Chapter 63

"You'll need a studio," I said. "You know, someplace to paint."

We were sitting in the breakfast nook, devouring pancakes and bacon. It was the day after I'd given him the good news, and I was still so excited, I could hardly contain myself.

"Yeah, about that," Joel said, "I've been thinking."

I leaned forward. "Me, too."

"You wanna go first?"

I nodded. "I was thinking that you might want to use the studio here. You know, that space above the guest house?"

To call it a space was a massive understatement. The studio was perfect, with an abundance of natural light and a breathtaking view of the water. I told Joel all about it and finished by saying, "But what were you thinking?"

He reached across the table and took my hand in his. "I was thinking you should keep the money."

I wasn't following. "What money?"

"The stipend or whatever you called it."

"But that's for you, to cover expenses."

"Hey, I've got plenty," he said. "Or at least, enough to get us through the year." He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Maybe two if we don't get too crazy."

I gazed into his eyes. Us. We. Of all his words, those two were the sweetest.

Still, I had to say, "That money's for you. Not for me."

"Alright," Joel said. "We'll call it rent."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'll rent the studio and pay you for it."

"But you don't have to pay me," I said.

"I want to." He gave my hand another squeeze. "Now, say yes."

I considered all of the problems this would solve. I could replace the furnace, or at least have it repaired. And then, there were all those little things that I'd been putting off – like a new winter coat and more food in the pantry.

It would all be so nice.

And yet, it wouldn't be fair. I shook my head. "No way. That's for your own expenses, just like I said."

"Yeah. Expenses." Joel grinned. "Like a studio."

We went back and forth beyond the point of ridiculousness. In the end, we simply agreed that we'd work it out one way or another. But one thing we settled for certain. Tomorrow, we'd begin moving all of his painting supplies into the studio. And then, we'd move Joel into the guest house below.

The guest house was my idea. No one was living there, anyway. Even when Aunt Gina visited, she stayed in the main house with me, not out there by herself.

The way I saw it, the arrangement would be the perfect win-win. Joel would be living right there, below his studio, so he could paint whenever inspiration struck.

As for me, I'd have Joel within walking distance, or heck, hollering distance if the windows were open.

At last, everything was falling into place.

Later that same day, I finally heard back from Aunt Gina. We'd been playing telephone tag for the last few days, and I was eager to catch up.

Thirty seconds into the conversation, she blurted out, "Oh, my God, you had sex."

I almost dropped my phone. "What?"

"You did, didn't you?"

We'd barely said hello. How on Earth could she tell? I asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Aha!" she said. "I was right, wasn't I?"

I didn't know what to say. "Uh…"

Normally, I talked to Aunt Gina at least once a week. But the last few weeks had been so crazy that most of our correspondence had been by text. All this time, I hadn't mentioned Joel at all – partly because I didn't want to jinx anything, and partly because it didn't feel like a text-kind of conversation.

But now that things were going so well, I was dying to tell her all about him, except this wasn't quite the way I envisioned it.

"So, who is he?" She gave a little gasp. "Oh, my God. Was it the cowboy? Please say it was the cowboy."

"What cowboy? Oh wait, you mean the stripper?" I had to laugh. "No. Definitely not."

"So, who then?"

I was still laughing. "Hey, I haven't even said you were right."

"You don’t have to say it. I can tell."

"But how?"

"You're laughing. And you've got a rosy glow."

"But you can't even see me."

"Yeah, but I can hear it."

Feeling suddenly naked, I wrapped my hoodie tighter around my torso.

As if hearing the motion, Aunt Gina said, "You can run, but you can't hide."

I had to smile. I missed her like crazy. And now, she lived five hours away. "Actually," I said, "there is someone I want you to meet."

"Oh yeah? So, it's serious, huh?"

It felt serious, but I still didn't want to jinx it. So I only said, "Well, actually it's a little soon to know."

"Is he cute?"

I considered her question. Joel wasn't cute. He was something else – something infinitely better, sexy and dangerous – and yeah, insanely beautiful. Still, I said, "Yeah. He's cute."

"How cute?"

"Very cute." I cleared my throat. "And the next time you visit, you'll get to meet him, since he'll be staying in the guest house."

"No kidding?" she said. "How'd that happen?"

I told her how Joel had earned one of the endowments, and how he'd be using my dad's old studio. I finished by telling her, "So, it just made sense for him to stay in the guest house, you know, because the studio's right above it."

My aunt paused. "But why wouldn't he stay with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying, why go halfway? Why not invite him to live in the main house?"

I had considered it. I loved having Joel near me. And from what I could tell, he felt the same way. But when it came to romance, I wasn't sure that living together was what I wanted.

I mean, we hadn't even said the L-word.

I said, "That's kind of rushing things, don't you think? And besides, I guess I'm kind of old-fashioned that way."

"Does he know that?" she asked.

"Does he know what?"

"Why you didn’t ask him to stay in the main house."

"No." I paused. "I mean, we didn’t really talk about it."

"Forget the guest house," she said. "Shack up. Live a little." She laughed. "If nothing else, it'll drive your lawyers crazy."

She was right. In truth, Derek was long past crazy already. Happily, he was still out of town, which was definitely a good thing.

"Don't worry," I said. "They'll go nuts enough with Joel in the guest house."

"Exactly!" she said. "So why go halfway? And besides, what if he's insulted?"

"Who? Derek?"

"Screw Derek," she said. "I'm talking about your hot artist."

I still wasn't following. "But why would he be insulted?"

"Because you're putting him up in the guest house, like a servant or something." Her tone grew teasing. "If you really like him, don't treat him like your sexy gardener. Treat him like a partner. Trust me. He'll like that."

Her words found their mark. Joel did take care of the lawn. And he'd been acting like a handyman of sorts.

Still, I said, "Oh come on, he wouldn't think that. He's not remotely insecure. If you met him, you'd know."

"Alright," she said. "Then I'm coming for a visit."

"Really? When?"

"This weekend."

I had to laugh. "When did you decide that?"

"Just now. I want to meet this sexy gardener of yours."

"He's not a gardener. He's an artist, remember?" I smiled. "And he's amazing."

"Great. Then I can't wait to meet him."

I was still smiling when I got off the phone. And yet, her advice haunted me the rest of the day. Was I treating Joel like a servant?

One way or another, I'd have to ask him.