Page 16 of Daily Grind
Still didn’t make sense. But he had Brian’s hand and they were on a date. He’d figure out what was behind those brown eyes eventually.
Another block and they were at the small restaurant. Didn’t look like much from the outside, but the inside was warm and inviting. Red and brown hues to the decorations and the food smelled fantastic. They were shown to a small table for two.
After they ordered, Brian took a deep breath, put his folded hands on the table, and spoke. “So, how was the hike?”
Truly a first date, complete with an utterly adorable nervous partner. “It was lovely. So many trees budding or blooming. Tiny flowers. Ferns. Wait—” He flipped open the iPad, brought up the gallery, and handed it over.
Brian laid the tablet down and stared. Slowly, he flipped through each photograph, sometimes sliding back to the previous one. About halfway though, he focused on Rob. “These are incredible. You have a fantastic eye for light and composition.”
That sounded like the praise of someone whounderstoodphotography. “Do you—are you a photographer?”
Happy lines from his smile lit Brian’s face. “Believe it or not, I have a bachelor of fine arts, with a concentration in drawing, painting, printmaking, and photography.”
Well, that explained that. Rob stared back. “Isn’t an artist owning a coffee shop a little cliché?”
Brian laughed outright at that, and a nearby couple glanced their way. When he caught his breath, he answered. “Not really. Artists and writers hang out at coffee shops. You need to be out of your mind to run one.” He flipped through more of the photographs. “Seriously, though. These are wonderful. You should make some prints and sell them.”
“Sell… them?” Piddling, useless little things like that? Who’d be interested in a photo of fern heads in leaf litter?
A moment later, their food came.
Brian closed the iPad and set it to the side. They thanked their server and dug in. “Lots of people buy photographs. You won’t make a ton of money, but…” He took a bite of his noodle dish.
He didn’t need the money. Hadn’t in a very long time. He shifted in his seat and ripped basil into his pho. “I don’t share my photos with anyone. It’s… not something people want from me.”
Brian lifted an eyebrow.
He supposed he needed to quantify that, somehow. “I was pushed very heavily by my parents to not have anything to do with the arts. We were barely scraping by growing up. Maths and science were seen as the way out of that. Art was… a luxury.”
“So you don’t want to be seen as indulging in something so trivial?” There was a hard edge to Brian’s voice.
“No.” He craved art, almost as much as companionship. “It’s… complicated.” He stirred the bean sprouts into the bowl. “I suppose… at some level, I don’t want to dishonor my parent’s memory. Even though—” He broke off. He’d hated the way they’d treated him. His drawings. His love of color. But this path was too damn painful, still.
Brian’s mouth snapped shut. He struggled for a few moments, then spoke. “They’re gone?”
God, hehatedthat phrase, as if his parents had taken a trip somewhere and would be back later. “They’re dead. Dad had a heart attack several years back. My mother—” Grief welled up inside Rob. He should have been there for his mum, not halfway around the world, working too hard to answer his phone before his father had died. He shook his head. “Do you mind if we change the subject?”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Poor thing looked crestfallen.
He couldn’t blame Brian, not after dropping that particular bomb. “You weren’t. Point of a date is to get to know each other.”
There was that flush again. “I do want to get to know you.” He eyed the tablet. “You know, if you sent me the raw files, I could make up some prints. I have access to the equipment I need. You could see how you felt about having physical copies—for yourself.”
He followed Brian’s gaze. It was a good idea, actually. Something to force himself out of that particularly nasty mind-set. “Why don’t you pick the ones you think would work best,” he said. He didn’t have the eye or the heart. All of his photos were both precious and horrible.
A faint but beautiful smile. “I can do that.”
They settled in to eating their dinners, and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.Fuck. He hadn’t meant to kill the conversation entirely. He set down his spoon. “What about you? Still pursue the arts?”
Brian leaned back. “I used to. But, like everything else, it takes time. I do miss it, though. I loved to sketch with charcoals. Great for capturing the older industrial side of Pittsburgh.”
“You like the urban industrial, too.” Rob felt the past—his childhood—rise up and settle like a lump against his heart. “I grew up in an old coal town. Struggling. Some jobs in manufacturing.” Not the easiest place to grow and thrive, especially when gay.
Brian nodded slowly. “So a place like Pittsburgh?”
“Except it never had a renaissance.” Never had a chance. After he’d buried his mother, Rob hadn’t been back, but he kept up with a few old acquaintances from time to time. The ones who still talked to him. “I’m not very good at changing the subject, am I?”
A pained smile from Brian. “Ask me some more questions?”
