Page 23 of Jamie
“Barring that? He’s living in a closet!”
“It’s a walk-in closet.” He grabbed his phone and dialed up the photos. “See? It’s cute!”
He had a bean bag with a bunch of pillows and blankets, his books in the built-in shelves, and a low table for his laptop.
“It’s not bad at all. For a closet. But what about the no-food thing?” Silas asked, frowning.
“I have a microwave and a mini fridge. Besides, I mostly eat at the coffee shop, or I get tacos or whatever. I just… it’s a thing. We don’t get kitchen privileges. There are eight of us.”
“Eight boys with no access to food in the house they live in…” Silas looked stricken.
Bran took his hand. “I heard, love. We’ll figure something, yeah?”
Silas nodded. “Yes.”
“We’re not—we’re all over eighteen. I promise.”
Bran nodded. “Good to know. You should still be able to get to a fridge and have fresh vegetables, fruit. Food not from a fast food joint…” He shook his head. “We don’t need to solve the world’s problems today, now do we? Now, you have a lovely nook of a home, but we’d still like to offer you a place to come and write. An office, so to speak. Private, quiet, a fridge with snacks and cold drinks.”
“Oh…” Something quiet. “How much are you asking?”
“Bran is a nurturer of artists. There would be no charge,” Silas told him. “I mean, if you happened to see dishes in the sink and wanted to do them, no one would stop you, but seriously, there’s no charge.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. That’s taking advantage of you, and you’re both so kind…” He loved the idea, but he wasn’t a user. He was independent. He was coping.
“But—” Bran put a hand on Silas’s arm, stopping his words.
“We don’t feel you would be, but we can come to an arrangement, I’m sure. What if I commission some writing from you in exchange for the space?”
He tilted his head. Okay… that was unexpected. “Like what?”
“I own a gallery, and we do brochures detailing what’s available. I start with the artist and the name of the work, maybe I’ve been given a couple details about the pieces and the artists themselves. The brochures need descriptions, the author bio. Maybe a bit about the exhibition in general if there’s a theme or a showing.”
“Oh. So, like copywriting? I can do that. I may need some direction, but I can do that.”
“Yes, copywriting. I knew there was a specific word for it. It would be a great help if you could do that for me in exchange for the writing room time.”
“I can do that, but you need to be sure. I mean… it’s a lot.” And it was a little magical, but he’d love a quiet place.
Bran and Silas looked at each other for a moment, communicating silently. Then they turned together and smiled at him.
“I’ll get you a key,” Silas said at the same time that Bran said, “See Silas about a key.”
“Okay. Well, if you’re sure…” God, an office. An office to write.
“We’re sure,” they answered together.
“Another pancake?” Silas asked. “To celebrate.”
“If there’s enough…” He did like the way they tasted.
“Bran made a kazillion—of course there’s enough.”
“Help yourself,” Bran told him.
“Thank you.” He took another, his cheeks burning.
Silas took another blueberry one, wrapped it around a sausage, and ate it like finger food.
