Page 16 of Secret Hudson

I don’t know which is funnier, the image of Royce sliding down the side of my building or the fact that he thinks my mother is a booty call.

“Not necessary. It’s just my mom.”

His brows shoot up in disbelief. “Your mom?”

I turn and head back toward the door. “Yeah. She gets into these crazy moods where she holes up in her studio for days on end, working on things, then when she finally comes out she has no concept of what time it is anymore. Probably thinks it’s just after dinner or something. Watch. I’m going to go down there, and she’ll ask me why we’re closed already.”

Royce chuckles. “So, I’ll just wait up here for you then?”

I nod. “That’d probably be safest, yeah.”

I rush down both flights of stairs and arrive at the bottom and inside the store just in time to find my mother struggling to get a massive new vase up onto one of the display tables.

“Hey, baby. Come give me a hand, would you?”

I already have a grip on the thing and move it gently into place.

“I really wish you wouldn’t try to do stuff like this on your own. You could have demolished half the store trying to balance that thing. It’s almost as big as you!” There isn’t really a point to my little speech. She’s heard it all before and ignores me every time.

“Don’t be so dramatic. Meanwhile, why is the store closed? Slow business tonight?” She glances around the abandoned shop.

“Ma, its five o’clock in the morning.”

She appears frighteningly shocked considering she's facing a wall displaying custom clocks at this very moment. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope.” I slide my hands into my pockets, rolling back and forth from my toes to my heels, just passing the time until my mother decides to leave again and go home to bed, so I can run back up to spend whatever I have left of the night with Royce before he has to take off as well.

Apparently, drawing attention to the fact I even have pockets is a bad move on my part though.

“Kieran, honey, why are you fully clothed at this unearthly time of morning?” She squints at me suspiciously.

“Same reason you are. Busy working.”

She doesn’t buy it. “Who with?”

“What do you mean, who with?”

She points over at the sofa and table where Royce and I were sitting earlier.

“Coffee cups. There’s two of them. Who’s here with you? And don’t you lie to your mother a second time.”

I sigh. “If I tell you, do you promise to leave again without saying another word?”

She contemplates it for a moment. “Alright.”

“Royce Lemmi.”

An audible gasp escapes her lips as she clutches her chest dramatically. My mother, the artist, has a flare for, well, everything, but she’s also a woman of her word. So, she gives me a kiss on the cheek, spins around on her heel and marches straight out the door without so much as a peep.

I barely wait for the sound of her engine starting before I race back up those stairs and to the man of my fucking dreams, who just happens to be waiting for me at the top of them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ROYCE

Hudson and I stay on that roof for several hours, and, by some bizarre miracle, I, at some point, do forget about the camera in the midst of our conversations. And there are many. Random topics, one more entertaining and interesting than the next. Some intimate even.

By the time the sun is coming up, we're standing here in silence, holding hands – this time I made the move - and watching the spectacular view.

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