Page 55 of In the Frame

Heat immediately returns to my face. “This is a trick question.” I say instantly, sitting back in my chair.

Florian straightens too, lifting his eyebrows at me. “Why not?”

“Because… because I’m not showing anyone my work. There’s no work to show.” My jaw’s tight. I know he means well with the question, and I can see how our conversation might lead to this question, but I wasn’t expecting it somehow. I feel like I’ve been doused by ice water. “It doesn’t compare in any way.”

His expression softens. “Matty… I’m only asking because I’m curious. Not to judge you or your work.”

“It’s not on the curriculum.” I just look at him. When he reaches out to touch my hand, which evidently grips the edge of the table for dear life, it’s then that I realize I’m trembling. Of course, I have photos of my paintings from my degree and our final grad show on my phone, but I feel way too vulnerable to show him.

Florian just nods, and his hand pulls away. Then my heart aches because I realize I want his touch. And without it, something sits hollow in me, and I feel like I’ve failed again. Maybe I’m too hard on myself, given the amount of time I’ve been out of uni, two months now, but there’s no sign of any kind of progress aside from getting a room in London and a bar job to pay the bills.

We’re quiet, looking at each other. I fold my arms tight across my chest, forcing down a breath. Then another. It’s only anxiety, I tell myself, my brain playing tricks. I wish my brain could go sit in time-out. Everything had been going really well ’til Florian asked that question. But revealing my own work feels far too vulnerable.

“How about… I show you some sketching techniques?”

“Okay,” Florian agrees readily, not pushing me, and I’m grateful. My shoulders ease.

At last, I nod, reaching into the bag. I pull out a blank sketchbook and open the cover to an empty page. And I wish Florian would touch me again.

Chapter Thirty

The sun has set, and the sky’s a moody deep blue beyond Florian’s reception room windows. He’s turned on the lights, including a large copper orb pendant lamp, which hangs over the broad table. In front of us is a small still life I arranged: a bowl, an orange, a candle. Florian listens as I give him the drawing lesson. When he draws, his marks are tentative, but I encourage him to keep going.

“Only if you draw too,” Florian says, glancing over, and smiles.

I shake my head wryly and take up a pencil. The paper in front of me has a variety of marks on the page where I showed him different pencil techniques, from shading to hatching. I flip it over. “Okay, fine. One thing that’s important to consider is the relationship of the objects to each other. Look how tall the candle is compared to the bowl. And how tall the bowl is compared to the orange. You can look at the negative space around the objects too, like the outline they make in the space around them.” I draw him an example with a quick sketch.

Florian’s eyebrows climb. “That took you maybe thirty seconds. I’ll be here all week trying to draw the orange alone.”

Despite myself, I laugh. He looks so genuinely surprised. Which is probably fair after the way I’ve been so reluctant to show my work; he probably thinks I lack talent or experience. “It’s a skill, Florian. Like I couldn’t even begin to imagine your job on the day-to-day.”

“Very boring by comparison.” Florian chuckles. “A lot of boardrooms and meetings.”

“I’m probably not cut out for that sort of life,” I confess. “I like working with my hands. Whether it’s art or mixing drinks or helping my parents back home with their pub in the village. There was always something to do, especially as they have a small hotel above the pub too. Going from the village to Brighton was a shock. From two hundred people to who knows how many in Brighton and now millions of people in London. I’m way out of my comfort zone, whether it’s the big city or professional jobs. And… I don’t want to disappoint my family. They’ve already given me so much support.”

Florian nods slowly, considering me. “I can see how that would be a big change. But you’re already settling into London life, with a job and home base.” The way he smiles at me sets my heart off careening around my ribs like it’s looking for a way out. “It proves you’re making it happen.”

“I guess. I mean, that’s why I also want to get into tutoring art. Because London’s so expensive. And… I do a lot better one-on-one than in, like, your job.” I give him a tentative smile back. “Luckily, you’re already doing that.”

Florian laughs. It’s a thrill, and goose bumps cover my arms in response. “Well, I can vouch that you’re an excellent tutor, and I’m happy to give you a reference anytime.”

I brighten. “Thanks. That means a lot. And for dinner. It’s been very nice. Especially for fake boyfriending.”

He laughs again, then searches my face. “I suppose I should let you go home before it’s too late…”

Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s already gone ten o’clock. Which isn’t that late in terms of my bartending life, but transportation does get trickier the later it gets. Plus, Florian works a day job. Which probably starts early.

“Probably,” I agree, getting up with some reluctance and packing up my pencils and sketch pad. “I can leave the books with you for another time. Though I guess that’s the gala, and that would be weird to bring books to a gala.”

Florian chuckles. “Usually not often seen at black-tie events, it’s true. Unless it’s a literary event, then expected.” He rises too, and suddenly, we’re standing very near each other, with my rucksack beside me on my chair. I’m near enough to him to see the deep green of his eyes, those gold flecks again.

“It’s not a literary event…” I manage. “Is it?”

“It’s not,” Florian agrees softly. “More about nature.”

“Billy’s rewilding work for his charity,” I offer, because I haven’t forgotten that point either. Like my life depends on starting an index of facts about Billy and Florian.

“That’s right. I’ll send you all the details.” His voice is quiet, his gaze searching mine. “Let me walk you to the door.”