“I don’t know. I don’t have any memories of not wanting to paint or draw. My parents have photos of me as a toddler drawing on the walls at home. I must have been two.”
I try to imagine Fletcher as an angelic devil kidlet. His light hair all over the place and with paint-covered hands.
“Are your parents artists too?”
“Yeah. Mom paints and Dad is a sculptor.”
“Must have been great growing up in such a creative household.”
Fletcher smiles but looks away to the road outside the diner.
“It was…okay, I guess. We traveled a lot. Major cities, Europe…it was fun, but sometimes I wished I could have stayed home for school breaks and spent time with my friends.”
“But you got to see the world. For a creative mind, it must have been really interesting,” I say.
“It was. I learned a lot. Imagine being in art school twenty-four-seven. It was intense, but I’m the artist I am today because of it.”
“How about you? Where did you grow up?”
I shrug. “I'm the product of two Boston socialites who never wanted kids but got accidentally pregnant. The nanny raised me until I was old enough to look after myself. I went to college on a full-ride scholarship and cut ties with my parents.”
Fletcher's expression falls. “Have you seen them since?”
“Once or twice when we've attended the same charity events, but we avoided each other.”
“I'm really sorry, Harrison.”
“It's okay. I met Tate at college. We roomed together and bonded over our dysfunctional parents and eventually our love of spending naked time together. And as they say, the rest is history.”
The server comes with the food and then refills our coffee cups, so our conversation is set aside while we eat.
The pancakes live up to the expectation, as does the French toast, and I make a note to bring Megan to this place sometime soon.
I know I’ve been too much in my own head over the move to Stillwater to explore the area. In Boston, I used to take Megan on walks to explore the city. I’d pretend I’d never been in the area and let her lead us.
“Where did you go just now?” Fletcher asks.
“I was thinking that I need to get out more with Megan. We used to do a lot of fun stuff in Boston, but…I don’t know. Maybe I’m still settling in, but apart from taking her to the park or out for a meal, we haven’t done anything exciting.”
“I can give you some ideas. George loves being outside, so I have a list of activities you can do together that are really fun. There's the lavender farm and the animal shelter. Both run activities for kids.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
We pay the bill, but before we leave, the server brings us a box containing two slices of cherry pie on the house. I’m not sure I can take much more sugar today, but Fletcher gives me a look that says he has plans for us and the extra energy might come in handy.
He drives us back to the cabin, where we leave the pie in the fridge and go for a walk.
The lake is beautifully still, and the breeze is so light it doesn’t even cause ripples on the water.
We’re walking side by side, following a path Fletcher tells me goes all the way around the lake. In the distance, I can see the lakeside mansions some of my work colleagues covet.
Stuff like that has never interested me. I value financial safety more than status symbols, but to each their own. I bet Bradley would give his right nut to afford one of those places.
I pull Fletcher close and put my arm around his shoulder. He gives me a lazy smile and wraps his arm around my waist.
Fletcher occasionally stops to pick up random bits of discarded nature. Funny-shaped rocks, fallen leaves, and sticks.
“These are my kind of treasure,” he says.
