Maybe Micah shouldn’t have called. Everett was giving him more credit than he was due. “It’s only worked with him so far, though. Even thinking about letting in my sweet landlady who adores me cramps my stomach.”
“Hey, don’t downplay this. This is amazing progress.”
“I went outside today. Went to the coffee shop down the street.”
Everett laughed, his eyes suddenly glossy. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, but now I don’t know what to do. This crush of mine is flirty, but it seems like he’s flirty with everyone, and I can’t compete for his attention with” – he waved a hand in front of his face – “this Phantom of the Opera thing going on.”
“Stop it. Did he tell you that you’re horrifying?”
“He called me handsome.”
Everett leveled his gaze at the camera. “Then you are worried about problems that don’t exist. Go sweep him off his feet.”
Micah blew out a breath. That vibrant bouquet of roses sat on the edge of the desk, still waiting to be offered to a beautiful ghost.
“Okay.” He set his jaw and looked at Everett. “I’m going to go now, before I lose my nerve.”
9
ALIVE AND KICKING
Cosmo - Present Day
Passed over for registraragain. Cosmo stomped on cardboard boxes with more force than needed, then tossed them onto the pile for the recycling bin out back. Dahlia seemed lovely, and her experience at Wegmann’s Gallery certainly made her a sound hiring decision. But he’d been the art handler for three fucking years, and no matter how good of a job he did, no matter how much he helped out with tasks that weren’t in his job description, like mopping the floors and scrubbing the walls, he was always turned down. This was a student’s job. He needed to move up, but he was doing something wrong, and it was maddening that he didn’t know what it was.
Royce hired and transferred the employees, but he said it was between him and the gallerist to finalize decisions. The gallerist, Hina, was a contemplative woman who always praised Cosmo’s installations and handling of the artwork, and had even given him a space in the gallery for his own sculptures. So if it wasn’t her that didn’t approve, then it was Royce, which didn’t make any sense.
Royce’s loafers clacked against the tile. He stopped in the doorway, arms folded. “You really need to get a restraining order against Zedd. He’s getting creative.”
Cosmo groaned. He’d tried that, and the cops said there was nothing they could do other than give Zedd a scolding.
After the last incident, he hadn’t expected Zedd to get anywhere near the gallery again. Royce was in commendable shape for someone his age, and had literally picked Zedd up by his shirt and waistband and thrown him out on the sidewalk.
Cosmo tossed another broken down box on the pile. Though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, he said, “What happened?”
“He sent someone to give you roses.”
“Like, a delivery person?”
“No. A man with a bouquet showed up, wanting to talk to you. Normally your admirers orbit the same parties and gallery events you do, but I’ve never seen this man before.”
Admirers didn’t bring Cosmo flowers. They laughed at everything he said whether it was funny or not, spewed pick-up lines like they were rehearsing for the theater, then slipped a hand under his shirt.
There’d been Marla, of course, but she didn’t last. No potential new love ever lasted when Zedd was heavy-breathing in the background of Cosmo’s life.
“What was this man’s name?” Cosmo said.
“Didn’t ask.”
“What did he look like?”
Royce shrugged. “White guy. Glasses, brown hair, a scar on his face.”
Cosmo saw so many people on a given day that it could have been anyone. Maybe Royce was right, and it was another of Zedd’s delusional efforts to win back Cosmo’s affections.
“Well, thanks for scaring him away. I don’t want to deal with that today.”
