Page 131 of When Ben Loved Tim
He seems puzzled. “My parents are in town. She can’t stay with me.”
“I was thinking of your studio.”
Tim recoils at the idea.
“I know, I know,” I say, raising my hands to ward off any protest. “It’s your fortress of solitude. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Does she know about my art?” Tim asks guardedly.
I tilt my head. “She’s my best friend. Allison knows everything.”
“All of it?”
“Yes! Pretty much.”
I know it’s asking a lot of him. Letting someone see his paintings is tantamount to him ripping open his chest and exposing his heart.
“Please,” I say. “Do it for me.”
Tim shakes his head. “How am I supposed to argue with that?”
“Can we drive there now?”
He shrugs. “I guess so. Anything else?”
“Can you grab some blankets and a pillow for her?”
Tim salutes. “I’ll meet you guys there. How’s that sound?”
“Heroic,” I say, giving him a quick kiss. “See you soon.”
Half an hour later, we’re walking through an office so dark that it forces Allison to take off her sunglasses. When we reach the conference room used as his studio, Tim flicks on the light. He glances at Allison with insecurity before doing a doubletake.
“Holy shit!” he exclaims, no doubt noticing the welt on her cheek. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Allison says stiffly.
“That’s cool,” he replies. “Hell, it’s practically my motto! Uh… Let’s see.”
Tim carries the bedding he brought to the couch and starts spreading one of the blankets out. “You should be fine for the night,” he says while working. “Tomorrow is Saturday, so nobody will be here.”
“What about the security guard?” I ask.
“If he sees a light on, he’ll assume it’s me,” Tim replies. “Although I can go tell him that I’ll be working late tonight. And that I might crash on the couch. If you think it’s a good idea.”
“Do you mind?” I ask, grabbing the blankets so I can take over.
“No problem! Be right back.”
Once the bed is made, I turn around and find Allison perusing Tim’s art. She’s found the painting of me from Valentine’s Day, which turned out great.
“He did all this?” she asks, sounding surprised.
I nod. “That’s what’s so hard to explain. I know he can be…”
“An ass?” she suggests.
“Yeah. But this is the real Tim. I love the artist, not the jock.”
