“Of course, Miles.” Mom sighs in mock exasperation, rolling her eyes. “There’s a reason you’re as successful as you are.”
He grins, not pointing out that he could show her stick figures, and she’d call it a masterpiece.
“Calvin loves this roof garden,” Miles says, changing the subject. “I think he likes quiet places, and being alone.”
“Isn’t his band very popular, though? It must be hard for him, then.”
“Yeah, people walk up to him all the time. He’s kind about it, though. I’ve never seen him actually turn anyone down.” He says it more fondly than he intended. “He’s amazing. Did you know he writes their songs? I didn’t even know until recently. It’s kind of weird how I’m hanging out with someone whose music I’ve been listening to for the longest time.”
“He writes their songs,” she repeats. The way she says it is odd—it’s strangely melancholic. “I’m grateful for him, then.”
Miles tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“He got you through tough times.” His mom doesn’t elaborate, though she does fiddle with the pendant hanging from her neck, and Miles tracks the movement. It doesn’t seem like she plans on explaining herself, though. Instead, she pulls him close again, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You like him,” she states.
“I do.” He thought it was obvious.
She pinches his side, and he wheezes in surprise. It’s a ticklish spot. “You have a crush on him.”
Warmth blooms on Miles’s face. He attempts to say something—anything—but he’s left blubbering, his mouth opening and closing as he fails.
It’s stupid, really. He’s a grown adult, and Calvin makes him act like he’s got a schoolboy crush, as if he’s learning for the first time how to be into someone.
“I do not,” he squeaks.
“Yes, you do.”
“Mom!”
She goes through the pages again and then comes to a stop. Miles’shoulders stiffen when he sees what she’s looking at. He forgot about that page. It’s one of his practice pieces, a random image that came up in his mind that he drew for no reason.
“Is this the garden?” she asks.
It’s a sketch of Calvin in the garden, leaning over the parapet, staring at the lake. Miles sketched the garden absurdly lush. There are more plants than there actually are, and the greeneries spill over the parapet, crawling down the walls.
If someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell why he even sketched this. It was a memory in the back of his head, an image he saw once and wanted to draw.
Unlike most of the pages on his sketchpad, he painted this one with watercolors. He doesn’t usually paint practice sketches, but he had the overwhelming need to for this.
Miles frowns, wanting to reach out and take it from her. He wants to rip the page out because it says way too much.
She studies him for a second. Then she backtracks a few pages to a sketch of the band where they’re crowded together on the couch. “This one’s my favorite. Show him this one.”
“Fine,” he says, face still red. He pulls it closer and takes a photo and sends it to Calvin.
Me: How do u feel about this?
He doesn’t know what Calvin’s up to right now. He’s learned that Calvin likes taking walks along the lake and lounging out front with a book, and he’s also seen him drinking coffee out by the deck. Miles also knows that he hangs out on the balcony of his room because of some stories he’s posted—but at the moment, he doesn’t knowwhere Calvin is. And he won’t know what Calvin’s expression will be when he sees the sketch.
“Let’s have supper,” Mom says, urging him to get up. They usually eat in the dining room, with meals prepared by the staff. He hopes they have something good today.
Miles gathers up his things and puts them away and follows her downstairs.
They have baked chicken that night, and the smell that wafts through the room is incredible. The dining room has more guests than usual, which is good, and he has a hunch why—and it isn’t until Gabby joins them that he confirms his theory.
“Calvin’s efforts are paying off. Of course, this is also thanks to Miles,” she says. Her hair’s a bright pink today. Miles is amazed she has so much time to dye it, and that it still looks healthy despite all the changes. “There were more than the usual walk-in guests today. The kitchen’s still playing catch-up.”
“That’s great,” Mom says, her eyes twinkling.
