With a small nod, Rye turned back to the painting on the wall. “I... I was almost not okay. And this one... I don’t know what this is. It feels like... me. But I don’t want...”
Rye trailed off and let out a short, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping just a little.
“Let’s move on?” Jake suggested, and this time, he let himself reach out. He let his hand settle low on Rye’s back, and he let the touch provide a light pressure, guiding Rye to start walking again. “I think there’s just one more exhibit, this way.”
The two men stepped through an open doorway into a much brighter room, full of color and airiness. It was warmer and rich and brilliant, and it didn’t take long for Rye’s expression to shift back to eagerness and wonder.
“What... is this?” he asked, his voice quiet and filled with awe. “I feel like... like I should know.”
Displays of small paper sculptures decorated pedestals spaced all around the room, some with simple shapes and designs and some much, much more intricate. Rye didn’t wait for Jake to answer, and he stepped up to the closest of the displays and leaned in a bit to read the plaque, squinting at the small font.
“Origami?” he asked, and he glanced up at Jake, who nodded.
“Yeah. But I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Jake admitted. “It’s a Japanese art of folding paper. And this is just... stunning.”
It was just a dragon, but the detail—the scales, the talons, the blast of fire shooting from its nostrils—was phenomenal. Rye must have agreed, because he stood there for another several minutes, studying it, leaning in and tilting his head to find more hidden detail. And when they moved on to the next display and then the next, he did the same, taking his time. He was mostly quiet now, but he seemed to be in awe, not tense, and certainly not panicky or upset or anxious or any of those other things that might have had Jake concerned.
Jake followed silently along, walking slowly as he watched Rye’s eyes widen at each new display. One of the last ones in the room was a bird—small, quite possibly true to life-size, with its wings spread wide as though taking off.
“Another moment.” Rye laughed quietly and bent down to study the detail again, his eyes inquisitive and bright.
“Another moment?” Jake repeated, and Rye glanced back at him and nodded.
“Like that other painting, the movement is frozen. Captured.” A tiny flicker of something darkened Rye’s expression for half a second before he shook his head and straightened up. “Not c-captured,” he said. “I... don’t like that word.”
Jake’s heart clenched, and he sucked in a short breath, about to offer some words of reassurance or comfort. But Rye shook his head again and blinked away the storminess in his eyes as he turned back to the bird.
“The bird is still free,” he said, his voice intense but soft and tender. “I... feel it. And... and this is my new favorite piece here.”
Jake just nodded, completely overwhelmed by Rye’s words. He wanted to say something back, but the moment passed, and so he just continued following Rye as he moved on to the last display in the room.
And when Rye looked up at him with a big smile a few minutes later, tilting his head toward the room’s exit and asking how another round of rolled mint chocolate chip ice cream sounded, Jake couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t having the best day he’d had in a very, very long time.
Chapter Forty-Two
Rye
Heread.Allthewhole drive home—except when he insisted they stop and get out and walk around a bit—Rye had his nose stuck in his new book or his fingers fiddling with the thin, crisp origami paper that had come with it.
He’d bought the book himself just before they’d left the art gallery the afternoon before, at Jake’s encouragement. It might make a good, relaxing hobby, Jake had suggested. And even though Rye really had no idea exactly what he was doing yet except following patterns from the diagrams in the book, itwassoothing in a way.
Soothing and distracting.
Andhe was creating. Building. Making something. It felt almost like how cooking did—giving him this odd sense of accomplishment that was still so foreign to him.
The first something he made was a bird, because he loved birds. It was a very lopsided, not-quite-recognizable bird. He’d laughed, and Jake had too. Then he’d started over with a fresh sheet of origami paper and tried again, being a little more careful this time, using all the mistakes he’d made the first time to do a better job.
“Now that’s definitely a bird!” Jake had said when he’d finished, and that sense of accomplishment had grown like warmth blooming in his chest.
He’d taken the little paper bird and set it right on the dashboard of Jake’s car, grinning like an idiot. And when he’d looked over at Jake, Jake had been stealing little glances at it, his expression a mixture of something that looked like pride and something else soft and almost reverent.
“Its name is Reno,” Rye had declared, which had earned him a deep laugh and more of that warmth in his chest.
By the time they arrived back in Rocky Cove and pulled up to the curb outside Rye’s house, he’d made two other very simple creations—a rabbit and a sea turtle.Neither of them were quite as cute as the bird, but he gifted them to Jake anyway, setting one on either side of the bird on the dashboard.
Rye watched Jake reach up and adjust the position of the little sea turtle very gently, his fingers lingering on it.
“Thank you,” Jake said, and his voice was soft as he added, “These are beautiful, Rye.”
