Page 13 of Paint Our Song

He clears his throat. “Sure. There’s no passcode.”

Calvin takes his phone and unlocks it. “You should put a passcode—oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” His voice is low and tense. Puzzled, Miles sees him swiping away a window that was open to an article about the band’s break-up. Oops. Miles forgot he had that open.

“…Sorry.”

Calvin shrugs and opens the note app. “Okay, so. Pay off your loans, though you’ve got that one done. Get more bookings. Do you have any ideas for that?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“… Okay. Research on how to get more bookings, then. Get more staff. You should probably also study your financial projections so you know what milestones to hit. What else do you need to take care of while you’re in town?”

Feeling dizzy, Miles thinks about it for a good while. “My mom wants to retire.” His chest tightens when he says that, but it’s about time for her to think about herself, too. “So I guess I need to figure out how the inn’s going to run without her. Plus, Gabby’s taking classes so she can apply for upper hotel management somewhere, so we’re going to lose someone who basically knowseverything about the inn.”

“Not to state the obvious, but why can’t you promote Gabby to hotel manager? Wouldn’t that be hitting two birds with one stone?”

“Oh my god.” Miles’s eyes widen and he gapes. Why the hell didn’t he think of that? He really does zone out when stressed and forgets to see the bigger picture. “Oh my god! Holy shit! You’re right.”

Calvin stares at him with a baffled expression, mutters something under his breath, and types more things into his phone. He puts the phone back in between them as Miles is parking in front of the bank.

“You’re going to stay in the car?” Miles opens his dashboard compartment and grabs the paper labeled “Payment Overdue”.

“Yeah… is that okay?”

“Sure.”

Fortunately, the bank isn’t crowded, and he’s able to finish everything up in a matter of minutes. When he gets back to his car, Calvin’s on his phone. His attention snaps up as Miles opens the door. “I’ll call you back,” Calvin says, quite tensely, and then hangs up. It doesn’t seem like he even waited for the other person to answer.

“Brown Sugar’s a few blocks away, then we can head back to the inn,” Miles says.

“Okay.” Calvin’s phone beeps a few times. He grimaces, and Miles watches as he puts it to silent mode and shoves it in his pocket rather aggressively. When he notices Miles staring, he says, “My band mate.”

Who, exactly? Miles would ask if it was any of his business. “Youcan answer it if you’d like.”

He makes a disgruntled sound. That’s a no, then. Miles starts the car.

For a while, they’re both silent again. Strangely, these bouts of silences aren’t as awkward as they first were. If anything, it feels more natural now, and Miles wonders if Calvin notices that as well. Feeling bold, Miles says, “Do you want to talk about your band?”

A sigh, though not an unkind one. Exhausted, rather. “Thanks. Maybe some other time, though. Everything’s still raw.”

It must be like going through a breakup. Relationship breakups, friendship breakups, they’re all awful. Calvin’s going through a breakup with three other members of his band, and everyone was watching every second. Must be horrible. At least with him and Matthew, there were only the two of them to witness it.

Miles changes the subject. In a teasing tone, he asks, “How’d you know I was taking a break from commissions? Did you check my social media?”

“Yeah,” Calvin says, and Miles almost drives up the curb in surprise. “I was trying to get in touch for a commission.”

“What?” Miles’s jaw drops.

“Sent an email, and you didn’t reply, so I thought of searching for you when I came to town because your paintings are all over the inn. I assumed they knew how to get to you. I didn’t realize you were on break until I saw your post last night about it, though.”

“You emailed me?” He sounds like a goddamn parrot, but his shock won’t let him think straight.

Calvin runs a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t matter now. If Iknew you were on break, I wouldn’t have emailed.”

“I see,” Miles squeaks. Awesome. Hesqueaks.Any attempt to look cool was nowhere on the agenda. “Someone at the gallery manages my inbox. Maybe they missed it. What did you want a painting of?”