Page 20 of Paint Our Song

“Thanks for showing me,” Calvin says, voice so quiet Miles almost doesn’t hear it. He must think this is weird, too.

“I’ll let the reception know that you can take the keys any time. I’ll tell my mom too, in case she thinks you’re here to steal her plants.”

“Thank you.”

It’s dim enough that Miles doesn’t have a clear view of him, though he sees his shoulders relax. Finding a spot that’s a few feet away from Calvin, Miles leans on the parapet with his arms. He looks up. There are no stars in the sky tonight—maybe it’s going to rain. Miles says, softly and toward the lake, “Hey, Dad, Mom’s doing good.”

Calvin tilts his head. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Even if he raises his eyebrows, Calvin doesn’t say more, simply goes back to staring at the lake, just like Miles is.

They’re both quiet for a long while, then Miles gets the strange sensation of being watched. When he turns to Calvin, Calvin’s eyes are on him. Calvin’s gaze travels upward, from his arms to his face, then he meets Miles’s eyes. Calvin jolts and purses his lips, then looks away again.

Are you checking me out?Miles almost teases. He thinks, almost hopefully, that maybe the rumors that Calvin is into men weren’t so untrue.

A series of beeping breaks the silence, and Calvin fumbles with his phone to get it to stop. Miles glimpses the name—Theo. Their lead singer. Calvin doesn’t answer, instead slightly turning away from Miles to text a response.

“I can go,” Miles says, taking a hint that Calvin’s not going to take the call with him around.

“No. Sorry. Give me a second.” He locks his phone and then shoves it in his pocket. Calvin turns back to him and runs a hand through his hair. “My bandmate is bugging me to back him up about how the song rights are split and shit. Among other things.”

“Your bandmate?”

Calvin seems to hesitate. Then, he says, “Theo, specifically.”

“He writes most of the lyrics, right?” Miles asks. He does remember Calvin saying it was a joint effort between the band, but in interviews, Theo’s vocal about pulling most of the work. “Does that mean he gets the most say? Is that how it works?”

“No, that’s not how it works. And he doesn’t write the lyrics. I do.”

“You said you both did.”

Calvin gets a pinched look on his face. “I lied.”

“…Oh.”

Well, fuck. Miles isn’t sure what to do with this information. It’s as if he’s suddenly gotten very top-secret behind-the-scenes information.

Calvin, clearly frustrated, grits his teeth and holds the edge of the parapet so tight his knuckles go white. Miles’s stomach rolls. He should change the subject and recollect himself before he says something too much. He should choose a much safer thing to talk about. Like the inn’s menu for tomorrow. But… he can’t help it. “So… you write your band’s songs. Not Theo Reid.”

“Yes.” Calvin shifts in his spot. “I write most of our songs. Theo has different strengths. He enjoys performing, not writing songs.”

“Then why does he say he writes all your songs?”

He doesn’t get an answer.

“Never mind,” Miles says.

Calvin clears his throat. “By the way, I’ve been thinking. It’s about your inn.”

“What about it?”

“Your inn doesn’t have much of an online presence. It’s mostly word-of-mouth, or backpackers who turn up in Ridgeford and spot it by chance. What do you know about SEO?”

He wonders if Calvin can see how clueless he looks with how dark it is. “I have no idea what SEO is.”

“Search engine optimization… when a potential client searches Ridgeford on the internet, or related things, your inn’s website should rank high. You can also do Facebook ads, Google ads… there are a lot of things you can do. Our manager talks about it a lot, even if we’re not in charge of most of those things. We’ve got a digital marketer on our team.”