“Yes.”
“Curl up with him beneath a fuzzy blanket—maybe the one you got him last year for Christmas, with the puppies on it—and watch something fun with him on TV until he falls asleep and you can put him to bed.” Somewhere in there, because Alex was fairly sure that Gage wouldn’t have time to cook, he’d send a pizza over to his apartment. “Until he’s better, if you need to cancel, I understand. All you need to do is keep me informed via text,okay?”
“Okay.” Gage folded the money, eyes downcast, and tucked it into his back pocket. “One of these days, I’m going to be in a position where I can pay you back for what you’ve done for me, you know. It’s not… it’s not always going to be like this. I’m not going to be down on my luckforever.”
“You’re working for me as a model. You’re earning that money.” Alex quirked an eyebrow and kept his features as easy as he could make them. “I’m paying you a wage. You don’t have to pay me back for anything. You’re my best friend, but that’s money you earned by doing me a service. You’re my muse, Gage. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to paint a damnedthing.”
“You know that’s not all of it.” Gage frowned in a small, unsettled way. “You’ve done more than just pay me. I’m going to give back one day… but for now, all I can do is thankyou.”
Alex waved him off. “All you can do is go home and let me know how Bo is doing. And if he starts gettingworse?”
“I’ll let you know.” Gage lifted his chin and looked at Alex. Alex counted down from three in his head, and by the time he hit one, Gage released a decompressing sigh. “Thank you for being so thoughtful. I don’t know what I’d do withoutyou.”
“And I don’t know what I’d do without you. Now, go on. Your son is waiting for you. He needs his dad, doesn’the?”
Gage nodded. He let his gaze linger on Alex a second more, then turned and headed for the corner where his clothes had been left. While he dressed behind the privacy screen, Alex picked up his palette again and considered the purple he’d already laiddown.
Gray, he decided. He was going to need to block in withgray.
Until his muse could return to the studio, normalcy would have towait.
4
Laurence
Alex H.
Purveyor of FineArt.
Laurence lifted his gaze from the business card and looked out across the rooftop gardens. Aurora’s skyscrapers interrupted the horizon, their highly polished panels and windows lit up like jewels. Somewhere out there was the young man who’d interrupted his life and introduced him to art in a way he’d never understood it before. Was that what Elaine was going on about when she’d not-so-subtly encouraged him to visit the art gallery for professional enrichment purposes? Laurence closed his eyes and let the memory wash overhim.
Touch.
Taste.
Excitement.
When was the last time he’d allowed himself to do something reckless? For the last sixteen years, he’d been a paragon of propriety by his own choice. But last night? Last night, what had kept him on the straight and narrow had come undone, and he’d tumbled into the abyss of the unknown. And now, back on track, but with an invitation to explore the dark world he’d left behind, Laurence faced adilemma.
Was he bold enough to call Alex and chase after a life that he knew wasn’t good for him, or should he stick to the routine that had seen him safely through the years? He wasn’t young anymore. The gray hairs that had hidden amongst his dark mane at thirty were more pronounced at forty-two, and while Laurence didn’t necessarily feel the physical impact of his age, he’d started to see the signs in smaller, yet significant ways. Sleeping in didn’t happen anymore, even when he wanted to. Late nights were a near impossibility. On cold, rainy weekend days, he was more often than not relieved that he didn’t have to go out. Time had changed him in irreversible ways. Hell, his optometrist had started to gently hint that he’d need to switch his glasses out for bifocalssoon.
But a wistful part of him thought that maybe it wasn’t too late—that maybe the phone number in his hand was the key to what he’d left in thepast.
Laurence sucked in a breath, then let it out through his teeth and checked his phone. He still had another forty minutes before his lunch break was over. It wasenough.
Pushing aside the jarring uncertainty in his gut, he unlocked the screen of his phone and entered the number on the business card. The phone rang. The number was valid. He closed his eyes andwaited.
“Hello?”
Laurence couldn’t tell if the voice on the phone matched that of the young man he’d met at the art gallery, but he thought they sounded similar. “Hey. Is thisAlex?”
“It is. Who isthis?”
A grin curved Laurence’s lips. “Names areephemeral.”
“So are most things in life.” The reply came so smoothly that Laurence was momentarily taken aback. He’d seen Alex face to face, marveled at his dyed, colorful hair, and remarked upon his youth, and while he knew that Alex was learned—his vocabulary was too rich to suggest otherwise, even if his education was informal—he hadn’t expected him to be able to adjust so quickly to the unpredictable. Grace and poise like that came with time. “It’s nice to hear from you again. I was hoping that you’dcall.”
“I was hoping that you’d answer.” It had been more than a decade since Laurence had flirted with anybody. He set his gaze on the skyline and hoped he wasn’t coming across as too old or out of touch. “It would have been rude of me not to follow up after our first date before I pick you up for the secondone.”
