Eyeing him, Andy walks toward the back room, the painting inhis hand. Miles sluggishly follows him. “You don’t look great. How’s your family inn?”
“Very good, actually. It’s back on its feet, so I don’t have to worry about it—at least not for now. We’re booked out for months, so we’re finally hiring staff again. You should come visit sometime.”
“Hm, sure,” Andy says, giving Miles a kind smile. He pulls out a small form and scribbles on it—Miles’s name and the date. The back room’s crowded with all kinds of art pieces, and Miles wonders if his painting will ever be stocked here, forgotten. “So, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he lies.
“I manage twenty artists, including you. I know when something’s wrong, and you’ve lost your muse, so don’t even try lying to me.”
“Yeah, I honestly have no idea what that would be.”
“Your source of inspiration. Something that makes you want to create—desire, passion, drive.”
“That’s real deep, Andy.”
“Honestly, how can you get this far without knowing what a muse is?” Andy asks, taping the form on the clear plastic of his painting. He seems slightly frustrated now—well, as frustrated as someone with his calm demeanor can be. “You went to art school, and you’ve been drawing way before that. You’ve been working in this gallery for years. What do you mean you have no idea what a muse is—”
“Okay, wait,” Miles says with a wheeze, and he instantly freezes when Andy glares at him.Oops.“I know what a muse is. I’m saying I don’t know what my muse is.”
If he has to say the word muse one more time, he might lose his mind.
Andy sighs, closes his eyes, and massages his temple. He mumbles something incoherent about having to deal with this all the time with artists, and how he should’ve used his accounting degree instead. Miles almost jokes about offering him a job at the inn.
“I apologize,” Andy says, meeting Miles’s eyes. “I know it’s not easy to be creative. I get it—I’m in a real tough place because if you don’t give us something, I’ll have to put another artist up on your wall. And I don’t want to do that. You’re one of the best we have.”
Miles grins, his chest welling up. “I know. And I really do appreciate you giving me time off to deal with… things.”
“Part of that deal was that you still give us new works, though. We agreed to let you take a break from taking commissions, on the condition that you’ll keep sending in works to display in the gallery. You know we don’t make as much as profit when you’re not doing commissions, right?”
“I know. I’ll catch up, I swear. Trust me.”
He nods. “Now that your inn’s all sorted out, focus on your art now, will you? Heck, if your lake town is your muse, then drive right back now—just give us new paintings. Also, don’t forget to update your social media.”
Miles doesn’t say that focusing on his art is much more difficult now than ever. Andy seems unconvinced, too, with the way he stares squarely at Miles until he leaves the gallery.
Outside, Miles takes a picture of the gallery and posts it on Instagram. He types in the caption, “I’m back!!! Can’t wait to show youall what I’ve been working on!!!!”
Even if he doesn’t have much to show them… They don’t need to know that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The moment he spots Calvin, Miles thinks that maybe he does know what Andy was talking about.
Miles has a pass hanging off his neck, with the record label’s logo and the word ‘guest’ emblazoned on it, and he’s directed to the second floor, where the podcast’s going to be recorded. It’s pretty cool, honestly. There’s a huge room with a crew walking around, and a snack table, like Calvin had said—then another smaller room, separated with glass, that has chairs, a table, and microphones.
Then there’s Calvin, talking to a woman with a clipboard. When Miles waves at him and catches his attention, his expression lights up. Miles’s heart takes off and beats faster, which is stupid and doesn’t make sense, but yeah—Andy had a point about finding a muse, because suddenly, he believes he can paint anything.
“Hey,” Calvin says. “You don’t need to stay. There’s a cafe in the building. I’ll text you when we’re done.”
“Are you kidding? This is a dream come true. Watching my favorite band recording a podcast? You can’t get rid of me.”
“Good.”
The rest of the band spots Miles, and Chase jogs over and ruffles his hair. Gil steps up with him, smiling. And—Theo, he stays across the room, talking to Derrick. He glances at Miles for a second, then looks away.
“Starting in three!” shouts a crew member. “Host and guests, please take your seats.”
And, wow—this is all so professional and classy, and exactly right for a big-named band like them. He didn’t even know podcasts could be such huge productions. Calvin squeezes his arm, reminds him of the cafe, and heads to the room behind the huge glass window with Calvin and Gil, as well as a man with an earpiece. The host, most likely.
