Page 161 of Chase
“Because butter is fun?”
“And a food item.”
“That reminds me, I need to drench you in whipped cream and take pictures of you in it, like those hot old 90s photoshoots. And don’t you dare say whipped cream is bad for me, because Iwillbe licking it off of you.”
“I think that’s only good for us both.”
I take his hand as we walk.
I tell him about the neighborhood, and the other places I lived in LA when I was a younger actor who didn’t have much money. He asks about Santa Barbara, where I grew up until I was 18 and beelined to LA. Our childhoods couldn’t have been more different, and his reactions to some of my stories are cute.
He says I grew up with a “storybook childhood,” and I can’t really argue against that.
But the truth is that I hadn’t let loose since the day Daniel died. Ten years is a very long time to go feeling like there’s a part of you that will never come back. I thought I had grieved, and moved on, and even found success to finally make me happy. I thought the past was in the past.
But I didn’t remember who I could be until I met Chase.
I don’t have to spend every minute of my life trying to beperfect for the whole world. Wanting everyone to like me, and carefully controlling the way the media perceives me. Feeling like the sky is falling anytime I receive too much attention.
Chase reminded me that therealme is someone worth being.
No matter what anyone else in the world thinks about it.
We reach the cluster of palm trees that surround the corner store a few minutes later, and we step inside. I greet the man at the register, who I haven’t seen in a long time, now. We grab some fresh fruits and coffee beans to bring home, and Chase gets a pack of Starburst.
Before we walk back outside, I lean over to warn Chase.
“There’s a couple of people who saw me come in here, I think,” I tell him, nodding toward a few giddy-looking people holding their phones expectantly outside the door.
He nods. “Got it. Ready for action.”
I push open the door and I realize that they’re not just here for me.
They’re here for us.
“Logan! And I have to ask… are you Chase? His photographer?”
“Wow,” Chase says. “Yeah. That’s me. I’ve never been recognized before.”
The woman nods. “That photoshoot is like, the hottest thing that’s ever existed. Sorry if that’s too much to say. Chase, I love your paintings, too! I just followed you on Insta last night.”
“Logan,” someone else says from across the way. “Who’s the hunk?”
“It’s his photographer,” another fan says.
I shake my head.
“Chase is my boyfriend, actually.”
It’s like some cage buried deep inside me has just opened, and I’m allowed to fly.
I’m almost worried I might tear up, not from sadness but from raw joy, at saying that to someone for the first time.
He is mine, and I am his.
Isn’t it obvious?
I reach out and put my arm around his waist for the picture, and the look in his eyes just makes my heart soar again.
