Page 3 of Painted

She turned serious as they paused there, stepping out of the way of a few more arriving students.

“I am serious about trying something else if your tried and true skills are hard to find at the moment, dear,” she said, tenderly rubbing the spot she’d just slapped and gazing at him with maternal affection that made him feel warm and cared for. “Sometimes a change is as good as a rest, as they say.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Rhys said, bending down to kiss his mum’s cheek. “I’ll think about it. Now, why don’t you go bother Rebecca or something? I have to teach this lot to draw and paint saggy old man balls.”

His mum laughed loud enough to startle another student walking through the door, then lifted to her toes to kiss Rhys’s cheek before leaving.

Rhys smiled after her before turning back to his classroom. His family was the most unconventional collection of queer trainwrecks that he’d ever heard of, but he was damn lucky to have all of them.

Raina had always thought so, too.

It just wasn’t the same without her.

He sucked in a breath and pushed his grief away by striding back through the room to greet the new students. Raina would have wanted him to carry on.

When the sign-up form for the live model class had gone up over the summer, Rhys had been surprised at how quickly his class had filled. He liked to think it was the press that Hawthorne Community Arts Center had received after thedonation from The Brotherhood and the small news piece that had sparked. It was encouraging to see the sudden interest in all things artistic. But Rhys wasn’t naïve enough to think it didn’t have something to do with people thinking they’d get to look at beautiful, naked bodies as well. That was one of the chief reasons he was starting the class with Gary as the model.

Except Gary wasn’t there yet. Rhys checked his watch as more students showed up and took their place at one of the easels placed around the block. Five minutes to go, and no sign of Gary.

“Are you going to be our model, then?” Leslie, one of the retired ladies who, along with her friends, had taken every art class Hawthorne House had offered in the last few years asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Rhys laughed. “Not a chance,” he said.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Violet, one of Leslie’s partners in crime, asked.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Rhys winked at her. “I’m just going to pop out to the office to see what’s holding our model up,” he addressed the room in general, then turned to go.

The majority of the class was made up of retirees, with a few carefully vetted college students taking classes at Hawthorne House for school credit scattered in with them. Rhys felt alright about leaving them alone, but the clock felt like it was ticking to get the class going and to make the students happy.

He headed straight to the office, but even before he reached what had once been Hawthorne House’s grand front hall and the incongruously modern office, bubbles of inconvenient giddiness started to fizz through him.

If there was one thing at Hawthorne House that he’d been avoiding as much as his grief over Raina, it was the arts center’s intrepid young admin, Early. Early had been a fixture at Hawthorne House for almost two years. They’d started outtaking graphic design classes way back when they were still in sixth form, and when they dropped out of uni a year and a half after that, they’d taken a job in the office, working alongside Rebecca, who had been desperate for help by that point anyhow.

Early was already hard at work as Rhys stepped into the office, helping one of the new students complete their registration. They looked perfectly well put together as always, wearing a flowery button-down shirt that could probably be described as a blouse, though it didn’t quite qualify as feminine, and navy blue trousers. They had their long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, also not quite feminine, but not strictly masculine either, and Rhys noted just a hint of eyeliner framing their expressive, blue eyes.

Rhys had a lot of feelings about Early, and none of them were convenient. Early was more than a decade younger than him, for one. Younger men might have been some guys’ thing, but Rhys had never thought he was one of those guys. Physically, Early was the type he usually went for, all lithe lines and grace. But Early was a family employee, and if there was one line Rhys absolutely did not want to cross, it was that one. It would be cruel to put Early in a position where they would feel like they had to quit their job if things became awkward, and Rhys knew that Early couldn’t afford to lose their job.

Rebecca suddenly cleared her throat beside him. “Can I help you?” she asked, too much of a sparkle in her eyes.

Rhys ignored her meddling implication. “Yeah, where is Gary?” he asked.

Rebecca’s sly look dropped. “Gary?” she asked.

“Gary Fisher,” Rhys said. “He’s supposed to be posing for my live model class today.”

“Oh,thatGary,” Rebecca said, her grin returning, but for an entirely different reason. “Chickened out, did he?”

“God, I hope not,” Rhys said, pushing a hand through his hair and feeling increasingly desperate. “I really don’t want to end up posing for this class myself.”

Rebecca laughed.

That drew Early’s attention just as the registering student stepped away from the desk.

“Hi, Rhys,” Early greeted him breathlessly, adoration in their eyes.

Rhys’s body immediately went hot and cold. He liked the way Early looked at him a little too much. The draw he felt toward the young person was intoxicating and dangerous.

“Morning, Early,” he said, telling himself to be professional and friendly, but not to encourage them.

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