Page 24 of Beneath the Indigo Sky

“These are…yours?”

He turns to face me, his blue eyes searching my soul as he asks, and he’s so close to me I can smell his grapefruit shampoo, and his body seems to radiate heat that sinks into my skin even through my jacket in the cold metal room.

“They’re mine.”

His fingertips reach out and trace along the steel’s gentle curves and harsh edges.

“They’re amazing.”

I feel myself blush. I haven’t blushed since I was a teenager.

My words catch in my throat, and I can barely manage to mumble a quiet, “Thanks.”

I stay close to his side as he wanders through the sculptures, touching them, examining them from every possible angle.

“Do you sell them?”

I shove my hands into my front pockets, unsure what to do with them in my embarrassment.

“I’ve sold a few. I started dabbling a few years before my parents died. Dad was a painter, and he still had a couple of friends at his former gallery in Seattle. One of them, Max, came out for a visit once and expressed interest. I wasn’t ready then, but a couple of years ago, I reached out to her, and she loved them even more than she had when I was younger. The couple of pieces I let her take sold fairly quickly, and once in a while, she pesters me for more.”

The deep blue of Namid’s eyes seems to shimmer like sunlight bouncing off deep water in the bright warehouse lights, and with no warning whatsoever, I suddenly realize that I want to get lost in them for the rest of my life.

“You don’t want to sell them?”

There’s no judgment in his tone; he’s simply curious.

“They’re like little pieces of my soul, I guess. I can’t just sell them because the gallery is interested. I have to be ready to let them go.”

I kick at a small piece of steel that has found its way onto the floor, despite the fact that I sweep regularly.

“Not sure that makes sense.”

His hand falls onto my forearm. His touch is tender and warm, and it reminds me of the first time he touched me the day he first came to help me in the shop. The way the heat from his skin sinks into mine, even through my jacket, makes me wonder what it would be like to feel his skin against mine.

“It makes perfect sense.” He smiles at me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Three hours have passed by the time I drop him back off beside his truck in the shop parking lot. He’d wandered my studio slowly, taking the time to study and touch each piece. He’d asked insightful questions and smiled gently at my answers. I’ve never seen anyone look at my work like that, not even Jordyn. It had felt like it wasn’t my art he was examining. Like it wasn’t sculptures he was touching. It was me.

We sit in silence for a long, weighted moment before he turns to face me instead of getting out of my truck.

“Thank you, Jayce…for everything.”

His hand flicks out, and for the briefest of moments, it rests on my thigh just above my knee. His eyes search my face, and he seems to be looking for something. If I knew what it was, I’d offer it to him. I’d give him anything.

The silence drags on, heavy around us in a way it’s never been before; then, with one quick pat, his hand is gone, and my skin is cold in its absence. By the time I realize what’s happening, he’s shut the truck door behind him, offering a quick wave through the window before hopping into his own truck.

Fuck.

It’s not the first time I’ve started to develop feelings for a straight guy in town. Fortunately, I’m a quick learner and I know not to repeat past mistakes. I sit in my truck and watch through my rearview mirror as he drives away. For a single moment, I allow myself to remember what it’s like to want someone before I sigh and remind myself that he’s my friend, and that’s all there is to it.

I shift into reverse and force myself to let go of the impossible dream that had begun to take shape at the edges of my universe. Back to reality it is.

Namid

Everything feels the same when I walk into the shop. I can hear the muffled sound of Jayce’s tools, and coffee is waiting for me on the office desk. I can feel him, just like I always can, but today, that somehow feels wrong. It’s not what I’d expected. There is grief, quiet and subtle and dim in the background of his soul. It feels the same as it has for weeks now. I feel a slight change when he hears the chime that announces I’ve opened the door. No one else is here today, and the door is locked, so he knows it’s me. I’m the only other person with a key. He’s happy I’m here, and the lightness that has slowly found its way into his soul expands ever so slightly at my arrival. It feels the same as it did the last time I was here. He feels the same as he has since the day we met for breakfast and he spoke for hours about Jordyn. He feels like my friend. I’m grateful for that, but I’d expected…more.

When we were together last Saturday, it felt like something had changed. As Jayce stood by my side, opening his soul and showing me something important and private, it didn’t feel like friendship. It felt like more. He’d smiled at me in a way I’d never seen before, and it was all I could do to not reach out and wrap my arms around him. He’d lingered close to me, our arms and hips and shoulders brushing as we moved through the shop, examining piece after piece. His voice had been smooth and sure as he’d talked about what had gone into making each of them and what they meant to him.

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