Page 42 of A Small Town Spring

“I’m freeloading,” he says unselfconsciously.“But if things go well with the show?—”

“Which they will.”

He makes a face.“I really want to believe that.”

“There’s no way the world isn’t going to fall in love with your art the second they have a chance to see it.”That I know for sure.The certainty in my voice seems to bolster him.

“If things go well with the show, I’ll have options.”

“You’ll be able to do anything you want.”

He chuckles.“I was thinking I could at least pay rent.”

“You keep me stocked with ice cream and cat hair,” I say lightly.“That’s good enough for me.”

“And now you want to put a studio on your property.I thought you were going to build a garage there.Doesn’t Daniel need a home?”He looks at me and I want to hide my face, sure that he’ll be able to see every useless feeling in my heart written on it.

“Daniel’s not about to make his art world debut,” I say.“I just thought you could use the space.It’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s a good idea,” he says softly.“I’m touched.”

“So we’ll do it,” I say, before he can think too hard about it.

“Wait—there’s still something you should know.Maybe two things?—”

I look at him expectantly, trying not to anticipate the worst, like he’s getting back together with Ivy or he met Bowen Yang on the way over here and they’re running away together.I try not to hope for the best, either.That he has feelings for me, that the way he looks at me like he’s always happy to see me isn’t purely out of friendship.

“Dessert?”The server interrupts us with the offer of a sugar infusion.I have no appetite, but Toby glances over the menu and orders chocolate mousse.

“Guess I have a sweet tooth tonight.”

I wave my hand.“Go for it.”

“Also, I’m clearly procrastinating.”He shifts in his chair.“So here’s the thing—what I’ve been working on since Fernanda’s visit.Portraits.I’ve been putting together a collection of them for the show.And it all started because this spring, when I took the pictures of your cottage, I took pictures of you, too.Remember?”

“I remember.”The day that Toby came into my house and made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time is seared into my memory.“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I painted you.From the photos.A portrait.And I should have asked you if it was all right, but it was just something I had to do.”

I have a hard time processing what he’s saying.It’s not what I thought he was going to say.Not what I hoped he was going to say.It’s some strange third thing.

“You painted me?”

“Yes.A portrait of you.And I guess I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.It’s silly.But if I put it in the show?—”

“You’re putting a portrait of me in the show?”I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about this.

“I was going to check with you first.So yeah.”Toby grimaces.“This is me checking with you, I guess.Sorry.I fucked this all up.I should have brought you to see it earlier.Again, I’m not sure why I didn’t.”

“When can I see it?”

“As soon as we’re back home, of course,” he says earnestly.

It smarts.Back home.We share a home, but we don’t share a life, not the way I want to.

“Okay.”

The server delivers Toby’s mousse, but he just stares at it, looking miserable.“John Singer Sargent once said, ‘every time I paint a portrait I lose a friend.’”

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