Page 136 of I'm Your Guy
I hear the sound of the front door opening. “I’m back!” Tommaso calls out. “You all packed, Mom?”
“I am,” she replies. “Want a protein shake? We’ve got a half hour until we have to go.”
“Hell yes.” Tommaso comes into the room and stops beside my chair. “That shirt fits you better than me.” He ruffles the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Doesn’t it?” his mother agrees.
“Yup.” He heads over to the coffee machine and puts a pod in for himself.
We all end up sitting at the table together—Emilia with her tea, me with my breakfast, and Tommaso with his shake.
“The house is so beautiful, boys,” she says. “I’ve really enjoyed seeing it.”
“So come back,” Tommaso says. “Anytime.”
“I want to.” She pats the table. “The furniture is all just perfect. Except there’s no art on the walls. Is that a work in progress?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because art should have a deeper, personal connection. And that’s hard to pull off when your son won’t set foot in a gallery or give his designer any direction.”
“Ah.” She smiles.
But this conversation reminds me of something I’d forgotten. “Actually, there’s a painting I meant to show you.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the photo app. “I saw this in the studio. It hasn’t gone to the gallery yet.”
Tommaso takes the phone and looks at the picture. “A cougar?” He laughs. “I like it. Local artist?”
“You’ve met him. This is Rigo’s painting.”
Tommaso blinks. “Really? I thought he painted walls.”
“He does—to pay the bills. But I met him in art school, remember? This is his art.”
“Oh shit.” He looks more closely at the painting. “I love it. Let’s buy that.”
“How about we go to his studio, and you can have a real look around.”
“Nope. I like cougars, and it’s my team mascot. This painting speaks to my most inner…soul, or whatever I have to say to convince you that it’s a good fit.”
I sigh.
Emilia laughs. “I think he’s got you there. I’m going to put the last few things in my suitcase. Can you arrange for a car to the airport?”
“Of course.” He reaches for his phone as she leaves the table.
“Wait.” I put my hand on his wrist. “I said I’d drive you into Denver to pick up your car. If you want to drop her off, we could go to your car after.”
“Oh.” He puts down his phone. “Are you sure you want to drive all the way out to the airport?”
“I don’t mind,” I whisper. “The only problem is that we’d have to stash some of my stuff in your basement for a couple hours. My whole life is in that car.”
“Let’s move it upstairs instead. Stay a while.”
“But I’m going to rent that place I talked about. The one with the storefront. I’ve decided.”
His expression eases, and he reaches out to rub the back of my neck. “I like this plan. I know you need to be your own man. I’m glad you’re doing that here in Boulder, where I can keep an eye on you and feed you waffles.”
“I’m not too proud to eat the waffles,” I admit as he rubs a knot in my neck. “And did you give my name to a goalie? I have a message to call him about furnishing a condo.”
“Yes!” Tommaso pumps his fist. “I’m glad he called you. Word of warning, though? That dude is seriously unhappy to be in Colorado. Seems like a big grump, too.”
