“Come on. Let’s go shower so we can get ready for our date.” I pulled Isaac to his feet, and he came easily. I knew things wouldn’t always be this way, this simple, but while it was just the two of us, we could pretend.
Dinner was great. We went to an upscale steakhouse. I was grateful we were able to get a table on such short notice. The place was full of what looked like mostly couples, people on dates, or the kind of people who worked at Isaac’s firm, there for business meetings.
We weren’t brothers inside those walls, not for anyone there. We were just two men on a date together.
“Would you like to see our wine list?” the waiter asked. He looked in his midtwenties, with red hair, sparse freckles, and a killer jawline. His gaze darted back and forth between Isaac and me, in interest maybe? As if he was admiring the view but couldn’t tell if we were together or just hanging out.
“I’d like a beer,” Isaac said, looking at the menu. He chose one I’d never heard of, something no doubt high quality. “Lane?” His stare flickered toward me.
“I’ll have the same,” I replied just as Isaac looked up at the waiter, who… Was he blushing? Just because Isaac looked at him? Not that I was surprised. He had that effect on people.
“Of course. I’ll be right out with it. Would you like to hear our specials?”
Isaac nodded, and the waiter rambled them off, stumbling over his words some and clearly forgetting I was even there. When he said he would give us a moment and be back with our drinks, I told Isaac, “Our waiter has a crush on you.”
“Most people have a crush on me,” he countered. “Can you blame him?”
That was one hundred percent the Isaac I knew and loved. “So humble.”
“So honest.” He winked, and we chuckled.
Isaac ordered steak while I got a chicken dish. We drank our beer and talked. It was a small table with a white cloth, each of us with one arm on it, our fingers tangling and teasing each other’s in a way we’d never done in public before. It would be awkward if anyone we knew came in, but right then, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with him, wanted to enjoy him and claim him and take back some of the time we’d lost.
“Do you know much about the exhibit?” Isaac asked a few minutes after our food arrived. “I wasn’t sure if it’s a style you like, but I figured it’s art and you’d enjoy it regardless.”
“No, it’s perfect. Axel Trudeau has pieces there. I forgot he’s local to Atlanta. I’ve met him a few times in the city. His work is incredible. No one uses color the way he does.”
As I went on and on about style and artists and what I was most excited to see, Isaac listened, his simple touch on my hand, fingers dancing the whole time. He only pulled away when he needed to for eating.
He smiled and asked questions, was never embarrassed when I had to explain something to him. I loved that about him—his thirst for knowledge and his confidence. Isaac knew a lot about a lot of things, but if he didn’t know, he didn’t pretend he did. He was too self-assured for that.
I wished it could always be this easy.
When the waiter returned to ask if we wanted dessert, Isaac looked at me, and I shook my head. “None for me either,” he replied.
The younger man hesitated a moment, then said, “The two of you make a really great couple. I probably shouldn’t admit this, but sometimes a few of us play a little game called ‘how in love are they’…and you both…well, just how you look at each other has everyone swooning. Makes me feel hopeful I can have that one day.” He gave us a quick smile, then slipped away.
My gaze met Isaac’s, which was already on me, and in that moment, none of the other things mattered. Everything was perfect.
We took a car service to the venue. It was nearly nine, and while it had begun to cool off, humidity still clung to the air. When we pulled up to the curb, I looked at the white building with thick, decorative pillars. It was colonial style, with two levels of stairs leading to the entrance.
I opened the car door and got out, before holding my hand out for Isaac. He scooted over, since his door was close to the busy street, and let me help him out of the car. I wanted to continue to hold his hand, wanted to tangle our fingers together so everyone inside knew we belonged to each other, but Isaac let go first. It was probably for the best. The timing was off, and we hadn’t really discussed the how of us doing this, just that we needed to tell our family first and we weren’t ready yet.
Still, I missed the warmth of his hand instantly.
We showed our tickets and were let in. The entryway was vast, with a large crystal chandelier hanging in the middle. It led into a wide space decorated in a similar manner, as if you were walking into a fine-arts magazine, with paintings along the walls and other pieces throughout the middle. The latter each had a rope around them so they weren’t touched or knocked over. The place was already packed, and people walked around, looking, discussing, dissecting. Others stood in small groups, talking.
“This is your show,” Isaac said. “Lead the way, and I’ll follow.”
Again, I wished I could reach for him, but didn’t. I gave him a smile instead, hoping it said the things I wanted him to know. That I appreciated this night we’d both come up with, without the other knowing. That I loved him and was thrilled to get to spend time with him this way, knowing the secret we held between us.
“This way,” I told him, moving toward the right.
We went to a display of three paintings in a series—the same house, in the woods; one clearly when it was new, another years later, and the third when it was falling down and neglected. The first was the brightest, the happiest; the last, sad and lonely.
“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it? What you can say with imagery? The things it can make you feel? Like…my heart breaks for this home and the people who lived there, the joy it held, and then to see it abandoned… It almost hurts.” I rubbed a hand over my chest.
“I think…” Isaac replied, “I think you’re good at that, at seeing deeply and feeling the loneliness in someone or something. I can see what you mean, but I don’t feel it. You look deeper than most. You did with me, and you do with these paintings too.”
“You showed me who you are. Give yourself some credit. For whatever reason, you never hid with me.”
Isaac sighed. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
We moved to the next and the next, examining and discussing each piece we came upon. We were at the fourth one when I heard, “Lane! I didn’t know you were coming!” as Kylie approached with three other people. Nerves automatically twisted and tightened in my gut. I didn’t want anything to put a damper on this night.
“Hi, Kylie. It’s so good to see you!”
She kissed my cheek and gave me a brief hug, then looked at the people with her. “This is Lane Ryan. He’s in town with family for a while.”
“Oh, wow. Lane, I love your work. You came out of nowhere and took the world by storm. It must have been incredible to work with Magdalena. I really loved your Scenes from the Attic series. I’m Christopher. It’s an honor to meet you.”
I felt Isaac tense slightly beside me. While my family followed my career, it wasn’t as if they knew every piece I’d ever painted, showed, or sold, and I knew if Isaac had known about Scenes from the Attic, he would have mentioned it. “Thank you. I appreciate that. It’s great to meet you as well.”