Finn looked over the menu, trying to find the most appealing option. “How about some iced tea?” That seemed safe enough. They couldn’t screw that up, could they?

  He picked up his order at the end of the counter and took a seat by the window. Finn took a sip of his iced tea. Well. That was certainly tea.

  What was wrong with this place and their drinks? Had someone done something horrible to their water supply? He entertained the idea, to use for a plot point in a future novel, of someone sabotaging a rival business. But he didn’t write thrillers and it was too drastic for the kinds of books he wrote.

  The kind of books Enzo took issue with. Finn put down his mediocre tea and dropped his head into his hands. He poked at his cannoli, not ready to taste it yet. He couldn’t deal with more disappointment.

  Not after he’d spent over three months drinking the most heavenly coffee known to man and eating decadent homemade pastries. He’d called his personal trainer, letting her know he needed to start having regular appointments again. All that indulgence had helped ruin her hard work.

  Finn had fallen into habits like an old man. Enzo was better off without him. In a few years, Enzo would get tired of having Finn weigh him down. He’d want to go out to dance clubs, be spontaneous, do all those things Finn couldn’t do.

  Like write a happy ending into his books.

  The door opened, and a familiar face walked in. Finn straightened when Newspaper Bill waved at him before making a beeline for the counter. It looked like the man hadn’t figured out Finn had only come over here the first time to spy on him.

  Well, why the hell would he? That wasn’t the kind of thing someone normally did.

  Finn bit into his cannoli, and while it was nothing like Aunt Rosa’s baking, it was, at least, delicious.

  While his mouth was full with pastry and cream, Newspaper Bill came over, a cup of coffee in his free hand. He had a pile of newspapers tucked under his other arm. “I see you couldn’t stay away.”

  “How can you drink that?” Finn honestly couldn’t understand it. The coffee had no business being sold as coffee. Dirty bean water, maybe.

  “Got spoiled by the good stuff, did ya?” Bill cackled, sounding more like a crow than a human being.

  “Of course I did,” said Finn, although he wasn’t certain he was talking about the coffee.

  Bill looked at him a little too shrewdly for a guy Finn had only met once before. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

  Finn opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say. He certainly wasn’t going to explain everything that happened, especially when Finn didn’t quite understand it himself. He’d expected the break up, had steeled himself for the inevitable moment. But for it to be about his book? That Finn had not foreseen.

  It wasn’t really about the book. It was about that stupid interview that he’d done without being prepared beforehand. Finn had been jacked up on caffeine and on the thrill of finishing his book. He hadn’t stopped to think. Of course Enzo would be hurt by that. Finn couldn’t take the words back, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. The cat was out of the bag. Enzo knew the truth. It was better this way.

  “It got to be a little much,” Finn tried out, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He didn’t say that he’d be greeted by boos and people throwing things if he so much as ventured back inside Aunt Rosa’s Cafe.

  “I hear you.” Bill raised his coffee in a salute. “People. You can’t trust them. That’s why I never stay in one place for long. I want some peace and quiet to read my papers.”

  “Right. Peace and quiet.” Like the stillness of his house, where he couldn’t write a word. Finn had needed the hum of voices, the mix of personalities, the novelty of being someplace else. But he’d also needed Enzo, and not just to help him write, but to get him out of his rut, to show him new things, to make him feel in a way he’d never let himself feel before.

  Love. Call it by the right name. He loved Enzo. Finn thought he’d shielded his heart, but that had been a lie.

  “You got it.” Bill nodded. “That’s why I never married. Didn’t need to come home to that kind of bullshit.”

  “Instead you come here,” Finn said slowly, thinking of his empty bedroom, the office with his accomplishments frozen in place on the bookshelves.

  Bill sipped his coffee. “It helps that I burnt off all my taste buds when I worked for the chemical plant.”

  With that, he turned on one heel and headed for an empty table in the corner. Finn blinked, not sure how much of that story he believed. He looked down at the table, which held the book he’d brought. Now that his first draft was done, Finn had wanted to take the time to read some of the books on his ever increasing ‘to be read’ pile.

  He couldn’t shake the oddness of the conversation, or the unsettled swirling in his chest. Finn had spent his entire life pushing people away. He didn’t want to feel the same crushing loss he had when his parents died. It had taken him years to stop being choked with grief. Bring someone else into his life? Theo had proven that to be a bad idea.

  But without someone in his life, what did Finn have? Six-figure book deals were great, and for the past decade that had sustained him, driven him to write more and more, desperate for that public approval that meant he’d made it.

  And then he came home to a fancy house with polished floors, a fridge stocked with food he’d never share, and a king-sized bed for him alone.

  He glanced over at Bill again, who by this point had spilled coffee all over his shirt as he paged through the first of his stack of newspapers. Why newspapers? What was that guy’s story?

  Finn shook his head. No, no more turning real people into characters. No more sitting here dwelling on things he should have done. He got up and dumped his cannoli and tea in the trash can.

  He knew one thing. He did not want to end up like Newspaper Bill.

  Chapter 24

  When Enzo walked into work on Saturday, he found his aunt standing in the middle of the cafe gazing at the cream-colored wall he had painted last night. Well, shit, he probably should have told her beforehand that he was going to stay up all night and stress paint. At least he knew she’d approved of the mural going away to make room for his painting.

  “Um. Everything okay?” Enzo stepped up beside her and took up staring at the blank wall.

  She had her arms crossed over her chest and her forehead furrowed in concentration. “I don’t think we should put your painting there.”

  Enzo’s heart dropped. “No?”

  “No. I want that in my house. I think you should paint something new for me on that wall.”

  He laughed. Then Enzo realized she wasn’t kidding. “No.”

  “I will pay you,” she assured him. “You do good work.”

  “I’m not going to take your money.” Enzo looked at the wall, and despite his initial doubt, he started to consider the space. It would be the largest thing he’d ever painted, but with that much room to work with, he could create something incredible. He could be like Da Vinci working on The Last Supper. But, this was his aunt’s cafe. “What do you want me to paint?”

  She patted him on his arm. “I trust you.” Then she turned and went back to the counter, leaving Enzo staring at a blank wall.

  “Huh.” More color, maybe. Something modern and yet classic. Enzo’s fingers itched to sketch, but he ignored it for the moment. Coffee first, art later.

  Especially since once he’d gotten home last night, he couldn’t sleep. The house felt too empty without Nat. Filled with restless energy, Enzo had gotten the portraits of Finn out of the closet. Now he could see clearly those traits of Finn he’d been missing. In a flurry of activity, Enzo had finished the paintings, and then dropped into bed in the wee hours of the morning.

  Yeah, he needed coffee. A hell of a lot of coffee.

  He didn’t know what he was going to do with those portraits. A nasty part of him considered putting them online titled “Intimate Portrait of Morgan Heart” to see how much money that would bring him. But Enzo didn’t do shit like that.

  Those moments between them were personal. If he were to ever sell or display them, he’d ask Finn’s permission first. Because that was what Finn should have done. He shouldn’t have put people into his books as characters and not tell them.

  Lydia caught him sketching at the counter, later, after the mid-afternoon rush had passed and he had a few moments without pouring coffee. Enzo’s pencil scratched across the page, idly finding its own way. When he found himself sketching Finn’s eyes, he turned the page and started drafting out his mural ideas.

  “Whatcha doing?” Lydia came up from behind.

  He was glad he’d moved on from drawing Finn before she surprised him. “I’m designing a mural for that wall over there. Your mom said I could. I was thinking something shore-themed, you know? I don’t know if I want to do the ocean or maybe the river? Boats and docks and stuff? What?”

  Lydia’s eyes had narrowed the more he spoke. “That sounds like a big project.”

  “Well, yeah, I’ve never done anything that big before.”

  “Are you going to be around long enough to finish it?”

  And there was the million-dollar question, the one Enzo still didn’t have an answer to. Finn wasn’t in the equation anymore.

  He wasn’t. That was over. Enzo was free. He could make any damn decision he wanted without thinking of the man who absolutely wasn’t his boyfriend and had no intention of being his boyfriend.

  “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.”

  That job offer hung over his head. He couldn’t deny the lure of stability, of seeing Nat every day at work. It made all the sense in the world to take the job. But now, as he walked the downtown during his dinner break, Enzo doubted himself. Why did he ever want to conform? Wasn’t that the whole point of breaking with his parents and setting out to do something with his art?

  There were nine art galleries in Red Bank. The town had an amazing art scene, and Enzo had barely scratched the surface of it. He’d skipped out on gallery shows and events because he had to work the evening shift in the cafe. Not like he’d ever asked his aunt to switch shifts or for time off. Enzo had used it as an excuse. No more.

  His walk had taken him past the Holton Gallery on West Front Street. There was apparently an event later tonight, based on the sandwich sign on the sidewalk. Right now the lights were on, but he couldn’t see anyone inside.

  Enzo pushed the door open, and gasped at the cavernous space. It didn’t look this deep from the street, but once inside, he could see how far the room went. The pale wood floors were polished to a high sheen, and the walls painted a crisp white, to better accentuate the bold colors of the paintings displayed on them. He walked up to the first work of art, his sandals thumping loudly against the floor.

  It was a thunderstorm done in abstract. At first he could only see the strokes of black, but upon closer reflection, tones of purple and blue snuck in, along with curls of white mist. Enzo could feel the oppressive atmosphere, the pressure system of a storm coming in during the dark of night.

  “Stunning, isn’t it?”

  Enzo jumped. He hadn’t heard the person come up behind him. He turned around sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to crash your event.”

  The person who spoke looked oddly familiar. “It doesn’t start for hours yet. I’m here early waiting for the caterer to show up. The caterer who is rather late, in fact.” He looked at his watch. Something about that gray and blond hair...

  Abruptly Enzo recalled where he last saw this man—at the street fair. He was the only one who’d asked for Enzo’s card. “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me...”

  He smiled. “Of course I remember you, Enzo LoBianco. I did check out your art, as I promised.” He held out his hand for Enzo to shake. “Alonzo Holton.”

  It clicked. “You own the gallery.” Hell, he’d given his contact info to a gallery owner and hadn’t even known it.

  Those street fairs turned out to be useful after all. “What did you think? Of my work, I mean.”

  “I liked it. Texture art is going to be the next big thing.”

  “Really?” Enzo perked up.

  “And while I loved the painting you had on display, I’m really looking for portraits. In the fall, I’m planning an expo of unique takes on the human form. You wouldn’t happen to have anything like that?”

  Enzo hesitated. Holton had seen the work Enzo had on his online portfolio, and apparently none of those portraits fit the bill. All he could think of was that last painting of Finn. It was probably the best thing he’d ever painted, having put all of his heartbreak on the canvas.

  “Something like this?” Even as he pulled out his phone to show Holton, Enzo felt like a hypocrite. He promised himself he’d ask Finn’s permission. Later. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity.

  Holton regarded the image carefully, using his finger tips to enlarge the image. “This is stunning. The raw emotion. The colors. The texture.”

  “Thank you.” Enzo’s cheeks heated. It had been a long time since he’d gotten complimented by anyone in his field.

  “Look, here’s my card. Send me an email, show me anything else along those lines, and we’ll talk.” Holton stopped back at the front desk–which Enzo had completely missed when he first entered–and pulled out a slick black business card.

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  Butterflies tumbled around his belly, and Enzo struggled to leave the gallery with dignity when all he wanted to do was dance his way out of there and onto the street. He held it together, at least until he made it down the block when he burst out laughing and swung his hands in the air. He only got a few glares from strangers.

  He pulled out his phone and had his texting app open when he froze. Finn’s name at the top of the list taunted him. Finn would have been the first person he’d texted about this. Enzo bit his lip, imagining the kind of commentary he’d get from Finn, something supportive, and yet still funny enough to make him laugh.

  God, he missed Finn right now, so much the butterflies turned into a tornado in his belly.

  He touched the phone to his chin and closed his eyes. It was tempting, to text Finn anyway. But nothing would change. He’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t love him back. That fucking sucked.

  Enzo straightened his shoulders. Fine. He had a broken heart. That didn’t mean he was broken. He had a gallery contact and a job offer. Now he needed to make some art just as good as Finn’s portrait to get that spot in the show. He was one step closer to making it as an artist.

  Chapter 25

  Finn saw Enzo out of the corner of his eye. He’d gone downtown after leaving Holy Cannoli, and spent the day popping in and out of shops, trying different restaurants. Currently, he carried a bronze paperweight in a shopping bag that he’d acquired from an antique shop run by a little old lady with purple hair and a Golden Girls t-shirt. Said shop also proudly flew a rainbow flag outside, so he felt he had to support her.

  Later he might return with his car. She had a gorgeous distressed bookshelf that he kept coming back to again and again. It had been painted a pale green with strips of the original wood showing through. Finn kept touching it, running his hands over the smooth paint, loving the homemade feel. That bookshelf was nothing like anything in his pre-furnished place, and he’d already established his current office wasn’t working.

  Maybe he should redo the entire room. Give away the perfect cherry-stained shelves filled with books he never had time to read. Finn could fill it with fun things he found downtown—unique shelves and repurposed furniture and funny little statues shaped like cats...

  And that was when he stopped in his tracks at the sight of Enzo walking along the block about twenty feet ahead of him. He wouldn’t be able to see Finn—he was facing the wrong way, walking away.

  Enzo would always be walking away, and it was Finn’s own damn fault. It came crashing down on him, all of a sudden, that the only reason he and Enzo weren’t walking side by side right now was because Finn had thrown it all away. He’d been so damn sure that it was destined to end, like all of his relationships, that Finn hadn’t even given it his best try. He kept telling himself to enjoy the moments, that they wouldn’t last, but he missed the most important thing.

  He loved Enzo.

  Finn should have fought for them. Enzo was right. He was so caught up in the miserable world of his own books that he’d ignored what was right in front of him. And what did he have now? A bronze paperweight? An empty house he was afraid to go back to?

  He opened his mouth to call out to Enzo, to tell him he’d fucked up, and beg to be taken back. But no, that wouldn’t work. One huge problem still stood between them, a giant wall he’d built brick by brick over the past few months.

  Finn took out his phone and dialed his agent. He didn’t let her get in more than a hello before saying, “Stop working on the book. I’m rewriting it.”

  “What? The book is fine. It’s great actually, some of your best work...”

  “I don’t care.” He swallowed. Finn had always been easy to work with. He never wanted to have a reputation as a diva, the kind of author who was hard to deal with. But it was time to play the card. “How much money have I made you and Eagle House over the years?”

  “Finn, where is this coming from?” Angie sounded calm and reasonable, not like Finn was throwing her a huge curveball.

  “Fifteen books, Angie. Exactly the same. All with unhappy endings. None of them being true to myself. I think, for this once, let me have the book I want...no, need to write.” He swallowed. “I think I’ve earned the right.”

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Finn reminded himself that she worked for him, but their relationship had always been more of a friendship than anything else. “All right. I’ll hold on to this draft when you decide you change your mind again.”

  He let out a shaky laugh. Finn knew he wouldn’t. “Watch you email box. I’ll send the new draft soon.”

 

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