Page 7

‘Yearning’.

It’s the same young man, standing on a shore, the sea in front of him dark and unsettling, the light dim. From behind the man, shadows seem to be approaching. It hits right in the feels, again.

“Cedric.” I march into the small adjacent office where Cedric is working. “Sterling Thomas has made a new painting.”

“I have heard!” he beams. “It has to be good.”

“Good doesn’t even remotely describe it,” I say. “I want it to be shown in the gallery.”

Cedric’s mouth drops open. “In… the regular exhibition?” He lowers his voice to a whisper as if he is scared anyone might spy on us. “Like for real.”

I sigh. “Yes, Cedric, for real.”

“Can I make a reel on Instagram for it?”

I have no idea what a reel is, but I assume he is going to advertise it. “Give it all the attention it deserves, and…” I furrow my brows. “Contact Sterling’s manager. I want a meeting with him and his artist, preferably over lunch.”

“Got you, sir!” He opens his notebook to scribble something down, a frown on his face while he purses his lips. “Maybe not too hipster…” he mutters to himself. “And not too fancy either…”

“What are you mumbling about?”

“Oh.” He smiles brightly. “You, Mr. Randall, don't like hipster restaurants. And I assume a new artist won’t enjoy a too fancy one. I am going to book something that caters to you both.”

“That’s not the worst idea you had today.”

He beams. “Thank you!”

I stare at him, speechless at how happily he reacted to my random teasing comment. The golden retriever puppy vibe he gives off is truly a force to reckon with. Once I am back in my own office, Lynn comes over.

“Found your new toy?” she asks.

“It’s an artist, not a toy. And I don’t dispose of them, once I have supported them.”

“It was a joke, Aden, relax. I know.” She looks around, eyeing one of Sterling’s pictures that I had put on my office wall. “So, you chose Sterling Thomas. Interesting.”

“Why are you surprised?”

“He isn’t your style usually. Don’t get me wrong, I like his work, I just didn’t know you would.”

“His technique needs improvement,” I say, getting up to stand next to her, looking at the painting. “But the way he paints has personality. He takes risks without forcing himself to do them. It flows naturally. He is able to capture a moment and make it seem alive, but he doesn’t copy the moment either. What we see is what he sees through his tinted glasses at that time.” I pause. “That’s talent. It’s raw and honest. Probably a guy who faced some hardships and who is empathic enough to see what’s inside someone’s soul.”

“And you can tell all that while looking at his picture?”

I tilt my head, thinking ofYearningagain, and the melancholy in it. Only his paintings with this young man have that unique feel to them. “Yes.”

“You are a generous man, Aden.”

“Where did that come from?”

“I am just saying,” she shrugs. “You give back to the community.”

“The community made me big. It’s only logical that I would want to give back.”

She chuckles. “If it were logical, everyone would do it. You are an altruist.”

“You are silly. A true altruist would do much more than I do.”

“Whatever you say.” She shrugs before shifting the topic all of a sudden. “So, Oliver called me.”