Page 43 of Paint Our Song

“Sure.” Calvin hunches his shoulders and tucks his chin into his chest, focusing on his phone. He starts bouncing his knee in that way he does when he’s anxious.

Miles has a vague memory of what Gil did when Chase was in this state, and how he put a hand on his wrist to calm him down.

He tries that—reaches out and puts a hand on Calvin’s knee, andCalvin sucks in a breath, but his leg goes still. Calvin doesn’t push his hand away, though, and Miles can’t help but rub a thumb against his knee in an attempt to calm him down even more.

He doesn’t even ask what’s triggering his nerves. If Calvin wanted to, he’d tell him.

“Thanks,” Calvin mumbles, almost too quietly for him to hear, and for a split-second Miles wonders if his hopeless crush isn’t actually that hopeless after all.

His phone gets a barrage of notifications, and Miles knows it’s because Calvin’s tagged him in the story. When a famous musician with half a million followers does that, it’s expected. Calvin’s reach is incredible, and his posts—even without his face—have successfully gotten them more followers and bookings. It’s still not at the rate they’re targeting, but it’s getting there.

“Hey.” Calvin taps his wrist lightly from where it’s still resting on his knee. “Have you been painting? You mentioned your gallery wants you to give them new pieces.”

“Ah. No, not so much, but not for lack of trying. I always have a hard time painting when I’m in town. Don’t worry though, I’ll do your painting soon.”

“I’m not rushing you. Why do you have a hard time painting here, though? The town’s beautiful. Most of your early works are from this town, right?”

Miles’s chest flutters at the fact that Calvin has been following him long enough to know about which pieces of his were hisearlyworks. “This place reminds me too much of Dad.”

“Oh.”

He can tell that Calvin’s about to apologize, and he cuts him off before it happens. Miles asks, “You know that painting of Mom’s garden that’s hung in the lobby?”

“Yes?”

“It’s the last thing I did from this place. Dad really liked that time of the year when the color of the leaves turn orange, and he was upset when he realized he wasn’t going to see it that year because, uh, the doctors didn’t think he’d make it to autumn. So, I painted it for him. I haven’t been able to paint anything else in this town since then.”

“That’s sweet.” Calvin smiles, the sight cracking Miles’s chest wide open. Talking about Dad always stirs an ache in him, but just seeing Calvin’s too honest expression softens the blow.

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s gripping Calvin’s knee tightly until Calvin glances down at it.

“Sorry,” he croaks, finally letting go and taking his hand back. As soon as he inches away from Calvin, his chest tightens. Miles frowns and rubs at his sternum. Fuck, he tells himself he’s not doing this today. He needs to get his mind off the stupid emptiness in him. “Ah, shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Calvin gives him a long look. “You okay over there?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Miles pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, slumping over and telling himself to hold it together. He jokes, “Sharing something so vulnerable makes me physically ill.”

“You sureyou’re okay?”

“Yes.” Okay, he’s good now. See—all he needed was a breather. Miles sits up straight and grins widely at Calvin. “Sorry for getting all deep and weird.”

“It wasn’t weird.”

“It kind of was.” Miles pokes his ribs, and Calvin swats him. “You should share something real about you to even the stakes.”

A laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“Totally not. Tell me your deep darkest secrets. Something you haven’t admitted to anybody else before.”

Calvin leans back and crosses his arm, his gaze darting across Miles’s face. There’s something unnerving with how he’s being studied, as if Calvin can see right through him.

“I’m kidding, don’t worry,” Miles says. “You don’t have to—”