Painted On My Heart

Arik leaned against the counter, his gaze still trained on the art as he lifted his cup and took a sip of his morning coffee. How was it even possible that something formed from clay could trigger such a response? But for him, it had…and still did. Nothing about this made any sense. Even more so, he had regret. He felt like he’d cheated Kellus by paying far less than the true value of the piece, and that wasn’t sitting well with him.

Arik shook his head, trying to clear such a foreign thought. When was the last time he’d concerned himself with the particulars of negotiation? Especially since Kellus had quoted him a price, and he’d accepted without a counter. Yet this piece was clearly worth more, maybe even double the asking price.

His eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. What in the world was going on with him?

Something had to be in the air since there was no other logical explanation. Guess he could always blame it on the unusually warm weather. Dallas was much hotter than anywhere he’d ever lived. Maybe he needed to drink more water. Dehydration made people do crazy things and he was clearly acting peculiarly.

The air conditioner came on, reminding him he was nude and still standing there like he had all the time in the world when the truth of the matter was quite opposite. Today was the grand opening, and for the next several weeks, they were booked solid. The resort staff had no room for mistakes or errors today, which meant absolutely no room for art, sexy artists, or whatever attraction they both seemed to hold over him. He’d have to deal with them both later.

As if to prove his point and show he still controlled his own thoughts, Arik placed the coffee cup on the counter next to the sculpture and walked toward the shower. Seconds before he ducked under the spray, he changed course. Arik went back, carefully lifting the piece, taking it to the living room of the suite. Who knew what the steam from the shower might do to his treasure. He didn’t want anything happening to that piece of art.

After placing it in three different spots, he finally settled on a place of honor in his bedroom; nothing would happen in there.

Once under the shower’s warm spray, he forced his thoughts back to the day ahead of him. It was early, not much past five in the morning. All department heads were meeting downstairs within the hour. He wanted that meeting finished and everyone ready when the front doors officially opened. His anxiety came back in full force. Funny how his stress seemed more prevalent in the shower and made him completely appreciate the tranquility he’d experienced from that exceptional piece of art.

~?~

Standing over the kitchen sink, Kellus swallowed his pill, then drained the rest of his water before placing the glass on the counter. He started out of the kitchen, but stopped himself at the last minute, doubling back to place the glass in the dishwasher. He liked to keep things tidy. John had always been a slob. Their house had stayed in a constant state of disruption when he’d lived there. Kellus on the other hand liked to keep things neat to a fault. He liked his house clean with everything put away in its place. And that was how he kept it when John wasn’t around.

Hanging on to that unexpected moment of positivity, he’d turned in a full circle to admire the cleanliness when the doorbell rang.

His eyes went to the clock on the oven. It wasn’t even nine in the morning, who could be at his door this early? As he stood between the threshold of the kitchen and the living room, Kellus looked through the beveled glass in the entryway door. There were three figures standing there. Two tall, one short, and his heart picked up a beat as he walked over and reached for the door handle to open the door. Two uniformed officers and one woman in a dark business suit stood on his front porch, looking grave.

Anxiety built as his stomach dropped and his breath hitched in his throat. Was this the visit he’d always heard about when someone died?

“Mr. Hardin?” the woman asked.

“Yes?” The only word that his brain could form had come out more like a question than the answer he’d intended.

“I’m Disease Intervention Specialist Wanda Easley with the Tarrant County Department of Health.” She placed a badge in front of him, but he paid no attention to its details. The uniformed officers were enough in terms of official documentation. “We’re looking for John Nickerson. Is he here or have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t. I’d like to, though. I think he has my phone,” he said offhandedly, trying to calm the intense acceleration of his pulse. Relief trickled in as the emotional ground stabilized under his feet. If they’d asked for him, it probably meant they didn’t have him in a hospital or morgue. Something else had to be going on. Still not good, but better than he’d initially thought.