by Lily Summers
The crew’s all accounted for. Audrey tosses her hair and smiles as Duke passes her what looks like a coffee stout. Skylar and three guys I assume to be her band mates are deep in a discussion about whether adding a keyboardist would be selling out. Leon’s reappeared with more bottles in tow, showing them off like a proud father.
He pops the cap off of one and hands it to me, holding his hands out as I take it like he’s handing over a rare gem.
“Taste. Revel. Enjoy,” he says.
Since I still haven’t finished my first bottle, I guess I’m technically double fisting. It would be one thing if I were drinking Miller High Life, but with stuff this good, it’s a little sacrilegious to switch flavor profiles so willy-nilly. Ah, the trials of a beer-enthusiast. Ezra laughs at my predicament and I look from hand to hand, ultimately deciding to switch to Leon’s, since he’s clearly waiting for my reaction with bated breath. I take a sip. I’m surprised – I was expecting an IPA or another hoppy beer, since they seem to be Leon’s preference, but this one is malty. Strong as hell, but smooth and sweet with caramel or toffee notes, plus some fruitiness. It’s a wheat beer that packs a punch without being too hot.
“Is this a marzen?” I ask. Then I second-guess myself. “Or a bock?”
Leon raises his hands to the sky like he’s praising the Beer God. “She knows, she really knows. It’s a doppelbock, actually. I’m about to release it for winter. Thoughts?”
“It’s excellent,” I say honestly. “Lots of layers, delicious, and way too easy to drink.”
“Exactly what I was going for,” he says. “It’s gonna be huge.”
Leon moves on to mingle with some of the other guests, and I’m struck by how many of these people have become familiar faces. If I’m not careful, these people might become permanent fixtures in my life.
People to depend on. People who could know my secrets. Friends.
It’s both exhilarating and absolutely terrifying.
Ezra hugs me again from behind, smiling as he rests his head on my shoulder. He’s completely relaxed and alight, moreso than he’s been in days. His relief and excitement are coming off him in waves and it’s intoxicating.
Or maybe it’s this beer that’s intoxicating. It’s already making me feel pleasantly warm and loose in the limbs.
He kisses my neck, and I feel a tingle travel up my spine. No, it’s definitely Ezra. If I could bottle him, he’d definitely have a higher ABV than anything you could buy.
“Leon’s throwing you the party you deserve,” I murmur.
His breath tickles my ear and sends a shiver down my spine. “This is the party you deserve, actually. I hope you enjoy it.”
He tightens his arms around my waist, then lets go. I start to protest, but Audrey promptly swoops in and drags me over to the snack table.
“I was getting my kissy on, damn it,” I whine. “What are you doing?”
“This is more important,” she says urgently.
I feign shock. Audrey’s the one who’s been all I-won’t-feed-you-until-you-tell-me-everything-about-your-sexy-hookup, after all.
But she’s biting her lip and shredding a fried pickle to shreds. She glances up at me nervously, asking, “How into me do you think Duke is, seriously?”
I feel myself soften from her sheer adorableness. Oh God, am I becoming as squee-full as Audrey is? A quick glance over her shoulder proves that Duke can’t take his eyes off her, even when he’s deep in conversation with someone else.
“Very,” I say. “He’s very into you.”
That pickle is becoming mince-meat in her hands. “Really? Because I’m into him. A lot.”
My friendly, gorgeous roommate is worried the boy she likes doesn’t like her back, and it’s too cute for words. I smile and pat her arm reassuringly.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I say. “Go get him.”
She beams at me, grabs a plate of dates, and rejoins Duke.
Now that I’m two and a half beers in, the room’s definitely looking softer and I’m feeling very good. I spot Ezra sneaking onto the outdoor patio and follow him.
He’s leaning on the outdoor railing, looking out over the river. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face in his jacket.
It smells wonderful. Like paint and peppermint and leather and Ezra.
He looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. “You all right down there?”
“I’m so great,” I say. “Leon’s good at beer.”
“That’s true,” Ezra says. He reaches around to tug at me until I move to his side and he can put his arm around me.
The lights waver on the surface of the river like submerged crystals, peeking out from the depths. My cheeks are so warm, and I’m sure they’re rosy from drinking. I lean my head against Ezra, feeling like we’re the only two people in the world. I’m overflowing with pride, with excitement, with want. It feels good. Moments like this should never end. Moments like this are what art was made for.
‘Thank you,” Ezra says.
“For what?” I mumble lazily.
“For pushing me. For believing in me. I wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for you. This party should be in your honor.”
I squeeze him around the waist. “I didn’t do anything except tell you the truth.”
He lets out a puff of air. “It’s a lot more than that. I’m going to be in a gallery, with other artists. I never even thought it was a possibility.”
We’re quiet for a moment. Then I ask, “Do you have any idea what you’re going to show yet?”
“I have an idea, yeah.” He looks down at me with a grin and a mischievous raised eyebrow.
“Uh oh,” I say. “What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”
As he kisses me, the sounds of the party behind us serve as our backdrop. I’m surrounded by people I like who seem to genuinely like me back, I’m warm and fuzzy with drink, and I’m kissing the most wonderful, talented man I’ve ever been with.
And if I’m as really, truly honest as Leon’s beer is making me, I’m feeling more than a little in love with it all. I didn’t know I was capable of that anymore.
For now, for this moment, I’m going to call that a win.
22
A week later, Ezra’s on the couch next to me with his legs draped over mine.
I pinch his calf. “Tell me what you’re painting.”
“A gentleman never tells,” he says, flicking his foot and giving me a devilish grin. “You’re not going to get it out of me.”
I fall back against the cushions with a huff. “I miss you. This is the first time we’ve spent more than ten minutes together all week. Leon’s texting me to ask if he needs to file a missing person’s report because he hasn’t seen you at all.”
Ezra sits up and pulls me close, stealing my breath away with a kiss.
“I know,” he says softly. “But I can’t stop until it’s done. When you see it, you’ll understand.”
My body melts into his touch. Whatever he’s painting is bringing out his pride, relaxing him back into the luminescent life-of-the-party guy I met it the bookshop not so long ago. His paint-stained fingers creep up my bare arm and I want to bite down, to pull him as close as possible and make him mine.
There’s something raw and real about an artist in the midst of creation, and it’s a hell of an aphrodisiac.
Unfortunately, he sighs against my neck and disentangles himself from me, leaving my skin prickling in the cool air of my apartment.
“As much as I want to keep doing this all day, I have a masterpiece to finish,” he says.
It’s all I can do to loosen my grip from his hands. “See you later?” I say.
“We’ll figure something out.” He leans down to kiss me again. “Promise.”
The door closes behind him and I’m alarmed at how alone I feel. Part of me wonders if all this work is a way to put distance between us, even though
I should know better.
This is as vulnerable as I’ve been in a long time. Ezra’s given no indication that he’s changing his mind anytime soon, but I can’t help but feel the doubt that’s still poisoning my veins creep up every time I let my guard down. It isn’t only Ezra, either. I’ve come to really like the whole crew – Leon, Duke, even Skylar.
The more I gain, the more I worry about losing it all. Sometimes the people you love and trust the most bring you the worst pain.
These are the sorts of dark thoughts I’m having as I’m making coffee this morning. I have the pot going, but I thought it’d be nice to get out the French press and make a fancy cup for Audrey, who’s actually sleeping in her own bed this morning. Trouble is, I can’t find it.
“What are you doing?” Audrey says from behind me as she slumps onto one of the barstools, her nightshirt hanging off one shoulder.
“Damn it, I was going to surprise you,” I say. “I figured you deserved the good coffee after the long nights you’ve been pulling for that deposition.”
“I was definitely pulling something last night,” she says.
I open the last cupboard and finally find the press on a shelf that’s just out of reach, so I go to grab our footstool. As I’m climbing up, I say, “Are you being immature or did you and Duke have relations again?”
“Both.”
“Nothing but smooth sailing on the horizon, then?” I take down the press and pull over a bag of Audrey’s current favorite blend to start making a cup.
“Yeah,” she says. “I can hardly believe it hasn’t all gone sideways yet. My luck never holds out this long. I keep worrying he’s going to wake up and bolt.”
“Hey, none of that kind of talk,” I say. “You’re awesome, he’s awesome, and you’ll be awesome together.” Her coffee’s done, so I pour it out and bring her the mug.
“My angel,” she says, closing her eyes as she rapturously smells the steam rising from the mug. “I hope you’re right. How are things with Ezra? I heard you two talking out here. Where’d he go?”
I sit down next to her with my own mug and a bowl of cereal. “To hole himself up in the MAG’s studio and work on his painting for the showcase.”
“He’s not going to go all Van Gogh on us, is he?”
“Doubtful. Ezra needs interaction with people like fish need water to breathe.” I sigh into my off-brand fruit flakes. “Kind of wish he needed me.”
Audrey flicks my ear.
“Ow!”
“Don’t you go stealing my self-doubt,” she says. “Only one of us is allowed to be cynical at a time, and I called it this morning.“ She tilts her head back to finish her coffee and clunks the mug back down on the bar. “Why don’t you just go see him at the gallery? Kill the mystery. I gotta go get ready for work.”
That’s not a half-bad idea. I could swing by the gallery before my afternoon shift at the bookshop. We didn’t have nearly enough time together this morning.
When I get to the record store above the MAG, they’re having some sort of sale. Outside the door, there are tables covered in boxes brimming over with vinyl, CDs, posters, and other odds and ends. Signs with price lists are taped to each table, and one of the store’s clerks is ringing people up using a tablet. The crowd’s pretty sizeable, so I have to weave my way around men with long white beards and teenage girls alike to get inside. It’s not much better in here. I’m glad I’m not claustrophobic.
I’ve finally managed to make it to the stairwell that leads down to the gallery when I’m intercepted by Angela, who’s coming up the stairs.
“Oh, Mia!” she says. “I’m sorry, the gallery’s closed this week while we set up for the showcase.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I was actually coming by to see Ezra. He’s down there, right?”
She shifts to block my entry, an apologetic look on her face. “He is, but he’s asked me not to let you down to see his work before the reveal.”
I stop trying to get down the stairs. “He did?”
“I think he wants to surprise you.” She squeezes my arm and gives me a smile. “It’s an incredibly moving piece, exactly the sort of thing you enjoy. I know you’ll love it.”
She walks away and I’m tempted to go down to the studio anyway to satisfy my curiosity. I go so far as to take the first step when my foot freezes in place. If the tables were turned and Ezra peeked at my art when I’d asked him not to, I’d be pissed. I heave a disappointed sigh and turn around to half-heartedly paw through a few of the sale boxes in the record store. I manage to find an Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness CD for a few bucks, so the trip isn’t a total loss. Someday I might even own a car with a CD player again.
I hop the bus to Pages & Stages and try to ignore the nagging feeling that something’s off.
Ezra shows up at the bookshop at the end of my shift, freshly showered and grinning ear to ear. He looks like he might be a little high on paint fumes, but maybe he’s just excited. It’s radiating off of him, pulling me to him with its contagious energy. He picks me up right in the middle of the aisle and spins me around.
“It’s done,” he says. “Needs a little polish, but I did it, and it’s amazing.”
I tighten my grip, relieved and giddy. His passion is palpable, and everywhere we touch sets my nerves alight. Creating art makes him so beautiful, but I’m admittedly glad he’s finished. It means I can finally work out all my thwarted attraction from this week.
“It’s amazing because you’re an amazing artist,” I say.
“You bring better art to my hands,” he says. “It wouldn’t exist without you.”
He puts me down and kisses me, causing the kids in the children’s section to gasp and giggle. Sampson clears his throat and Ezra relents, pulling away and taking my hand instead. I lean forward and let my hair hide my blush.
After I clock out, I ask Ezra where he’d like to go.
“Blank Form filmed a music video today and they’re having a wrap party at a bar downtown. I thought we could swing by and grab some drinks.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointment creeping up on me. I’d hoped for something more intimate for the two of us.
He stops to look at me. “Is that cool?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Totally cool.”
I’m being sort of selfish. Of course Ezra wants to see his other friends. Like I told Audrey earlier, he needs human interaction to survive. Maybe we can catch some time alone together later.
When we get to the bar, it’s a madhouse. Duke DJ’s on the dance floor, looking completely at home. Band groupies and party regulars alike fill the place to capacity. Audrey’s hanging near Duke’s turntables, but we only have time to exchange a wave before I’m caught up in the crowd.
Like at the first warehouse party, Ezra’s the center of nearly everyone’s world. The only difference is that now I’m along for the ride. We barely order drinks before someone hooks him into a conversation about a crowdsourced sculpture project nearby.
I slump against the bar and nurse my beer.
Be a good sport, Mia.
I wish I could be like all these people, unafraid to be seen, but I can’t. It’s not me.
Ezra, though… Ezra shines. He always does.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and brushes my hand.
“What do you say we get out of here?” he says with a smile. “Skylar knows we stopped by.”
My mood instantly lifts. He knows me so well.
We’ve made it barely half a block when Ezra pulls me in close and kisses my neck. He’s not drunk, but he’s clearly feeling good.
“My place for some one-on-one?” he says in my ear, his heated breath making my toes curl.
How could I say no?
We’ve barely made it past his door when he starts stripping off my clothes, pressing his fingers into my back like we could merge together by sheer force of his will.
“Tell me again,” he says, and I know exactly what he means.
“You’re an artist,” I gasp. “And you’re brilliant.”
“I’m going to paint my next masterpiece on your skin,” he says as he hoists me up and carries me to his bed.
Afterward, while he’s sleeping, I put my hand over his chest and feel his heartbeat. He’s as sexy as the day we first met, maybe even more, but I can’t help but remember the night we spent under the stars in the park when he bared his heart.
I can’t help but wonder what mystery his canvas holds.
23
The sky is full of rainbows on the day of the showcase and it feels like a good omen.
Audrey’s buzzing around the apartment like an overcaffeinated bee.
“Purple or yellow?” she asks me, holding a violet skirt in one hand and a yellow romper in the other.
“Both?” I say, completely distracted by my own quest for a suitable ensemble to wear to a life-changing sort of event. I’ve never been so simultaneously eager and terrified to see an art exhibit in my life. My outfit has to be perfect.
“So you want me to look like a Lakers girl?” Audrey says, shaking a dress at me. “Help a roommate out here.”
I give her an exasperated look. “Go with the purple.”
“Thank you.” She dashes off to change.
It takes me several lengthy trips into both my wardrobe and Audrey’s before I manage to settle on a jewel-blue cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline and a too-short hem. Audrey has to talk me down from wearing jeans underneath it.
“Wish all my lacy underwear wasn’t in the wash,” I say, tugging at my skirt. “It’d be nice to give Ezra a surprise later.”
“I have just the thing, hold on,” she says, digging through her drawers. “Ah ha, here it is!”
She pulls out a pair of stockings and a strappy something-or-other still in their packaging. It takes me a solid fifteen seconds to realize it’s a garter belt.
“No way,” I say. “I’d have to have the confidence of Mae West to pull those off.”
Audrey’s very matter-of-fact. “Mia, it’s a verifiable fact that no straight man can resist the allure and outright holy-shit-that’shotness of garter stockings.”