Page 15 of Paint Our Song (Cloverlily #1)

T hey’re quiet for a long while, and Calvin looks away, toward the direction of the lake. The sun’s finally set, and the air is a lot cooler now, and there are some sounds of kids playing on the downstairs deck.

“I like your mom,” Calvin says, breaking the tension.

Alright, then—they’re not going to talk about the sketches. Good.

Calvin continues, “She reminds me a lot of my mom, actually. They’re both very kind and… chatty.”

“I think she likes you. You and your gentle and precise gardening hands, apparently.”

Calvin spreads his right palm wide, resting the back of it against the table. He studies it in a thoughtful way as he bends his fingers. “My hands suck. All rough and ugly from all the guitar playing. See? The tips of my fingers are all calloused.”

“They don’t look bad. ”

“They feel bad.” Calvin brushes his fingers against Miles’s arm, and Miles jolts not because of how rough they are—he doesn’t even feel the roughness—but because of how cold his hand is and also because he wasn’t expecting the way they leave goosebumps on his skin.

“Are you cold?” Miles asks.

“A bit.”

He resists the urge to take his hands and warm them up.

Miles chews on his cheek and hopes that Calvin doesn’t notice the strange shift in his mood. Trying to convince himself to think of other things, Miles holds his own hand up to the light. “I have this weird bump on my finger because of my drawing. I didn’t even know it was unusual until my university friends talked about it. It’s from using a pencil all the time, I think.”

“Where?”

Miles holds his hand closer to Calvin and points at a bump on the side of his middle finger, just below his nail. He doesn’t miss how Calvin makes a move that seems like he’s going to touch it, but then he stops himself and puts his hand on his lap instead. Miles may be a scatterbrain, but reading people comes easy to him, and lately he’s even been able to read Calvin better. A thought simmers in the back of his head, saying that Calvin might want to touch him too, that maybe he’s afraid of making the first move as much as Miles is.

You can touch me again, Miles wants to say.

He’s let a very big opportune moment pass, and Miles can’t take it, though he gets another opening when Calvin zips up his jacket. Calvin rubs his hands together and mumbles that he should have worn thicker clothes.

Miles, as casually as he can, pushes his chair against Calvin’s and gestures for his hands. He gets a puzzled look in return.

“Give me your hands,” he says.

For a while, Calvin hesitates. It surprises Miles too when he actually does give them, and Miles holds them between his and rubs. He’s always run hot, and it doesn’t take long for Calvin’s hands to heat up, too, underneath his warm palms. Miles doesn’t dare look up at him, too scared to see what expression’s laid out on his face.

“They’re not so rough,” Miles says, after he’s rubbed Calvin’s hands warm. He’s still not letting go though, and trails his thumb against the tips of Calvin’s fingers. They twitch under his touch, but Calvin’s not pulling away, so Miles doesn’t stop. He trails his fingers against Calvin’s palm too, then on his knuckles, and Calvin sucks in a breath.

Calvin’s quiet, and when Miles finally looks up at him, he’s staring at Miles with an intensity he hasn’t seen before.

“You’ve been drawing all your life,” Calvin says, which catches him off-guard. He’s still letting Miles explore his hands, so he doesn’t stop.

It’s a statement, not a question, but Miles nods all the same. “I think my dad would have preferred if I was more into business, though.”

Surprisingly, Calvin shakes his head. “Your mom actually mentioned that you feel that way. She said you couldn’t be more wrong.”

He blushes. “Jesus, seriously, how long were you talking? What else did she expose about me? ”

“That you listened to our debut song to get out of a slump.”

“Oh my god, Ma!”

“I assumed she was only saying that to be nice to me, though.”

Somewhere along the conversation, they both turn toward each and sit much closer than before. Miles bows his head and Calvin’s hands are still in his. He’s strangely fascinated by his hands and he continues to touch them, trailing his own fingers against the lines on his palm and in-between his knuckles.

“I have a weird confession,” Miles says, voice soft.

“What?”

He can’t believe he’s actually going to say this to Calvin, of all people. He exhales and then says, “My mom wasn’t only saying that to be nice. Back in university, I was going to drop out because I… I don’t know. I didn’t have any drive. I didn’t want to do anything. I’d try to draw literally anything, and I’d hate it. It was right after my dad died. I didn’t know how to function at all. Nothing made sense. This is really dramatic. I’m sorry.”

“Go on.”

He’s sure his face is burning, and he can’t look at Calvin right now. “It’s about when Derrick got in touch with me to do your album cover.”

“I think he mentioned you ignored him the first few times.”

He nods. “Then he emailed me your unreleased debut song. ‘Garden.’ You know, the song you were so odd about? He asked me to listen, anyway, and see if I’d like to work on your cover and I… Well, I ended up listening to your track all night.”

Calvin’s quiet, so Miles forces himself to look up. He’s met with what he can only describe as embarrassment, Calvin’s face and ears red and his mouth a thin line.

“It was really, really damn good,” Miles says, holding his gaze. He rubs a thumb against Calvin’s palm. “I started sketching while listening to it on loop, then by the time the sun rose my sketchbook was out of pages. Then… yeah.” He exhales. “It’s really stupid, but that’s why I’m obsessed with your songs. ‘Garden’ got me out of my slump, like Mom said. Honestly, it wasn’t only a slump. I was depressed. I guess Mom doesn’t like using that word, though.”

He remembers it. Matthew had tried so hard. He had sat on the edge of his bed, nudging his arm, telling him he had to get out of his room. Gabby stood by his door, pleading, telling him not to drop out of university. Mom, also still grieving, begged him to talk. Nothing worked until he absently scrolled through his notifications and saw the email with their song attached to it. He’s pretty sure he had clicked on it by accident, when he was trying to actually delete it like all the other messages he got.

“Hey.” Calvin pokes him. “Our music wouldn’t have been able to cheer you up like that. That was all you.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. It’s strange—there’s a tight feeling in his chest, and it doesn’t feel horrible. The way Calvin looks at him has that effect. “I’m not joking. The reason I didn’t stop painting, was able to graduate, and get a job at a gallery—it was all because of you. Even the art I did for your first album was how I got my first clients because people would get in touch with me for it for new projects.”

Miles doesn’t realize until he’s said it that he said you instead of your music. He gets that now, that Calvin was the reason he ever became himself again. He was the reason he didn’t wither away.

“I suppose I have a confession as well,” Calvin admits.

“What?”

“I wrote ‘Garden’ because of that painting you did for your dad.”

What?

Calvin laughs awkwardly. “I went here with my family a few years ago and saw it on the wall. Took a picture and thought it’d match what we had in mind for our album cover, and Derrick contacted you for the job. Anyway, I kind of overhauled the words to the song we were working on based on your art, because… it just worked. That’s when Derrick sent you one of our early recordings.”

He’s surprised enough that he drops Calvin’s hands, and Calvin leans away and puts them in the pockets of his jacket.

Miles doesn’t know what to do with the thrumming in his chest. Calvin chuckles awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by his own confession.

“Small world,” Calvin grins shyly.

“That’s why you were so odd about ‘Garden.’ You could’ve just told me.”

“I was going to tell you eventually, but then I kept putting it off too long; then it felt weird to ever bring it up. Then you told me about how you painted it for your dad, and it felt as if I was… intruding on something very personal to you.”

“Nope.” Miles shakes his head fervently. “Definitely not. You’re right though, what a small world. Does that mean I could’ve met you years ago, even before your band released your debut? Like you were actually staying at our inn?”

He shrugs. “I did ask the front desk back then about who did the paintings downstairs, but they said you weren’t available.”

Because he had been cooped up in his room.

It all clicks into place now—why Calvin said he’s been a fan of his work for some time now, why he had been so weird about their debut song, and why the song spoke to him in such an intimate way.

It’s unreal.

Calvin’s phone rings, and he startles. When he takes his phone out, Miles knows that conversation’s likely over. Calvin’s expression pinches and he mumbles that he has to take this. He walks to the parapet, and Miles is left sitting there trying to reorganize his thoughts.

Miles is quiet for a long while. He rests his elbows on the table and covers his face with a hand, attempting to calm down the way his heart’s racing. Calvin is faced away from him and leaning against the parapet, toward the direction of the lake, talking on his phone.

He knows what he wants, and what he wants is Calvin.

Calvin ends the phone call, but he continues to type something into it, his shoulders tense, and Miles gets up and follows him before he can convince himself not to. He puts a tentative hand on the small of Calvin’s back, and Calvin glances over his shoulder with a puzzled expression.

“You saved me,” Miles says, which is over-the-top dramatic, but he doesn’t care.

“What?” He lets out a soft laugh and turns until they’re facing each other, then Calvin sees the expression on Miles and his eyebrows crinkle together.

This should be easier, but it isn’t. Miles should outright say that he wants to kiss him, that he’s wanted to for some time now, but he can’t quite find the words. Instead, he puts a hand on Calvin’s cheek to see where that gets him—and Calvin’s eyes widen and redness blooms across his face, then he leans into his hand, ever so slightly.

Miles steps closer and puts his forehead against his, and Calvin’s not saying anything, even when the tips of their noses brush together. He can feel warm breath on his lips, and he’s not being pushed away, and that’s really all the answer he needs, so he gets rid of the little space between them and kisses him.

Calvin goes rigid. For a horrifying moment Miles thinks he’s miscalculated this, but then there’s a hand on the front of his shirt and Calvin’s lips press back against his—and it’s oddly tender and slow, not quite what Miles is used to, and not in a bad way. He runs his tongue between Calvin’s lips, asking for permission, and Calvin gives it to him. Calvin’s mouth is hot and wet, and when Miles deepens the kiss, Calvin’s breath hitches, and the sound of it splinters Miles’s rapidly disintegrating thoughts.

He backs Calvin up against the parapet, cradles his face, and when their hips slot together, Calvin inhales sharply.

Then Calvin’s phone rings in his pocket, and everything shatters.

Calvin pulls away with wide eyes, and it catches Miles off-guard, making him stumble forward, and Calvin holds his arm to steady him.

He watches with disappointment as Calvin takes a large step away .

Ignore it, Miles wants to say as Calvin takes his phone out. Calvin scowls at his screen and for a moment Miles thinks he’s going to throw it over the roof. Hell, he’ll throw it himself.

He declines the call instead, then looks over at Miles with a somewhat mortified expression.

Talk about mixed signals.

Calvin says, “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” Miles blanches, then he takes a moment to recompose himself. It feels as if someone threw a pail of ice over his head. “I—sorry? I thought you were into it.”

“I… Yeah, I was—” Calvin’s voice trails off. “What brought that on?”

Miles meets his gaze. “I like you.” Which, duh. He spent about fifteen minutes holding his hands and memorizing every line on his palm. “Last night, when you attacked me—”

“I didn’t attack you—”

“I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so badly as much as I wanted to kiss you.”

“You don’t want this.”

Miles almost chokes in surprise. He’s going to get whiplash. “I don’t want this, or you don’t want this?”

Calvin’s mouth opens as if he wants to say something, then he closes it again.

“I’m sorry. Let’s forget the whole thing, and if you don’t want to speak to me after this I’ll underst—”

“I’ve got too much baggage,” Calvin blurts out.

“You… what? ”

“I was into it, clearly. But I wasn’t thinking. I’m not… fuck. How do I say this?” In a seemingly hopeless way, Calvin takes his phone out and shows him the lit-up screen, Theo’s calling, and Miles’s heart sinks. He must have switched it to silent because it’s not making any sounds, but the way that name flashes on the screen is loud enough. In a jerky movement, Calvin shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“Oh.” The realization sinks in, and it’s so incredibly painful. “You’re still in love with—”

“No. God, no.” Calvin cuts him off before he can say his name. “I don’t care about him, and I haven’t in a really long time. We were on-and-off for years, and yeah, this time we’re absolutely done, but that doesn’t make things any easier.” He waves at his pocket. “He doesn’t make it any easier.”

“So, stop answering his calls,” Miles says, because it’s the most obvious solution to him.

“I can’t. If I don’t talk him down from the hell he could break loose, then it’ll get worse for everyone. Instead of an easy separation, he might bring his own lawyers in, and demand the majority of the song rights. It’s all very stupid, and I don’t think I have it in me to watch him and Chase go at it again. And on top of that, he’s been trying to convince me to leave the band, too, so that we can be a duo. A fucking duo. When we’ve broken up.”

“Jesus.” Miles lets out an exhale and closes his eyes. Calvin’s stress is stressing him out, too, but at least one of them has to keep it together.

Calvin says, voice weak, “You think I’m a doormat. ”

“No. Of course not,” Miles says. “I’d never think that.”

“That’s the tip of the iceberg, too. I haven’t had a place to live in for a few weeks now. I’ve been moving from hotel to hotel and staying at my parents’ house a lot. That’s why all my shit’s at their place.”

“Why don’t you have a place to live?”

“Theo and I were living together, and we broke up… I don’t know, maybe half a year ago, and he moved out. When the lease ended, it didn’t make sense to keep renting such a huge place. I’ve been holding off getting another apartment because I don’t even know what city I’m going to end up in, because I’m not sure I’ll have a career when this is all over.”

Miles’s expression twists. “Of course you’re still going to have a career.”

“How? This stupid thing with the band’s going to be the end of it.”

“Calvin—”

“Listen. I like you. It’s ridiculous how much I like you,” Calvin says and, that easily, Miles’s world tilts on its axis. “I… I didn’t think you felt the same way, not until now.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Miles blinks at him. Everyone around them could tell Miles was into him. Calvin’s so cute. “I mean, I know I’ve been trying to pretend I’m not into you, but even I know I was doing a horrible job at that.”

“I didn’t want to read into it,” he says weakly. “Besides, hanging out with you was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, so I was trying not to… ruin it by overthinking. Like I am right now.”

Miles hangs his head, utterly confused. “Um, not to pressure you, but if we’re both into each other… what’s the issue?”

“Didn’t you hear everything I just said? I’m a fucking mess, Miles. I don’t want to drag you into it.”

Oh. That’s what’s holding him back?

Smirking, Miles holds his gaze. “I’m a fucking mess too, if you haven’t noticed.”

That gets a chuckle out of him. “Miles.”

“Calvin,” he says, mimicking his tone. Calvin said he likes him. He likes him. Because Miles is truly a fucking mess, like he said, he drives the point home and says, “I’d really like to kiss you again. Please let me kiss you.”

Miles would say that it doesn’t need to be complicated. It can be two friends letting loose, except even he doesn’t believe that. He’s not going to be satisfied with just that.

A beat of silence passes. Calvin’s gaze drops to Miles’s mouth, and he swallows before averting his eyes.

“I can’t,” Calvin says, softly. “I’m going to go.”

Calvin heads for the door, and when he’s reaching for it, Miles calls him again. “Calvin. Wait.”

He turns slowly, his lips a thin line. “Yeah?”

“Your guitar.”

“Thanks,” Calvin murmurs. His stare drifts to the ground as he walks back to the table to take it.

Nodding, Miles forces a smile. It’s okay. This is okay. But even when he tries to convince himself that it’s fine, it still feels like he got stabbed in the heart.