Page 40 of Daily Grind
The smile on Brian’s face faltered. “Sometimes.” He swallowed. “Too much?”
“No.” Rob palmed his cheek. “I don’t know why they ever let you go.” He headed toward the restaurant.
A second later Brian caught up. “You mean that?”
He did. Before they entered the restaurant, he faced Brian. “You’re quite a catch.”
“Except for being a workaholic,” Brian said.
Rob shrugged and pulled open the door. “But I understand that.” Could work with it. He’dbeenthere.
The greeter welcomed them and sat them at a table for two near the window; wasn’t quite warm enough to be out on the patio yet. They set the cameras aside and perused the menu.
“Everything’s good,” Brian said, his gaze skimming over the lists of dishes.
“That’s exactly what Todd said.”
In the end, they ordered some appetizers and two main dishes—one lamb, one chicken—that they solemnly vowed to share with each other.
Rob resisted the urge to giggle like a schoolboy as they placed hands on hearts and lowered their voices to pompous proportions.
He’d never had this much fun with anyone.
Riding on that high, he grabbed his camera and handed it to Brian. “Here.”
“Not going to look first?” Honest surprise.
“No—just don’t tell me if they’re horrible.”
Brian took the camera and flicked the screen on. “They’re not going to be horrible.”
Brian wasn’t the one sitting with a lump in his throat.It’s just a hobby.Except it wasn’t. It was art and he wasn’t supposed to indulge in such things.
The smile slid from Brian and was replaced by a look of concentration and appraisal. He flipped through several photos—Rob could tell from the flash of the screen and Brian’s eyebrows knitting. After a few more, Brian’s whole body relaxed “Now, see…” He turned the camera so the screen faced Rob. “This is stunning.”
It was a photo of the main building, the sun catching on a few remaining slivers of glass, and pigeons rising above it. The colors and light blended about perfectly. If he hadn’t known it was his own work, he’d have agreed wholeheartedly with Brian. He met Brian’s gaze. “Maybe.”
Brian raised an eyebrow. “Who has an art degree?”
Rob laughed. Bastard. “Okay.”
Brian flipped through a few more, but then their food came, so he set the camera aside.
About halfway through devouring their appetizers, Brian shot him another of those pointed looks. “I told you, you have a good eye. The photos are fine.”
There was a hardness to that, as if Brian needed to shove that thought into Rob’s head—which he did. Rob set down his fork. “My parents didn’t consider art worth my time when I was a child, even when they were assignments for school. Upper-crust stuff.”
Brian’s fork hovered in the air before he too set it down. “My parents went out of their way to make sure we had grounding in art. But you know, we went to church every Sunday. Singing, music, all those paintings and statues—art was tangled into everything in my life.”
Ah, yes. “You’re Catholic.”
“Well, nominally.”
“I was raised Presbyterian and taught the value of good, hard work.” Since that was what put food on their table.
Brian sat back. “So how is it thatI’mthe workaholic and you’re draggingmeout to have fun?”
Rob laughed. “Well, I did get over a great amount of my youth.” He sobered and his gaze fell on the cameras. “Just not all of it.”
