Page 22 of Doors & Windows
An unexpected skill Jonah had picked up since moving to New York was cooking. Ellis had made it clear on his first day in the house that Jonah had free reign over the kitchen and everything in it. On days he wasn’t on a job or holed up in the library or at the park, he spent a lot of time hovering over a stovetop, trying his hand at new dishes.
He’dmade a routine of it: checking out a cookbook, then swinging by the grocery store on the way back to the house to pick up what he needed. He always ended up with more than he could eat, leaving a fridge full of leftovers for him and Ellis to share. Ellis had offered to chip in some cash for these expeditions, since he was benefiting from it, but Jonah didn’t allow it. Ellis was covering enough of his expenses as it was.
Having money in his pocket to buy fresh ingredients was a privilege Jonah would never be able to take for granted. The whole cooking endeavor had initially been born out of a mind for practicality. He had wanted to spend his newfound income wisely, and learning to prepare his own food was a survival instinct that would help him build the independence he so craved. He liked it more than he thought he would, the act of creating something whole out of a bunch of separate pieces and knowing it came from his own hands. Perhaps, he thought, that was what drew Liam to the art he made.
“Of course it’s exciting,” Liam said. “It’s the first time I get to try your cooking.”
“‘No pressure,’”Jonah echoed.
They ate on the terrace on the upper level, accessible only through the sliding glass door of the primary bedroom.
The back of the house faced the ocean. It was hard to wrap his head around the idea that this was the view from someone’s house. Although the people who resided here would never have quite as good a view as Jonah did now, of a paint-speckled Liam Cassidy smiling in the sunlight, copper curls tossed by the ocean breeze. Jonah wanted a mural of that image painted across every wall inside his mind.
Liam was far more enthusiastic about a lunch that came out of a handheld cooler than anyone had a right to be, but Jonah couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt watching him hum around the first bite, eyes closing in genuine delight. The food was simple enough, because Jonah had been limited to things that could be eaten cold after sitting for a few hours—a sandwich on homemade ciabatta and spicy cucumber salad. Despite Liam’s compliments, Jonah insisted he could do better with access to a stovetop.
“I guess you’ll just have to cook me a big, fancy dinner next time,” Liam said, oblivious to the way Jonah’s heart thumped to the beat of that promise.
Next time. Next time. Next time.
They hadn’t talked about what happened—or whatdidn’thappen—that night in his bedroom. Not even the morning after, when Liam had been all soft smiles and careful touches. Jonah suspected Liam was waiting on him to initiate the conversation. And Jonah knew he should. But Liam, as always, sorely overestimated Jonah’s bravery.
But now there was anext time,spoken into existence like a tiny miracle, and Jonah could breathe a little easier knowing he hadn’t ruined everything.
They didn’t take too much time to eat, quick to feed the hunger from a long morning of work. Jonah wasn’t eager to abandon such a perfect moment, but it was ample consolation that the tradeoff was getting to watch Liam work after the break. So he took a moment to commit the image of Liam against the backdrop of the beach to memory, then they packed up and headed inside.
Jonah thanked himself for saving the nursery for last.
His body was tired, but sharing space with Liam for the afternoon bolstered his spirits more than any amount of caffeine and a night of sleep could have hoped to.
Liam brought the music back, the volume notched slightly down to allow for conversation. He seemed more reserved about singing out loud with an audience, much to Jonah’s disappointment, but his inhibitions seemed to lower the longer they worked together.
By the time Jonah had finished the first coat of lavender on the three remaining walls, the tuneless murmurs under Liam’s breath had graduated to resounding belts, occasionally with the use of a wet paintbrush as a microphone. Jonah found it impossible to resist when that paintbrush was extended to him in invitation, the light in Liam’s eyes infectious. Jonah leaned in, inches away from smear ofcanary-yellow paint across his chin, and sang the line he had been prompted. His voice crackled and dipped, a muscle weak from disuse—when was the last time Jonahsang?—but naked delight poured over Liam’s face as if a chorus of angels had opened the sky.
The lavender was such a light pigment that it needed three coats, but Jonah still finished his portion of the work before Liam. With Liam’s permission to openly spectate, Jonah balled up his flannel and stuffed it under his head, lying back on the tarp-covered floor. He laced his fingers behind his neck like he was soaking in the rays from Liam’s painted sunrise and watched from between tented knees. Liam tossed him a wry grin over his shoulder, another snapshot Jonah stored away for safekeeping and got back to work.
Liam kept the music low, but neither of them felt the need to carry a conversation. It was clear Liam was fully engaged in the final stage of the painting, and Jonah didn’t want to distract from that. He was plenty content to be a fly on the wall, an indulgent witness.
Liam’s competency, the rare, earned confidence in his movements, stoked an unexpected reaction in Jonah. The stirring of desire, bordering on a devotion reserved for worship, took him by surprise. But in the safety of Liam’s distraction, he let his eyes wander.
Appreciating Liam’s aesthetic appeal was nothing new, but allowing himself to consider a physical relationship as something attainable gave it new life. He watched, enamored, as wiry muscles flexed and shifted under pale, freckled skin. When Liam reached up to stroke a silver lining onto the highest cloud, hisshirt lifted to reveal a dimpled lower back. It was suddenly impossible not to remember how that part of him felt under Jonah’s palm. How it felt to slip his hand lower.
Jonah let out a long, slow breath through his nose.Painting, he thought.Focus on the painting.
It was less than an hour later when Liam lowered his hands to his sides, took a step back, and stared up at the wall for a long, silent stretch. Jonah watched, eyes torn between the art and the artist, and waited for the declaration. Finally, Liam tossed his brush into a mostly empty tray and turned back to Jonah, one arm gesturing widely.
“Ta-da,” he sang.
Jonah pushed himself up, leaning back on his hands. There was never any doubt in his mind that this mural would be beautiful, but what Liam delivered was even better than he imagined. Spindly branches blooming with yellow and white flowers stretched up and out from the bottom corner of the room. In the middle of the largest branch, two small birds sat side by side, facing away from the viewer, their feathers painted in a depiction of iridescence in the false light.
Liam’s raw talent was evident, but even more than that, his dedication to the vision was woven into every brushstroke. It was undeniable from even a glance Liam cared about this piece—about what it meant to him as a new artist making his way in the world, and what it meant for the newborn babies who would sleep beneath the glow of his pastel sky.
“I…” Jonah shook his head. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Liam ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “If you’re looking for suggestions, might I recommend,‘Liam, your artistic genius is boundless and incomparable.’”
A smile spread slowly over Jonah’s face. “‘Liam,’” he echoed obligingly, “‘your artistic genius is boundless and incomparable.’”
“Wow, thank you. That is so kind of you to say.” Liam sank down next to him, twisting his torso in both directions in a ripple of pops and cracks.
