His shoulders stiffen. “Phoenix stadium. It’s where my band had our first concert.”
Miles tilts his head. He usually works with cozier aesthetics—gardens, balconies, even kitchens. “I don’t know if I’d do a good job painting a stadium.”
“No, not the stadium. Not exactly.” Calvin sounds embarrassed, and Miles waits patiently. “We have some pictures from back then in the green room, right after we got off the stage. I wanted that in your style.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, I get what you’re saying.” Aesthetic and cozy paintings of everyday scenes from a wide angle—that’s what he does. He draws couples in their kitchen, children opening their presents, friends having coffee in a cafe. Miles gets it now; why Calvin wanted him specifically for this. He’s been described as an artist who makes ordinary moments extraordinary, which is funny to him, because none of the moments he paints is ever ordinary. Cloverlily backstage, after their first concert, is definitely not ordinary. “Is it a goodbye gift to your band mates?”
With an exhale, Calvin says, “Yes, I suppose so.”
That’s not what Miles wanted to hear, and he knows it’s even harder for Calvin to say it. “You could have mentioned that right off the bat, you know.”
“You’re on break.”
“Still would’ve been cool to know.”
Calvin exhales, and it suspiciously sounds like a laugh. “It felt weird to bring up that I wanted to meet you, after… well. We didn’t have a great first meeting, did we?”
“When you called me a jackass?”
There’s a beat of silence. “I didn’t call you that.”
“At the gas station,” Miles says.
A pause. Calvin closes his eyes and makes the loudest, most exasperated sigh he’s ever heard. Miles is pretty sure there isn’t any oxygen left in his lungs by the time he’s done, which can’t be pleasant. “I wasn’t the one who left you the note, Miles.”
A-ha. “Who said anything about a note?”
Calvin ignores that question. “Anyway. I thought you were messing with me.”
“What do you mean?” He’s not trying to be difficult, nor is he playing dumb. “When I was singing your song outside the inn? Why would you think that was me messing with you? I didn’t even recognize you.”
“Never mind.”
Well, now he’s too curious to let this go. “Tell me.”
“It’s stupid.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Miles says, genuinely.
After another moment of hesitation, Calvin says, “Some stupid website preemptively announced our band was breaking up, and I was getting notifications on my phone all day from strangers tagging me and messing with me. When I got to the gas station, some teenagers asked if I wanted to make a statement about it for theirvlog or whatever. I ignored them, and they started egging me on.”
“Oh!” Now that Calvin’s said that, he does remember those teenagers. He had sung along with them. Miles also remembers the guy in front of him glaring at him, then shoving items back on the shelf and barging out the door. Now that he racks his brain, that person had been… Fuck, it might have been Calvin.
Yeah, it was definitely Calvin.
Calvin adds, “You were singing with them.”
“I liked the song.” Miles’s face heats up. “Didn’t realize they were messing with you. Didn’t even realize it was you.”
“For someone who paints for a living, you don’t really focus on details, do you?”
“I’ve been told. So, you’re saying the note wasn’t even for my parking? It was because you thought I was making fun of you?”
“I didn’t leave you the stupid note.” Calvin makes a move to shove him, then seems to think better of it. “I changed my mind. Drop me off right here.”
Miles ignores that and instead says, “So, that’s why you were so pissy about me humming your song outside the inn! I thought the noise annoyed you. Did you still think I was messing with you? Did you recognize me from the gas station?”
Calvin is quiet for too long. Then, instead of confirming any of Miles’s accusations, he says, “Are you calling our music noise?”
