“I grew up in a different world,” I say. “A world where I was expected to be perfect, never step out of line, have the best grades at school, and become the best lawyer, doctor, businessman you can be. Failure wasn’t an option.” Memories of my parents’ penthouse in New York come to me, and it’s as if I’m there. Running on the marble floor before one of the maids catches me and takes me to the kitchen where no one would find me misbehaving. “All I ever wanted was to grow up so I could run away and be free from it all. While my brother thrived in that world, I died a little every day until, one day, I discovered painting. My grandfather gave me a set of paints, brushes, and canvases for my birthday.”
“I bet that was the best gift you ever got,” Levi says.
I look at him and smile. “Yes, it was. In just one day, I painted all the canvases. I was so happy until I realized my parents would never buy me more supplies. They wanted me to focus on other academic areas. One day I came home from school, and all my paintings were by the front door waiting to be disposed of. I begged them not to do it.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I don’t know if I can carry on.
“It’s okay, Arlo. You’re here now. You’re an artist, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I smile. The warmth in his dark eyes wraps around me like a weighted blanket. “Yes, I am.”
I take a deep breath. “That same day, my dad brought a friend home for dinner. As it turned out, this friend was somewhat of an art connoisseur and asked who the artist was. My dad said it was just some stuff I did, and his friend said I had talent. After that, I gained my freedom again. They hired an art tutor to teach me everything about art and painting.”
“It’s lucky your dad’s friend saw the paintings. I bet they were beautiful.”
I laugh. “Nah, they were very amateurish. The colors were badly mixed, and I had no technique, but for a self-taught fourteen-year-old, they were a Rembrandt. Anyway, to cut the story short, everything worked out until I graduated from college. I had hoped to move out of home and make my own life, but my parents had other plans. They lined up the curators of the best galleries in New York to see my work. They wanted to show off their talented son. But I couldn’t paint. I tried, but it was as if the same wind that brought me inspiration and talent also took it away.”
Levi closes his hands over mine. “They took your spirit, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, I guess you can put it that way. I spoke to my tutor, and he suggested I travel the world to learn from other people and find my own technique and inspiration. I haven’t been back since.”
“Did anything happen to your family? Do you need to go back?”
“No, at least not that I know of. I met Fletcher in India. We became friends, and he told me if I ever wanted to come back home, I had a place here in Stillwater. When I found out about this town’s passion for art and crafts, I thought I’d found my own little piece of heaven, but that’s slowly been eroding. Every time I attend the committee meeting and get declined a license to sell my art, I break a little.” I let out a sound that’s like a choked snort. “I guess I don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
“Why’s that? What have those witches done now?” The bite in Levi’s voice gives me some comfort. At least I still have friends in my corner.
“They sent me a letter forbidding me from applying to get a license again. They said I would be wasting their time and mine because they stand by their decision to only allow locals to sell at the fair.”
“That’s bullshit. From what I remember, there are plenty of sellers from around the state.”
I shrug. “I could fight them, but I’m not sure I have the energy for it anymore. If…If you could help me get some photos, I could update my website and sell my pieces there.”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure than photographing your art, Arlo. Your soul comes through every piece I’ve seen of yours. It’s like the sunset rolling into the night, shining bright with stars, and then giving way to the morning sun, warm and ready to face the day.”
The way Levi looks at me, it’s as if he’s talking about me and not just my art. I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean forward and press my lips against his.
I thought he’d push me back, but instead, he takes one of his hands from mine to place it behind my neck. I can’t move away, nor do I want to.
The kiss is tame by all standards. Nothing more than our lips dancing around each other, teasing, wanting more but not quite having the courage.
When he lets me go, I struggle to draw a breath. He leans his forehead against mine, and I can feel our breath mingling in the cold air.
“I have to go back to work,” he says.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He places one more soft kiss on my lips before heading back inside.
I’m left staring at the buildings in front of me again, wondering if the kiss really happened.
11
LEVI
I runup the stairs and back inside the bar without looking behind me because I don’t know if I can keep my resolve if I look at Arlo and see that he wants more. I don’t stop until I’m in the staff break room.
My lips still burn from touching his. It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone and even longer since a simple kiss that didn’t even involve tongues had this effect on me.
