Page 81 of Mr. Picture Perfect
Deeply.
Dean experiences a moment of misgiving when he looks up to find Anthony’s face frozen, and his eyes reflect immediate regret. He parts his lips to say something.
Anthony mutters, “Whatever,” before Dean can speak, then looks at Malcolm. “We done here? Good.” He departs the sunroom. We listen as his heavy footsteps take him across the house until the distant sound of the front door shutting brings us to silence.
Dean sighs. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his eyes.
Malcolm shrugs. “To be fair, I think wearedone for the day. I might have … overloaded you guys a bit. Can you blame me? I like getting things done and organized early. Less to stress about later. Anyway.” He offers me and Dean a smile. “Thanks for today.”
Dean nods distractedly, mutters a nearly inaudible thank-you, then rises from the couch and sees himself out. I watch him leave, worried whether there was more I could’ve done in the heat of the moment to diffuse things. Then I wonder if Iamtaking Dean’s side, judging Anthony. Not that Anthony makes it easynotto judge him; he’s a drunk, anger-filled train wreck half of the day.
“I read the article earlier,” says Malcolm.
I look up. “Article?”
“The story they ran. Including your bold heroic feats at the festival.” He nods appraisingly. “You are quite the town hero right now, Mr. Harding. Very impressive.”
“Oh, right. The article.” I smile back. “Thanks.”
“Quite eye-opening, how fleeting life can be. You’re here one minute, buried under a pile of picture frames the next. Did the Noah guy press charges, by the way?” asks Malcolm, squinting. “It wasn’t clear whether the picture-frame people are in trouble. I’m just curious. For closure’s sake.”
“Uh, no, as far as I understand. They were very apologetic. We are both okay, Noah and I, so …”
“Noah and I? Hmm.” Malcolm hugs his tablet, leans forward, and studies my face. “I’m sensing something there.”
I have to laugh. “What?”
“The way you said it. And maybe a hint or two in the article. I try to read between the lines.” He tilts his head. “Are you guys—?”
“No,” I answer too quickly, probably due to my convo with TJ earlier. “No,” I repeat more calmly. “We just reconnected at the festival. Haven’t seen much of each other since high school.”
“Hmm, I see.” Malcolm’s lips go flat as he gazes off toward the window, peering at the distant pavilion. “I guess I’m justtryingto read too much into it. Hopeful eyes. Guilty conscience. Are you not seeing anyone at all?” he then asks, turning back to me.
It isn’t an easy thing to continually wipe away something that very much exists. “Nope.” I immediately redirect. “How are you and Samuel doing? Hope Nadine actually leaves you enough time a day to spend with your man.”
“Oh, we’re doing fine, even with my busy schedule. It helps to have a place on the Strong ranch to stay, so I’m not on top of poor Samuel all the time. Besides, we’re still getting used to each other, you know? We’re still learning things. It’s not always easy. I have discovered recently that I can be … a bit much when I’m stressed. And Samuel has discovered that he snores—a fact which has led me to invest inearplugs.” He grimaces. “Is this TMI?”
“Not at all.” I chuckle. “Actually, it’s cute, the two of you.”
“Then why does sharing this make me feel guilty? I want you to be happy with someone, too, Cole. You deserve it. A hell of a lot more than I do.”
I reach across the tea table between us and pat Malcolm on the shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, alright? What we had was … what? A date? And a rainy wedding rehearsal dinner that went all wrong?”
“I don’t think I’ve drank a drop of alcohol since that day,” he admits, wide-eyed. Then he winces. “Okay, maybe a little on New Year’s. Oh, wait, and a glass of champagne on Valentine’s. Oh, and didn’t you meet up with us for something the next weekend?”
“Yep, we did.” I shake my head. “We’ve been busy. Haven’t had much time to hang out except for those couple of lunch dates. And even those felt a bit rushed, right?”
Malcolm smiles, sighs, then wrinkles up his face. “Honestly, I probably had more opportunities to invite you out with us. But …” He fidgets with his tablet, fingers drumming along the edge. “I just felt … bad. Like I was forcing you to be our third wheel. Or like I’d be rubbing it in your face that I chose Samuel over you.”
“What?” I laugh. “No, not at all, Malcolm. Why would you ever think that?”
“I just hope you find someone, Cole. That’s all. That’s it.”
Literally, the secret is dancing on the tip of my tongue, like a diver at the very end of the springboard, ready to fly into the pool down below. It’s practically taunting me. Malcolm is going to be so relieved when he finds out, I just know it.
Would Noah be angry with me if I bent my promise a tiny bit?
Can’t Malcolm be a tiny, meager, itsy-bitsy, infinitesimal, little exception?
