Page 90 of Daily Grind
A fake pout, then a smile. “I brought your prints.”
That made Rob’s heart tumble in an entirely different manner and he pulled Brian toward the living room. “Really?”
Brian resisted long enough to grab his backpack and extract two pieces of heavy cardboard. They sat down on the sofa. “Need to get them matted and framed, but I thought maybe you might want to sign them first.”
Sign them? That twisted something in his brain and his eyes misted. “You’re joking.”
“No.” Brian got one of his very serious looks. “Not at all. You’re the artist.”
Why did that put the fear of God into him? A moment later, Brian pulled out a set of eight glossy photographs from between the sleeve and Rob’s breath caught.
He knew the top image. He’d taken it up at McConnells Mill—part of the water wheel, the stream, and the spring trees in the background. Seeing it as a print—the fucking thing looked professional. Like a puzzle or a photo from a magazine or a work of art. So much better than the proofs had been.
He couldn’t speak.
A small, sympathetic smile on Brian, one that was quickly slipping toward amused.
Bastard. He knew.
The next was from the Carrie Furnace. A wild pansy blooming in the ruins of industry. Rust and steel and nature. Again, he knew he’d snapped the shot, could even smell the air and feel the excitement in his body, but the image took on a life of its own.
The other six photos were the same way. Stunning. Unbelievable that he’d captured those moments, even though he knew in his bones that he had.
He leaned back against the couch, his hands shaky. “These are… lovely.”
Brian took the photos from him and set them on the coffee table. “They are.” He took Rob’s hands. “They’re yours.”
No one could take that from him, either. Not his dead father and mother. Not a blackmailing lover. Not his job. Not even Brian, who’d helped him reach this point. He took a breath. “I don’t have a pen.” Didn’t even know what type would be best.
But lovely Brian did, of course. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a pen, every motion an act of sayingI love you.
Rob swallowed, uncapped the pen, and signed on the bottom edge, where he’d seen such signatures on photographs before, and his heart just about beat out of his chest. When he was done with the photographs, he recapped the pen, placed it on the table, and leaned back. He could barely see through the mist in his eyes.
Silently and reverently, Brian collected the photographs and put them back into their sleeve. “I’ll get them framed for you.”
That was too much. He crooked his finger and beckoned Brian closer and of course he came. Rob pulled him the rest of the way, brushing his lips against Brian’s. “Thank you,” he whispered into Brian’s ear and held him tight, until the enormity of the emotions in his chest settled down.
Brian stroked his hair. “You’re welcome.” A murmur of sound.
How long they sat there holding each other, Rob didn’t know, but when his clock gently chimed the hour, he loosened his hold on Brian. “Did you plan to completely shatter me before we went to your parents?”
Brian opened space between them, his whole being a mix of amusement and contriteness. Entirely adorable. If they hadn’t had to walk several blocks in a few minutes, Rob would have pulled him off the couch and straight upstairs.
Brian scratched the back of his head. “I knew you’d be nervous and wanted to make you feel better. I guess I screwed up.”
“Not at all.” It had worked. He wasn’t as worried about Brian’s family, not when his heart was full of heat and light. He kissed Brian, a gentle sip of his lips, and rose.
Brian glanced at his watch and stood. “Yeah, I guess we should go.” His smile was broad. “You ready for this?”
Rob couldn’t help the laugh. “At forty? Absolutely not.”
They went anyway. Despite it having rained for the better part of Saturday, the clouds had lifted enough for sun to dry the pavement. A breeze had blown much of the humidity away and the fresh air cleared Rob’s head and put his emotions back together.
Soon, they were in front of a house smaller than his—more of a row house than his Victorian. Before he could even prepare himself, Brian caught his hand and pulled him up on to the porch and through the front door.
“I’m home!” Brian called out.
The reply came from where Rob guessed the kitchen might be. “We’re back here.”
