’d either come out all wrong, or come out too much and scare him off.
But this movie would say it for me. I was certain.
I took my hands out of my coat pockets, a thumb drive firmly clenched in one, and opened the door. I turned to my left, ready for Shota’s big smile and “Good evening, Mr. Groves” comment, but instead I was greeted by the sight of him hastily removing personal items from the bottom drawer of the desk and shoving them into a cardboard box. A middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back into a severe bun watched on in silence.
“Shota?” I asked, setting the drive down on the countertop.
He glanced up, face colored and eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“What’s happened? Are you all right?” He’s obviously not.
“Sorry, Mr. Groves,” Shota said, hastily wiping his face. “Unfortunately my services are no longer required here.”
“Wh-what? Shota—” But I stopped when he shook his head and shoved a sweater into the box. I turned to the woman, who’d yet to speak. I offered a hand. “Declan Groves. I’m a long-term renter.”
She smiled automatically and shook my hand. “Karen Hodges, HR manager. We thank you for your business, Mr. Groves.”
So she worked for WAS.
But who was—oh no.
“M-may we speak, Ms. Hodges? In private?”
She hesitated, shot Shota a glance over my shoulder, then stiffly motioned to the front door. “Of course. Let’s step outside.”
I turned and followed her. Cold wind blew harshly in between the streets, stirring up freshly fallen snow into little snowflake tornados. “Is Shota being fired?” I asked, skipping niceties entirely.
“I’m not at liberty to—”
I pressed harder, against every instinct in my being to not be a nuisance. “Is Shota being fired?”
Karen squared her shoulders. The wind didn’t disrupt a single hair on her head. “He is being let go, yes.”
“Two days before Christmas?”
“The timing is unfortunate,” she agreed. “But Wandering Artist Studios has very strict and clear policies regarding our employees, and the CEO does not tolerate anyone’s misbehavior.”
My face stung. The cold air stole my breath. “Someone called in a complaint against him, didn’t they?” Noah.
Karen looked shocked at my question, like how did I know such a thing? So my assumption was correct.
“Shota has done nothing wrong,” I insisted. “I’ve been coming here almost every night for six months, and he’s been nothing but—he’s so courteous. And polite.”
“And like I said, Mr. Groves, we appreciate your business—”
I waved both hands, interrupting her. “I’m sorry, but please listen to me. It wasn’t Shota. It was me.” Sort of.
“Excuse me?”
“I… have been interested in him. For some time. And then I was told it was against policy for him to engage with clients in any way. So last night I began packing up my studio.” At least this part is entirely true.
“Sir, we don’t want our customers to feel unwelcomed.”
“No. No. I’m not explaining this right.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to take another breath. “I’m leaving this location so that I don’t put Shota in an awkward position. He’s a great person. A great employee. Another client—” Was jealous? “—misinterpreted our conversation.”
Karen crossed her arms against the cold. “Why didn’t Shota tell us this?”
“I don’t know. He’s not one to complain.” I added after a moment, so it didn’t sound as if I knew him better than I should, “It seems that way, at least.”
Karen nodded, though. “That is true. Never late, never calls in sick, picks up other shifts
when we need it, has never had negative feedback from our client surveys.”
“Then why are you firing him?”
“The allegation is serious.”
“But not true.”
I mean—sort of. I didn’t care that I was lying about the finer details. The fact was, Shota never had done anything unprofessional within the studio walls. So even if he’d initiated our… not relationship, but tentative togetherness… it was before his scheduled hours at Wandering Artist. And I brought him gifts. I invited him to my apartment.
Noah, God bless that ego-tripping kid, would rather see Shota shit-canned than with me after being let down.
“Let me fix this,” I pleaded. “I’ve already paid for January’s rent, but I won’t even ask for a refund. Let me remove myself so this isn’t an issue for Shota or for Wandering Artist.”
The city filled the silence as Karen considered this new information. A taxi was honking, a biker shouting a string of obscenities, and a group of college kids nearby were laughing loudly while leaving a bar.
“In light of this evidence,” she drew out, tapping her lower lip in a thoughtful way, “I think it would be in the best interest of WAS to keep Mr. Watanabe.”
“I’ll be out tonight,” I promised.
She held up a hand. “I appreciate your willingness to come forward and explain the situation, Mr. Groves. I’ll speak with the CEO on Mr. Watanabe’s behalf.”
The tightness in my chest let up, enough to gasp, “Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas.”
“And to you.”
She pulled open the door and went back inside.
I turned away, leaned back against the building, and tried to catch my breath. My head was swimming. I’d have never stood up like that for myself. My own boss bullied me constantly. I couldn’t squeak out more than a word or two at a time to Mr. Barnes. But the second Shota became a target….
The door flung open.
I looked sideways.
Shota walked to the left, peered down the street, then glanced to the right before spotting me. “Declan!” He ran toward me as I pushed off the building’s façade. Shota threw his arms around my neck. “What did you say? What did you do?”
“I—I told her it was a mistake.”
“And she believed it?” he asked, pulling away and raising those pretty, expressive eyebrows.
“You do what you need to for… for people you care about.”
“People you care about,” Shota echoed.
I nodded.
“Or love?” When I said nothing, he pointed at the front door. “You left a thumb drive on the counter. I plugged it in while you were talking to Karen.” Shota wiped a hand across his eyes again. “Did you make that film for me?”
“Y-yes.”
Just an average-looking, graying man in a suit chasing a drop-dead gorgeous man throughout the city. He failed at every twist and turn to catch Shota’s attention, to have an opportunity to speak, until tripping and crashing to the pavement. And when Shota turned and helped him to his feet, he told him how much he was in love.
Shota put a hand to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I laughed at that and shook my head. “We’ve established I’m… shy.”
“But we could have skipped a lot of the preambles.”
“Maybe.” I unbuttoned my coat and draped it over Shota’s shoulders. “I’m leaving the studio. It was necessary, so you wouldn’t be fired.”
“What? No!”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. This whole month has been a fucking nightmare. And now I’ve gotten you kicked out—”
I tugged Shota a little closer by the lapels of my coat. “I don’t need to come here to see you anymore. Isn’t that… the plan going forward?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. Meeting you and making that movie has given me the courage to say something that on June third I’d have never dreamed I’d be capable of.”
“That you love me?”
“Since the first twenty-four frames.”
C.S. POE is a Lambda Literary and two-time EPIC award finalist, and a FAPA award-winning author of gay mystery, romance, and paranormal books.
She is a reluctant mover and has called many places home in her lifetime. C.S. has lived in New York City, Key West, and Ibaraki, Japan, to name a few. She misses the cleanliness, convenience, and limited-edition gachapon of Japan, but she was never very good at riding bikes to get around.
She has an affinity for all things cute and colorful and a major weakness for toys. C.S. is an avid fan of coffee, reading, and cats. She’s rescued two cats—Milo and Kasper do their best on a daily basis to distract her from work.
C.S. is a member of the International Thriller Writers organization.
Website: cspoe.com
By C.S. Poe
Color of You
Joy
Kneading You
Love Has No Expiration
Love in 24 Frames
Love, Marriage, and a Baby Carriage
New Game, Start
Once Upon a Time in the Weird West Anthology
That Turtle Story
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Love in 24 Frames
© 2019 C.S. Poe
Cover Art
© 2019 L.C. Chase
http://www.lcchase.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-787-2
Digital eBook published December 2019
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America