Say Yes

Chewing my lower lip, I considered for a moment. But the truth was, I did trust him. Maybe not with my heart, but with this. I knew however crazy his idea might be, it would come from a good place.

“Okay. Yes.” I pinched his side. “Now ask me.”

He grabbed my hand, pulling it away and threading our fingers together before his eyes met mine.

“Take me to your studio, Macks. I want to see you in your element and around your people. I want to see if maybe we can get that spark of yours back.”

* * *

I had never taken a man to the studio before. Alex brought plenty of ‘boyfriends,’ showing off the art, the people there, and his own penchant for the flashy.

I didn’t like sharing this part of myself. At least not with men who weren’t important to me.

Walker was important. The cadence of my heart in my chest the entire drive from the house to the studio was enough indication of that. I was jittery. What would everyone think? How would they react?

The studio was in the bones of an old apartment building, long since past its initial purpose. It was five stories tall. The first floor was set up as a relaxed area where the members of the studio ate, chilled, and socialized. The middle two wer

e galleries; the remaining top two floors were where a lot of the members worked exclusively.

As we walked in, we passed by dozens of pieces of art on the walls, all done by old and new members of the studio. It was a collective; a monthly pool of funds kept the lights on, alongside donations from various interested parties here and there. Millions weren’t being funneled in, but it had enough recognition that we weren’t getting evicted.

Yet.

Hand in hand with Walker, I led him past a few familiar faces who grinned and nodded my way from their places on the beat-up couches, or sitting at tables with mismatched chairs. A pair of twins paused their ping-pong game as Walker and I came near.

“Mackenzie!” The female twin, Ash, with her shock of red hair cropped close to her head, waved at me. Her brother, Aven, nodded. Today, his red hair was braided down in two plaits on his head; tomorrow, it would likely be in some other style. My bet was on a fauxhawk; he favored those.

I smiled. “Ash, Aven. What’s up?”

“Oh, you know, nothing much. Trying to get the creative juices flowing.” Ash pulled herself up onto the ping-pong table to sit. She swung her legs to and fro and smiled between the two of us. “Who’s the beefcake?” she asked, utterly shameless as always.

Walker snorted, hiding his laughter behind a cough before he held out his hand. “Walker Prince. Mackenzie and I are married.”

Ash’s eyes went wide, and even Aven looked over, a curious look on his usually apathetic face.

“Woah! Married? So that’s the big secret ‘I know something you don’t know and I’m not telling you’ Alex has been teasing us with, like, for all of forever.” She laughed. “Congrats! I can’t believe you didn’t invite anyone.”

I shook my head, waving her off. “It was a small, intimate wedding. But speaking of Alex, where is he? I wanted to show Walker around the whole place; he’s never come to the studio.”

“Oh, you know Alex.” Ash waved her hand. “He’s upstairs, slaving away. He’s on a big new kick; he’ll be happy to see you’ve swung in! You haven’t been around in a while.”

That wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t been… staying away intentionally. At least that’s what I would tell anyone, if they decided to ask about it. I had been waiting for a great piece to come along to bring over. I loved the room Walker had set up for me, but at times I missed actually painting in this studio, missed the camaraderie of being around other artists. Not that my new husband had insisted on me being a stay-at-home wife, I just hadn’t wanted to miss any of this time with him. It felt precious. Limited.

Gripping Walker’s hand, I tugged him with me.

“We’ll catch you later, Ash,” I said. “Good seeing you!”

Ash gave me a wave, and she and Aven went back to their game of ping-pong. I decided to take Walker up the stairs, letting him see each floor. I introduced him to some of the artists that were out and about.

Some were very curious about Walker and his very obvious non-art person aura. Others were utterly unfazed and didn’t even say hello, too engrossed in a sketch to look up. It didn’t bother me either way; I knew the atmosphere of a collective of artists. Some were wild and outgoing. Some chose to remain closed off from others and keep to themselves for the most part.

By the time we got to the top floor, Walker was well acquainted with the light history of the studio, from the fact that Alex and I had pooled our savings to afford a lot of the equipment and furniture that had made its way into the building over the last few years, to how one year, in a fit of artistic abandon, we’d painted the entire middle floor black and flung black light paint all over the walls, only using the glow of that in the dark to draw by for a month.

“Wow.” He chuckled. “I can see where the stereotype of eccentric artists comes from.”

I punched his arm lightly. “I’m not eccentric! We… were just going through a particular artistic phase, you could say.”

“Whatever you say, Picasso.”