CHAPTERTWENTY
BREWER
The steady humof voices in the grand entry of the old library was punctuated by the clicking sound of Tam’s high heels as she walked quickly to keep up with me.
“He’s so excited,” she said. “And don’t tell him I told you this, but he’s nervous, too. Palmer Kellogg is here from theNew York Times. He’s been the art editor there for years. It’s a big deal.”
My eyes traced through the crowd in search of Delaney. What Tam didn’t know was that I already knew he was nervous as hell. And I’d spent a good two hours earlier this afternoon trying to fuck it out of him.
“He’ll do fine,” I said, finally spotting him in a cluster of Coppertians standing next to his favorite E. Winters painting.
“It was generous of you to take time out of your workweek to fix the display,” Tam continued, beaming at the way the art exhibition had come together. “The new lighting you installed looks amazing.”
It did. Especially because it lit up the man of the hour like he was a golden statue of love personified. His face was warmly lit as he gestured wildly around at several of his favorite pieces. Janice Plum looked on with rapt attention, clasping some kind of basket purse close to her chest. She’d claimed it was “representative of” a Passamaquoddy basket purse “from the same era as Elizabeth and Jean’s dear, brave love,” but I’d already heard Tam refer to it being a popular mini picnic hamper on sale at Costco over in Piermonte.
“Gonna be a good night,” I said to Tam before making a final beeline to Delaney. As soon as he saw me, his entire face lit up in a way that never failed to make my heart rate skyrocket.
“Here he is now,” Delaney said, eyes bright. “Brewer upgraded the display lighting for the entire exhibit. He volunteered for hours to make sure that everyone had a chance to see E. Winters’s work displayed as wonderfully as possible. Do you know there is a lighting quantity index for museum-level art displays? A study done at the National Museum of San Matteo in Pisa, Italy, showed that…”
As he continued to explain museum lighting theories to Janice, Hen Lattimer, Angela Ross, and a few people I didn’t know, I realized how often Delaney’s excitement and urge to connect with others was mistaken for intellectual snobbery or, more simply put, his being a know-it-all.
When we’d first met, I’d been put off by his constant quoting of “studies” because I’d thought he only used them to argue with me. But now that I knew him better, and I was aware of—and the lucky recipient of—his huge heart, I saw it more clearly.
He wanted others to experience the varied and rich world the way he did. If he learned something interesting that could improve someone’s experience, he wanted to share it.
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I love you so much,” I murmured too softly for anyone but him to hear.
The resulting splotchy pink that crept up his neck made me want to say many other things to him, too, just to see the red streak further down into his collar. But we were interrupted by my cousin.
“Hayes,” Delaney said. “Have you seen the lighting Brewer installed? He used energy-efficient?—”
“Don’t care,” Hayes grumbled before ignoring Delaney and glancing at me. “Can I crash in the attic for a while?”
I frowned at him. “What’s wrong with your place?” A quick glance around the room revealed his bestie was missing. “Where’s Kel?”
Guilt swamped me. I’d meant to follow up with either or both of them to see if they’d worked out Kel’s recent revelation, but then everything had happened with my father and Empire Ridge, prepping for the exhibition and settling into Delaney’s place for real, and I’d completely lost track.
Hayes’s shoulders were up around his ears. “He’s being super weird and won’t talk to me. I think… I think he’s mad at me.” He leaned in and lowered his voice until it sounded pitiful and small. “He’s gone back to independent sleeping.”
Delaney’s eyes bounced to mine. I’d told him about Kel’s visit, and we’d agreed to let Hayes and Kel sort things out for themselves. But now, I could see Delaney second-guessing our decision. He opened his mouth, no doubt to get involved, when I jumped in first.
“Talk to him, Hayes,” I urged softly. “You love him. Tell him you’re hurt and worried. Tell him you want to clear the air. Running away isn’t going to solve anything.”
Hayes’s eyes bugged out. “You’re telling me to stay and talk? That’s rich. Never mind. I’ll find my own place to stay.” He turned to walk away, but Delaney caught his elbow.
“Wait. Of course you can stay with us. But I agree with Brewer. Staying with us will only draw this out. You would never tell one of us to leave without talking things through, would you?”
Poor Hayes looked miserable. “Fine. Fine. But give me the key to the attic anyway, just in case?”
I pulled out my keys and slid the right one off the ring to give to him. “Take an allergy pill if you head over there. I haven’t had a chance to clean the dog hair out of that room yet.”
He grumbled and started walking away, a dejected slump to his shoulders.
“Hayes,” I called out. He stopped but didn’t turn around. “I love you, bro. Come find me if you need me, okay?”
I saw the edge of his lip quirk up as he held up a two-fingered peace salute.
Delaney slipped his hand into mine. “Look at you all up in your feelings. My stoic contractor’s come a long way from his grunting days.”
