Kept Man: Firsts and Forever Stories

I thought about that for a while before saying, “I’ll agree to a tradeoff—if I go to that class tomorrow night, I’m going to need you to do something for me in return.”

“Anything. Money’s no object.”

I clicked my tongue and said, “You just defaulted to money again.”

“Force of habit. It’s what people usually want from me.”

“Not this time. If I’m going to take the first step toward building a new life, I’d love to see you do the same thing.”

“Okay, but what does that look like in my case?”

“You tell me,” I said. “What’s something you want to work toward? It obviously doesn’t have to be a career, since you don’t need to worry about a paycheck. But what do you want to do once you have your freedom back?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, beyond getting out of San Francisco in general and this house in particular.”

I asked, “Did you like the house before it literally became your prison?”

“I had a love-hate relationship with it. On one hand, it was my first real home, and it meant the world to me when I bought it. But now when I look around, all I see is a twenty-two-year-old party boy who thought the good times would never end. That version of me was naïve, tacky, arrogant, and ridiculous, and I’m so fucking tired of being reminded of him at every turn.”

“For what it’s worth, I think the house is lovely.”

“You can’t possibly think that, not with all the stupid, gaudy shit I did to it.”

“I’d actually call your decorating style eclectic, not gaudy. And there’s still a rare, beautiful gem beneath the rock star glam, you know.”

He teased, “Are you talking about me or the house?”

“Both, now that you mention it.” Micah chuckled at that. I tipped my head back so it was resting on his shoulder and said, “Back to what I was saying about planning for your future. I’m assigning you homework.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“As long as the instructor says it’s okay, I’m going to make myself attend that class tomorrow. In return, I want you to think about something you want to do that’s going to make you happy, then figure out what the first step would be toward actually doing it. I realize you’re limited while you’re stuck at home, but you can still make a plan.”

“Okay. I’ll give this some serious thought and let you know what I come up with.”

“Good. I like the idea of holding each other accountable.”

“Me, too.” He kissed my shoulder, and then he asked, “Are you hungry? Maybe we should go inside, so I can start dinner.”

“I’m starving, actually.”

We both got dressed, and as we headed for the peaked part of the roof, I said, “You know what we need to do? Install some kind of safety ladder up here. It’s the only place you can really get any sun, and you should be able to come up here without taking your life in your hands.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll look into it after dinner.”

We did the up and over thing again, using the roof of the dormer to catch ourselves, then easing our way around it. Micah acted as my spotter, although I was pretty sure I’d just take him down with me if I fell.

Once we were inside, I told him I was going to take a shower. He said he was going to do the same thing and then start dinner. “After you get cleaned up, take a peek at the art studio,” he added. “The last few things I’d been waiting for arrived today, so it’s all ready for you.” When I gave him a hug and kissed his cheek, he grinned and asked, “What was that for?”

“For being amazing. Duh.” I flashed him a smile as we headed down the stairs.

I took my time in the shower, then got dressed in a T-shirt and shorts and went to the second floor. The former guestroom was at the back of the house, and we’d chosen it because it got a lot of natural light.

When I opened the door and flipped the light switch, my breath caught. He’d taken out the bed and all the original furnishings and totally transformed the room. There was a big table positioned in front of the two windows, and it was outfitted with a special craft light, magnifying stand, and cutting board. He’d obviously researched model making, because that was exactly what I would have selected for myself.

To the right of the table were four six-foot-tall bookcases brimming with neatly arranged art supplies. I wandered over to them and ran my fingers across a huge selection of polymer clay in every color imaginable. There were also shelves full of paints and brushes, drawing supplies, things for wood crafting and glass cutting—it went on and on. The back wall was lined with clear acrylic racks of cardstock, and above them hung three framed photos of famous dioramas from New York’s Museum of Modern Art. In the corner was a comfortable recliner he’d moved from another room, along with a reading lamp and a table stacked with art books, for inspiration.