“Why do you think Ghost is part spider?” Eli asks, confused, scratching the side of his head.
I point upward. “He can jump onto the ceiling fan in my living room from the sofa and then play up there for hours sometimes. He only does that when I’m out.”
“How do you know he does that?”
“Because I can see him on the surveillance cameras I have in the house. I check in with him sometimes to have a chat.”
“Wait.” Eli holds his finger in the air, his brows furrowing in the middle as he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again as if he can’t understand what I told him, before asking, “Chat about what? The weather? How busy his day is?” There’s so much sarcasm in Eli’s tone that it’s almost ridiculous, but I like that he’s gone from one-word replies and grunts to how he is with me now.
“In fact, don’t answer that.” Then he follows up with, “And he watches television?” Eli’s voice is a mix of confusion and curiosity, his fingernails raking his scruff.
“Just cartoons. He likesBlueytoo, but this one is his favorite.”
When I arrived, Eli looked at me as if I had four heads when I asked him to putKPop Demon Hunterson for Ghost because I thought it would help settle him in and feel at home. The only place he’s ever been to is my parents’ homestead.
That reminds me: I need to visit them soon. It’s been months since I saw them last.
“He behaves like a child.” Eli can hardly believe he’s watching a cat watch the television. Neither could I at first.
“He’s my baby,” I say absentmindedly, my eyes landing on one of Eli’s sculptures. “So, you collect art?”
“I do.”
I’d recognize a Wren Dubois bronze sculpture anywhere, and the abstract six-foot sculpture to the side of the elevator door is breathtaking.
Eli’s penthouse looks like something out of a home magazine. His apartment is glamorous, littered with beautiful chess sets that look expensive, carved in marble and jade, with one-of-a-kind artwork and paintings on every wall, and it feels warmer than I expected, and far from the bachelor-style place I thought he’d live in, with no soul. But his home has it, in spades.
The rich orange glow of the sunset makes it feel even cozier, as if bathed in hot honey, with soft fabrics in deep autumn shades, teak-paneled walls, and teardrop chandeliers that enhance its elegance.
I feel like I’m in a movie.
“Your place is beautiful, Eli.” I’m like a kid in a candy store; I don’t know where to look next.
I audibly gasp when I spot an Endee Desree painting, my eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets from the shock.
It’s one of their earlier paintings and measures only three feet by one foot, but it delivers a punch: the colors are vibrant, almost alive; the trees seem to rush forward as if being pushed out of the canvas, with the branches creeping around the edges.
“I had an interior designer style it for me; I can’t take any credit for it,” Eli tells me, and I’m only half listening.
“Uh-huh.” My feet seem to have a mind of their own, and before I realize what I’m doing, I find myself standing in front of the painting, examining every brush stroke, as well as the composition and harmony of the colors used to create a balance of light and dark.
“Wow.” It’s incredibly moving.
“Dinner’s ready.” Eli’s lips whisper near my ear, making me jump back into the moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” I turn my neck to come face-to-face with him, his nose level with mine. “You have an Endee Desree painting. On your wall,” I say with a dazed tone. Eli bought the painting that made me fall in love with the artist.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s one of my favorites.” The other one I love, of the girl with multicolored hair, is currently hanging in the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The painting Eli said looked just like me and was beautiful.
All along, he was trying to tell me he liked me, but I wasn’t listening. A tingle of excitement runs through me, my pulse taking on a life of its own as I stand here next to him tonight, on the verge of stepping into the unknown with him. It’s thrilling, the anticipation almost too much.
“Let’s have dinner,” he says evenly, not giving anything away.
“Let’s.”
Unexpectedly, he bends down and kisses my forehead, and I dip my chin, pushing my forehead closer and leaning into him. There’s so much tenderness in his touch that it shakes me to my core and makes me tongue-tied.