Chapter 2

“Wine?”

The portly man at Merrick’s left offered him a glass of white wine. He was Thurman Allen, friend and benefactor, with bedroom eyes.

Merrick took the glass. “Thank you.”

“He’s cute.”

“Yes.” He had always been attracted to Grant. Besides his good looks, Grant possessed a charming sense of humor that always eased Merrick’s troubles.

“I saw him first.”

“What? Who?”

“The ginger staring just a moment ago who you shrugged off, who do you think?”

“No one, sorry. Yes, cute. He’s all yours.”

Thurman pursed his lips. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“What’d I do?”

Thurman huffed as he slid his left arm through Merrick’s right and then led him to the Xanderclied painting. “I always admired Simon’s work. Always full of suffering and anger, but yet a hint of light.”

Merrick searched the crowd across the hall until he found Grant, who was still navigating through the small clumps of people talking or looking at the large framed paintings on the wall. How wonderful. Just moments before, he’d been thinking about how life was going to change for the better, and then there was Grant.

Seeing him sparked the memory of their first kiss. Grant had tasted of cinnamon, had held his breath as they parted. His hands had been so soft against Merrick’s face.

Thurman stroked Merrick’s arm. “I have a lead on another one of the paintings.”

“Good.” He caught Grant’s gaze, and his heartbeat sped up. He was still drawn to Grant, even though he couldn’t let them be together. While he wanted to save Wyatt’s dad more than anything, his eye was on the promise of treasure. Maybe if he had money, he could make things right in his life and finally let Grant close.

“I bonded with these pieces.” Thurman dabbed a napkin to his right eye. “Comes from growing up with a homophobic, abusive step-father.”

Merrick put his hand on Thurman’s arm.

“I’d look at these paintings that were physical expressions of everything I felt.”

“They could save Loren’s life.”

“You both be careful.” Thurman squeezed Merrick’s arm.

“We will be.”

“I want to show you something.” Thurman turned his gaze toward the next gallery.

“Okay.” Merrick stole another glance at the crowd, but Grant wasn’t there. Hopefully, he hadn’t left. Whether Grant was still upset or not, Merrick wanted to talk to him. He missed their friendship. The comfort between them had been there since the moment they’d met five years ago. Their friendship had been leading up to more from the beginning, something Merrick had wanted, but couldn’t allow.

Thurman led him through an archway into a room lined with eight-by-ten-inch paintings on thin canvases without frames. They stopped before the third painting of horizontal lines in shades of dark brown and red.

“Now thisis one I would love to have.” Thurman rested his hand on his chest. “It’s spectacular.”

Merrick frowned. “You want that? It looks like a kindergartener did it.”

“Hush.”

“I’m just saying…” Merrick shrugged. “Fine, you want it? I could pull it off the wall and stick in my jacket.” He glanced up to his right at the camera watching him, a red light above the lens blinking.

“No.” Thurman swatted at Merrick’s hand. “This is about Simon’s painting and Loren.”

“You’d pay for these?”

Thurman leaned close. His breath smelled of wine. “You’re an art thief, not a critic.”

“Probably a good thing for this artist.”

Thurman gasped.

Merrick swallowed hard. “Youdidn’t paint these, did you?”

Thurman tilted his head. “If I did, you’d be taking me to dinner tonight and doing my bidding.” His gaze went to the paintings. “Sadly, no, they’re not mine.”

“I thoughtyou painted better than this.”

Thurman smiled, smoothing down the side of his short, black hair.

Merrick stole a glance to his left. Grant stood in the hallway, still scanning the room. As Merrick watched, Grant’s gaze turned and then met his. He smiled, hoping that Grant wasn’t still upset with him. Tonight might hold promise for them if Grant still felt something for him, because the secret keeping them apart could be irrelevant soon.

“Did you hear me?” Thurman’s tone was stern.

“Yes, sorry.” Merrick met Thurman’s eyes. “You really want this one.”

Thurman looked over Merrick’s shoulder. “Oh.” Thurman pulled Merrick closer. “Remember, he broke your heart.”

It was really the other way around, but Merrick wasn’t going to correct him. “It’s fine.”

“Why is he here?”

“I’m not sure. Looking for his dad, perhaps.” Merrick took a sip of wine. Maybe the sweet apricot flavor could distract him from his fantasies of Grant.