Page 7 of Paint Our Song (Cloverlily #1)

M om is no good with computers, and he might just be as terrible. Miles is ready to throw his laptop when Excel tells him for the fifth time that his formulas don’t work. He needs to make an estimate of their projected costs and projected income, but he can’t figure out how. How much can they get if they’re at least fifty percent booked a month? Can they afford to hire more staff? Again, he wonders what would’ve happened if he had taken up a business course instead.

This had all been Dad. No wonder the inn’s in such bad shape, years after he’s gone.

“What’re you doing?”

Miles startles. He didn’t realize Calvin was this stealthy, and he looks up at him wide-eyed from where he’s seated at the lobby lounge. Calvin waits for a response, his hands in his pockets, and Miles is strangely too happy that he’s approached him for the first time .

“I can’t figure this out.” Miles tells him about having to find out how much they should be booking per month, and how all these new costs affect the projection, and other things that make his head spin.

Calvin nudges him. “Move over.”

He takes a seat beside Miles and pulls the laptop closer, and Miles again notices that he smells like vanilla. He must not like the boring generic soap the inn leaves in their room, and Miles is tempted to ask for the brand of his soap because he might be obsessed with it by this point.

“This isn’t right. Look, you won’t even break even like this,” Calvin says, and Miles watches as he corrects some of the columns and formulas. He has no clue what’s going on. Why the hell did Calvin know all this? “What’s this? Why do you need to put so much money into the bank?”

“Debt. These are the loans we’re paying back.”

“Okay.” Calvin clicks around some more. “I don’t know how accurate this is, but you’re supposed to have an occupancy rate of seventy percent every month to return a profit.”

“Fuck.”

“How are your bookings right now?”

“Horrible.” Miles groans and buries his face in his hands.

Gabby approaches them. “You two hang out now?”

As soon as she asks that, Calvin inches away from Miles.

“He’s helping me with our financial projections,” Miles says. “We need at least a seventy percent booking rate for the rest of the year to at least break even. ”

She makes a face. “Well, shit.”

Calvin looks between them. “It’ll work out,” he says, before getting up. “I’m going to go hit the gym. See you both later.”

Miles pouts and only fixes his expression when he spots Gabby watching him. He pulls up the notes app to the checklist that Calvin had started for him a week ago, and the next item is to create social media accounts.

That proves to be another challenge.

Miles has a headache after about an hour of trying to figure it out, and he moves to the reception area with Gabby so she can suffer through his bemoaning. All the clicking, the typing, the uploading of photos—it’s so boring.

Gabby asks, “How many followers does Calvin have on Instagram?”

“Five hundred thousand.” The fact that he knows that at the top of his head isn’t suspicious at all.

“You should ask him to post about the inn,” Gabby says—which, to be fair, would not be an awful idea. He’s got half a million followers, but it’d probably break his “I don’t like social media” spiel. “Or you could always hire a digital marketer. Did you know that’s what Megan’s doing now?”

Megan, Matthew’s little sister. A few years younger than them, with a strong personality, Megan had always seemed to be fond of him. Maybe he can connect with her, ask for some tips?

“I don’t know if we have the budget for that, since Mom won’t let me pay for things out of my pocket.” He chews on his thumb. Wow, they don’t have a lot of good photos of the inn. He only now realizes that they’ve never actually had professional photographs taken, so he doesn’t have much to post anywhere. That’s another item added to the list— more photos.

The main door opens, and Matthew walks in carrying several boxes. They come up to his nose, and Miles shuts his laptop to help him out.

“Thanks,” Matthew says as Miles takes half the boxes from him. They bring it over to the cafe and place them on the counters behind the display. Miles opens a box—it’s an assortment of tarts. Matthew starts rearranging them into the glass displays, and Miles helps him.

“Gabby told me Megan’s doing digital marketing now,” Miles says, as he’s opening up another box—mini cakes, this time. He had peeked at the Instagram account of Matthew’s cafe—call it research—and saw that they regularly posted, with a few viral reels.

“She does, and she’s pretty good at it… She handles a few businesses downtown. Are you looking for someone to manage your accounts?”

“Well… no, not exactly. Maybe? I’m not sure if we have the budget for it. I… maybe?” He should really talk to Mom and discuss their cash projections—if he’s ever able to convince her to actually talk about it. “You think Megan would be interested?”

Matthew shrugs. “Who knows? You’d probably have to win her over first.”

“What are you talking about? Megan adores me.”

The look Matthew gives him says that no, she definitely does not adore him… At least not anymore. Not since they broke up.

Matthew shrugs. “Megan’s easy, though. She’ll pretend to be against helping you, then she’ll warm up easily. My sister’s too nice a person to hold any grudges.”

“I don’t know. She was pissed at me for an entire month that one time I ate her yogurt.”

“She was nine. Wait, I’ll give her a call right now.” Matthew takes out his phone, and before Miles is able to tell him that he needs to talk about it with Mom first, Matthew is already pulling up her contact. He presses his phone to his ear and turns away from Miles. “Hey, Megan.”

Miles strains his ears trying to listen to Matthew’s conversation with his sister. It’s over almost immediately.

“She said she’ll come over today and see how she can help you,” Matthew says.

“Oh, thank god.” Miles exhales, dramatically clutching at the front of his chest. “Thanks. This… social media thing is really not my specialty.”

“Your social media account’s pretty big, Miles.”

“That was pure luck.”

Matthew rolls his eyes, smiling. “If you say so.”

After Matthew leaves, Miles goes right back to the reception table and snaps his laptop open. He must look so incredibly focused because Gabby leaves him alone, retreating to her own corner and talking to someone in Spanish on her phone. Must be her mom. Miles should say hi to her; he hasn’t seen her since he came to town.

Miles turns his screen away from Gabby, making sure she doesn’t notice, and does a search for Ridgeford Lake real estate. There’s a directory of the land and buildings being sold and leased in the area, and he almost faints at the numbers. These were a lot of numbers. If they did sell their inn, Mom could retire early, and they wouldn’t have to worry about much else—but what about the inn? Giving up on the inn would be giving up on his father’s memory. And these numbers… holy shit. No wonder Jeff’s trying to give his business card to anybody who’ll take them.

Speaking of Jeff, he’s on this site, with the words Top Ridgeford Agent written right under his name. Miles has never said he wasn’t childish, so he sticks his tongue out at the photo.

***

Megan arrives later that day. They take a table outside on the wooden deck overlooking the lake, and Megan whips out her laptop and starts going through various things such as social media marketing, engagement rates, influencers—all things that Miles has zero interest in. He gets distracted by how someone needs to clean dead leaves off the deck and polish the wooden railings, as well as replace the too-old lounge chairs and tables.

Megan calls his attention, and he quickly realizes that this would never work if he’s left to his own devices. The inn definitely needs Megan.

Miles says, “Look at you, all grown up.”

“Please, I’ve been grown up,” she says with a huff.

She goes through the questions with him, and she doesn’t hide her exasperation when she finds out that their social media account was only set up today. They’re all blank pages .

In his defense, the inn was run by his grandmother—Hannah—and then by his father. They didn’t have to bother with social media, and didn’t even have the internet back when the inn first opened. They relied on word-of-mouth and roadside advertisements, and the occasional campaigns in the newspapers. Miles remembers the occasional out-of-town trip to travel conventions too, where they’d set up a booth and offer discounts.

But social media? Nope. An inn as small as theirs didn’t even have its own marketing department.

“And there are my rates,” she says, grinning widely.

Miles peers at the numbers on the screen. It’s definitely something the inn can afford, and he’s pretty sure Megan’s giving him a great deal. No way her rates are actually this low. “Shit, Meg, thank you. You’re a lifesaver. You’re definitely hired.”

“Aw, thanks. Here.” Megan takes a cherry-flavored lollipop from her bag and hands it to him. “Your reward for sitting still long enough and listening to me go through all that.”

“What am I, a pet you’re training?” Nevertheless, he takes it from her too eagerly and thanks her.

Megan’s gaze drifts over his shoulder. “Isn’t that Cloverlily’s guitarist? Matt did tell me he was staying here.”

He looks behind him to see Calvin climbing the steps to the deck. Calvin must have been taking a walk by the lake.

Before Miles can stop her, Megan waves at Calvin. “Hello!”

He stops next to their table, his hands in his pockets. Calvin looks between her and Miles. “Hi,” he says.

“I’m Megan.” She pulls her bag over shoulder and steps toward him, quickly getting rid of the distance between them. Megan offers her hand. “I’m the inn’s digital marketer.”

“Oh. Uh.” Blinking, Calvin shakes her hand. He looks over at Miles with a puzzled look. “Nice to meet you.”

“How are you finding the inn?” Megan asks.

Calvin looks like he needs to be rescued, but Miles is also at a loss. “It’s very nice here. Quite relaxing.”

“It really is!” Megan says. “I hope your stay only gets better.”

“Thank you.”

Megan spins around and walks right over to Miles, who’s pretending to push the chairs back to the table. She leans into his space and whispers, “Ask him to help with our marketing.”

Smiling broadly at both Miles and Calvin, Megan heads toward the door—but not before spinning around when she’s behind Calvin and out of his view, and giving Miles a full stare-down.

Miles pretends not to see her.

“I, uh,” Miles says, awkwardly, when it’s only him and Calvin left. “Hey. So, yeah. That was our digital marketer.”

“You said you didn’t have one.”

“She’s new.”

“I thought she was going to ask if I could help out with your marketing.”

“Nah.” Okay, yeah, definitely. “Hypothetically, would you have turned her down?”

“Yes.”

Well, there was… that. Miles can’t help but cover his mouth and cough, hiding his wheeze .

Calvin leans his arms back against the deck’s railing. His shoulders slacken, and he fixes a stare at Miles. It’s a view that makes Miles want to gaze anywhere else.

“Are you leaving Ridgeford soon?” Miles asks, as if he doesn’t know the exact answer to that.

“Yes, tomorrow morning. We’ve got a gig in the city this weekend and need to prepare for it.” Judging from the grimace, he’s not happy with the idea.

“Right, the music festival.” The same three-day music festivals he’s been trying to get tickets to for weeks now. It’s sold out and the only tickets he can find are from scalpers, and he’s pretty sure they’re going to run off with his money.

“You’ve heard about it?”

Miles laughs. “Everyone’s heard of it.”

“Oh. Are you going?”

“I’m going to try,” he says, which is a lie considering he can’t find any tickets. Pouting, Miles unwraps the lollipop that Megan had given him. He loves cherry, and he’s been wanting to eat something sweet some day. He rolls it around on his tongue and melts with happiness. It tastes really, really good, and the sugar is the perfect reward to a morning that sucked the energy out of him. He says, talking around the candy, “I’ll be in the city for an exhibit.”

“I’d rather go to your thing,” Calvin mumbles. “Playing as a band after announcing the break-up sucks. Then I found out we’re going to announce our farewell concert soon.”

“Where will it be?”

“It’s in… uh…”

When his voice trails off, Miles turns to him. Calvin is glaring at his mouth, as if bothered. He can feel that his lips are slightly damp, maybe red from the candy, and maybe Calvin hates the mess. Miles pulls the lollipop out and it makes a wet, smacking sound. “You want one? We’ve got a bowl at the front desk.”

Calvin’s frown deepens. “No.”

“Suit yourself.” He pops it right back and sucks it against his cheek. Calvin grimaces.

Honestly, he can be so odd and hard to read.

“Phoenix stadium,” Calvin grumbles after a taut pause. “That’s where we’re doing the farewell concert.”

“Oh… where you held your first one?”

“Yes.”

Miles wouldn’t pretend that he knows a thing about what goes on when a band breaks up, and he can only guess that it’s awful. Seeing Calvin like this, so clearly distressed, makes his chest pinch. He wishes he could do something about it.

An idea forms in his head.

“About the commission you wanted,” Miles says. “I want to do it. It’d probably help me keep my mind off things, anyway.”

Calvin frowns. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d be doing it for me.” He grins, meeting Calvin’s eyes. Calvin stares at him, unblinking. “Not being able to work on my art makes me feel awful, so I might as well. I’m serious. I can do it for free.”

“No way.”

Miles rolls the lollipop around on his tongue, thinking of a way to convince him .

“Stop that. It’s distracting,” grumbles Calvin.

“Stop what?”

“Stop deep-throating that lollipop.”

Miles almost chokes on the damn thing from shock, and when he gapes at Calvin, Calvin looks back at him with seriousness on his face, though his cheeks are red.

“W-what the hell?” Miles splutters.

“Give me that.” Calvin snags the lollipop right from his hand, tossing it in the trash can across the deck. It goes straight in, because of course Calvin also has perfect aim among his ever-growing list of talents.

“Hey!” Miles protests. He’d probably be more outraged if he weren’t so impressed. “Jesus. Gotta say, I didn’t know you had such a dirty mind.”

Ignoring him, Calvin asks, “How much for the painting?”

“I said I’d do it for free. Email me the photos you had in the green room, and I’ll need your shipping address so I can mail it to you.” Still dismayed about the loss of his sweets, Miles mumbles, “At least that answers my question.”

“What question?”

“Whether you’re also into men.”

“Because I called you out on the ridiculous way you eat candy?”

Feeling bold, but mostly because of pettiness, Miles says, “Because it made you blush, actually.”

Calvin makes a surprised noise and scrubs a hand over his face. Then he looks up at the sky as if regretting all his life decisions up until this point. After a very loud exhale, he says, “Moving on. Do the painting for me, and I’ll help promote your inn.”

What?

“You?” Miles asks, surprised. “Are you sure? You don’t like posting. You never even post your face… Your last post was instant noodles.”

“Hey, the Cup Noodles Museum is a fun time,” Calvin grumbles. “I don’t have to post photos of myself.”

Which, damn, is not exactly what Miles wants to hear.

Calvin asks, “Won’t photos of your inn and the lake be enough? What’s your number?”

He can’t believe this is actually happening. Miles awkwardly fumbles as he tells Calvin his number. Calvin types in the number, presses the call button, and Miles’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He almost drops it. Miles wipes his sweaty hand on his pants and then saves Calvin’s number. He types in his name, considers it, and then backspaces—then he saves it as ‘Cat-vin’, because that sounds stupidly hilarious to him.

***

The first text message, unexpectedly, comes from Calvin.

Miles receives it on a random morning, right after he’s met with Megan and she went through her proposed campaign for the inn. There’s a photo attached to the message—a golden retriever, beaming, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. It’s incredibly cute and Miles grins at the single word Calvin typed under it.

Cat-vin: You .

Me: is that your dog????

He doesn’t care if the absurd amount of question marks proves Calvin’s point—that he has golden retriever energy.

The response comes an entire hour later.

Cat-vin: my sister’s dog.

Fuck. Miles didn’t need to learn all these new things about Calvin Lowe. He has a sister? His sister has a dog? Calvin texted him for no good reason? Miles groans and clutches at his chest, and Gabby gives him an odd look from across the room.

He heads out to the deck, hoping that the grouchy black cat that he’s seen napping there is around. The cat’s curled up in one corner, but when Miles creeps up to it to get a photo, it snaps to attention and scurries away. All he gets is a blurry shot of its retreating tail.

He sends it to Calvin.

Me: And this is you.