Page 42 of Love Notes and Late Nights
“Not really. Come over if you’re not doing anything.”
Harris smiled into the phone. “You’re reading my mind. Do you need anything?”
“Just to see your face.”
Harris smiled wider. “I want to see your face too. See you in a bit.” He drove like a lunatic to get to Wolf’s place, eager to see where the day would lead and if their relationship was going to move forward or stay in limbo.
“Come upstairs with me. I want to show you something.” Wolf said as soon as he opened the front door, then he took Harris by the hand and led the way up to the second floor.
Harris’ heartrate sped up at the romantic gesture, and he hoped that Wolf was finally ready to reveal that he wanted more than just friendship. That had to be it. The intimate handholdingand smile that Wolf gave Harris over his shoulder were clear signs. And why else would Wolf be taking him upstairs?
Harris had been waiting for this moment for a very long time, and he almost couldn’t believe it. His blood bubbled with excitement, and a silly grin stayed permanently etched on his face as he followed Wolf, watching the magnificent globes of his ass clench with each step.
When Wolf stopped in front of one of the unidentified closed doors on the second floor, Harris was flooded with a major case of impatient energy. “Is this your bedroom,” he asked.
Wolf returned a sly smile. “You wish.”
“It’s your music room,” Harris concluded. Wolf must have written music he wanted to share, and that was awesome because Harris wanted to know more about this man. Wolf had so many layers that needed uncovering and to be exposed. For a guy who was brutally honest most of the time, Wolf kept his emotions and feelings buried deep under a protective barrier, and that couldn’t be healthy.
“No.” Wolf pointed across the hall. “My music room is over there.”
A rush of heat shot up Harris’ chest. Thishadto be Wolf’s bedroom. He’d open the door, the two would look at the bed, then at each other, they’d rush at one another, tear their clothes off, and—wait. This isn’t a bedroom. Wolf had opened the door revealing a room that was almost empty. A big desk sat against one wall facing a computer. A couch was in front of a row of windows. Built-in bookcases filled another wall and were stuffed with books—that was the most surprising thing about the room—and Harris walked over to inspect Wolf’s reading material. They were mostly books on art and museums, some classic novels, and what he imagined were the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe.
Harris plucked a book from the shelf and studied the cover. “The Tell-Tale Heart.”
“Did you ever read it?” Wolf asked. “It’s not the best reading material when you can’t sleep at three in the morning.” He let out a hearty chuckle. “I won’t make that mistake again. It’s chilling. It makes every sound in the house seem 10 times louder, and you start to imagine that there’s something sinister coming for you. Take it home, if you want.”
“No, thank you. I prefer not to be scared shit when I’m home alone at night.” Harris put the book down and pulled another from the wall of shelves. This was a book about Michelangelo’s statue of David.
“I got that when we played Rock in Rome a few years ago. I went to Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence and saw it in person. By myself. It was magnificent.”
Harris had remembered Wolf talking about it at the time but didn’t know he went to the museum alone. “Why’d you go alone? Didn’t Ethan want to go with you?”
Wolf’s lips pulled to one side. “Nah. It’s not his thing.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“I would have gone with you.”
Wolf studied Harris with an adorable tilt of his head. “I never thought to ask. I assumed that was the last thing you or Marshall would be interested in.”
“I didn’t knowyou’dbe interested in it.”
“You know I love art.”
Harris realized that art involved more than just painting and drawing. It was creating and making something beautiful from nothing.
“Come on.” Wolf waved his hand. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
Harris put the book back on the shelf and followed Wolf to where three easels stood in the middle of the room, each coveredwith a sheet. He’d been so distracted by the wall of books that he passed right by the artwork. “Is this an extension of your art studio? Are you running out of room?”
“I’m always running out of room. I’m going to set up a separate storage space in the garage and move some of it out there.”
“Did you ever think of selling or donating some pieces?”
“No,” Wolf was quick to answer. “Most of my work is private.”
Harris knew Wolf didn’t share his artwork often, so it was a privilege that Wolf wanted to show these three paintings to him.
“I painted these for you,” Wolf said. “As a gift. I hope you like them.”
