Page 69 of Only the Small Bones
“They have an art studio in the back,” I said, ignoring all the activity happening around us, “and I may have snagged us the last two open seats for tonight’s figure drawing class.”
Ryan’s fear made room for curiosity now, and I held out my hand.
“You can do this.” I reminded him of his own words.
Ryan took my hand, his death grip betraying what his smile didn’t.
“We leave whenever you’re ready,” I swore.
Holding hands, we jaywalked across the street while I distracted him with bad jokes and even worse impersonations. We laughed at nothing and smiled at the world around us.
We unlinked our hands to let a few people pass us on the narrow sidewalk, but Ryan reached for me as soon as they went by. His fingers trembled through his wool mittens. I squeezed them tighter, pausing to plant a kiss on the tip of his frostbitten nose.
The Daisy had a rustic and friendly vibe. The type of place where the patrons were on a first name basis with the owner and staff. I hung our coats on the rack near the door, returning the greeting the blonde bartender threw our way. Ryan offered him a nervous smile.
Thankfully it seemed to be a slow night. It made sense with Christmas just a couple of days away.
“Ready to head to the back?” I asked. “There’s enough time to order food and drinks before the real fun starts.”
Ryan nodded, looking around once more before following me through the tables to the glass doors offering a glimpse of the art studio. The music from the bar area faded away as we stepped inside the cozy space surrounded by hung murals. A tall, olderman appeared from around a corner to show us to our small table etched with daisies.
Between the table design, the bar name, and the paintings that contained the beautiful wild flower, it made me curious about the story behind it. They were etched into every chair too.
Ryan settled in next to me, his knee bouncing under the table while he observed the other couples engaged in hushed conversation around us.
“I’m Franky,” said the man who’d shown us to our table. He handed us our menus. “And you two are?”
“William.” Franky looked to Ryan next. “Ryan,” I said. “His name’s Ryan.”
Franky’s brows drew together. He likely wondered why I hadn’t allowed Ryan to answer for himself. “William and Ryan,” he mused. “We pride ourselves on remembering our regulars. Is this your first time here with us?” He addressed Ryan, but again, I jumped in on his behalf.
“Yes, it’s our first time.”
Franky glanced at me, his gaze shrewd. He seemed fit for dominating a boardroom, not waiting tables at a local bar.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu,” he said before disappearing. Ryan’s stare heated my cheeks, and I found him watching me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. I tilted my head toward him, wordlessly asking if he was okay. His lips tightened before he rooted his gaze to his menu.
He was quiet while we ate. Too quiet. Not that he ever spoke, but he hadn’t sent one text my way since we sat down, not even to order. He’d just pointed at the menu, and when his food arrived, he’d contemplated it for several long minutes before taking a bite.
“What’s wrong?” I finally asked when our waitress cleared our empty plates away. He ignored me. I tapped his phone, buthe snatched it off the table and shoved it in his pocket.What the hell?
I’d been about to push the issue, but our waitress returned, handing out tabletop easels and canvases. Ryan worked on getting his set up, pausing to accept the charcoal sticks she distributed next. She’d had to gesture for me to take mine twice because I’d been so focused on figuring out Ryan’s problem.
“Thank you,” I said to her. Sighing, I decided to let it go. He’d tell me when he was ready. Pushing him to communicate never worked. If we were back at my place, he’d probably be locked behind a slammed door by now.
The overhead lights brightened, but not by much. Enough to produce a decent sketch, but not enough to turn a romantic night out into a classroom setting. Ryan was probably the only thing close to Picasso in this room anyway. The rest of us would likely see this for what it was. Something fun to do on a date night.
The blonde bartender from out front took the small stage, surprising me when he introduced himself as Leland—artist extraordinaire and owner of The Daisy.
“Are you kidding me, Noon?” Leland said to the largest man I’d ever seen in my life. “This is the third night this week.”
The giant he’d called Noon chuckled, wrapping an arm around a man with eyes a similar shade of green as mine. The man looked like a model. “You have Solace to thank for seeing my face again so soon.”
Leland addressed the blushing blonde Noon had drawn closer to him. “You either really love this place, or you just want to see my man half-naked,” he deadpanned. The crowd laughed. Franky rolled his eyes from his spot to the left of the stage. Leland winked at him, pulling a begrudging grin from Franky.
The waitress brought two stools on stage, setting up a larger easel and canvas in front of one of them.
“Okay,” Leland turned serious. “Thank you all for being here. I’ll be instructing you as we go, but it doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be fun. Our scheduled subject couldn’t make it, so this handsome DILF over here agreed to step in.” He flourished his hands in Franky’s direction, and the crowd applauded him for being a good sport. Franky stepped on stage at Leland’s beckoning.
