It helps my case when Noah arrives then, and we’re all pressed more tightly together in the increasingly busy gallery. Everyone shifts to make room for him, and Darren’s hand ends up on mythigh while we’re distracted by hugs and hellos, gone again when Noah gives Adrian a sheepish grin.
“Sorry I’m late. Bullshit at work and far too much traffic and all those dumb excuses nobody cares about once they’ve got a drink in their hand. Super impressed by you, though. Congrats on the big day.”
“Thank you. And everyone is kinda coming and going tonight,” Adrian tells him, stealing a quick hug as much as the space allows. “I’m grateful that all of you made it. And your mom sent a ridiculously beautiful flower arrangement that I’ll put on display as soon as this place clears out again.”
“Wonder what it would take to get her to bail on Trailhead for a night—when Darren and Riley aren’t covering for her—so she can party with us properly,” Beau says.
Darren is careful to avoid choking on his beer when he fights back a laugh. “We were all out together to do the bar promo in the spring, and she couldn’t handle being away even once she was already with us. Remember, she and Noah went back to check on everything.”
“Yeah, and she was ready to leave WeHo long before we actually did—and then she ended up working behind the bar ‘til close,” Noah adds. “To get her to take a legit night off, with neither of these two working? One of you would probably have to get married.”
Suddenly everyone is looking at everyone else, eyes wide.
Adrian smiles easily. “Nope. Beau and I have already had that conversation, and there will be no wedding.”
“Been there, done that,” Darren says.
“Been there, done that,” I echo.
Riley seems surprised that we’ve paused long enough to want an answer from them, but then they shrug. “I left my plus-one alone tonight.”
Both Beau and Darren look exceedingly proud, and then Darren turns back to Noah. “Why can’t you be the one to get married? Then V would have to party all night.”
“Funny. I can’t manage to date a woman long enough for my mom tomeether, much less attend a wedding for her.”
“You know,” Darren starts, a thoughtful finger raised in the air. “If you’re still having woman troubles, might I suggest you try—”
“Youhavesuggested,” Beau interrupts.
“And Itried,” Noah laughs.
I watch them all tease each other for another several seconds and can’t quite decide whether I want to hear more of that story later. My eyes meet Adrian’s for a moment, and I think he might already know what this is about, but before I could even think to ask, he takes a deep breath.
“Not to run from this cute trip down memory lane, but I should probably make the rounds and woo as much of WeHo as I can,” Adrian says. “Enjoy the pictures, but don’t feel obligated to buy anything, no matter how mean Beau looks when he threatens you. We all know Riley can take him.”
There’s probably something to learn there too, but I mumble my goodbye alongside everyone else’s cheerful ones. With Adrianlost to the crowd, Beau is excited to show Noah and Riley around the gallery, and I assume he leaves Darren and me behind because he’s all too familiar with Darren’s mouth and won’t force me to manufacture a string of compliments for a man who’s less than a friend. Of course, that means Darren and I are free to explore together, and with the room pushing the limits of the fire code, it’s easy to explain why we’re touching in at least a few different places.
I’d say I’m too warm in my jacket, but the gallery has been kept notably cool, and I don’t think the temperature has anything to do with what I’m feeling.
It’s the worst possible attempt to distract myself from anything, but I take the time to study Darren’s outfit more closely now that the rest of the Trailhead crew isn’t around to care where I look. He’s wearing black ankle boots with studded accents that might reflect the gallery lights if the crowd weren’t blocking every path. Of course, I care little about shoes when I move on to his burgundy pants, tighter than the jeans I know well, and I admire their success at showing off everything without shame.
Everything.
We’re both aware that I’m staring, but Darren doesn’t make a sound, nor does he attempt to draw my attention somewhere else. It’s sexy—both his confidence and his patience, actually—and it loosens some of what’s been pulled tight in my chest. He’s been cocky since the day we met, but tonight he’s already giving me every chance to take what I need, including this bold appraisal of his body, and he hasn’t met it with the smirk I’veseen him offer a hundred other men. I’m sure that time will come, but there’s no hurry, and my eyes meet his briefly before I look down again.
His thin gray sweater looks impossibly soft and almost certainly expensive, and I’m unsurprised that Darren knows when and where to spend his money. After years of sitting across the bar from him, the past several months have shown me how much we have in common, and I think I might own a couple of things just like this. When I lift my hand and bring it close enough to touch, he only covers it with his own and guides my fingers over the material lying flat against his stomach.
Darren holds me there and takes a sip of beer as if the momentisn’t important, but neither of us is going to lie like that out loud, and I drink my wine to keep my mouth full, too.
I don’t know which one of us moves first, but there’s been an unspoken agreement to let go and ease our way past the other guests so we can see what Adrian’s chosen to display for his grand opening. V had a handful of his photos printed onto large canvases for Trailhead, so I’m aware of Adrian’s tendency to capture the fleeting details missed by anyone waiting for their subjects to pose. His gift is undeniable, even by someone as difficult as I am, and I’m already fairly certain I’ll order at least a few framed pictures before I go.
We pause in front of a black-and-white photo of a man’s hand, his paper-thin skin covered in liver spots and wrinkles and wrapped around a waffle cone. There’s something about those details alone—the visible contrast of age and innocence—but everything is complicated by the melted ice cream dripping over the back of his hand and the inability to see his reaction to it. Is the sun shining on his smile? Does the mess frustrate him? Does he lick it off or find a napkin or ignore it in lieu of finishing his treat? And the thing is, Adrian would know. He took the picture and saw everything and then chose to give us no more than this perfect peek.
Or maybe there's something in his handwritten note, but I decide not to look. What's right in front of me is enough.
“Have you bought any of his stuff?” I ask.
“For my place? Nah, I haven’t really—” Darren cuts himself off and shrugs close enough for me to feel it against my shoulder. “But I think my mom might really like some of these. Maybe I’ll pick something out for her.”