Something Like Winter (53 page)

The gallery’s first
visitors were an elderly couple. Tim kept his distance, watching
them move from painting to painting before his curiosity got the
better of him. Approaching them, he introduced himself and was
rewarded with compliments. The old man’s father had been a painter,
and some of Tim’s work brought back happy memories. While Tim was
talking with them, more people came in. Before long, visitors were
coming and going from the gallery in a steady stream. Some left
unchanged by the experience, but others stuck around, honoring Tim
with their time and questions.

“
It’s past eight,” Marcello
said, sidling up to him. “You were supposed to give a speech at
seven.”

Was it so late already? Tim
glanced around the gallery. Still no sign of Ben and Allison. Maybe
she had told Ben their plan and he had declined.

“
Speech,” Marcello
prompted.

“
Yeah, okay. I’m
coming.”

Tim made his way to the
main room, checking each face in the crowd but not finding the one
he wanted to see most. The larger space was much easier to
navigate, since nothing was installed in the center of the room
yet. Tim went to a microphone and small amplifier that waited for
him next to the free drinks. That would keep the attention on him,
even if people were just waiting for him to get out of the
way.

Tim picked up the
microphone, wondering how to capture everyone’s attention and opted
for a classic. “Is this thing on?” Horrible reverb shot from the
speakers and crawled up dozens of spines. That did it! Every head
turn toward him.

“
Whoa! Too loud. Sorry.”
Tim adjusted the amp volume and grinned sheepishly at the crowd
gathering in front of him. “Uh, I’m really glad you all decided to
be here. I’m not really good at speeches, so bear with
me.”

A burble of laughter came
from the crowd, thanks mostly to the free champagne.

“
The art you see here is
about twenty years in the making. I’m sure most of you have seen my
crowning achievement, ‘Frog Goes Sailing on Boat’?” Another round
of laughter. Hey, this wasn’t so hard! “That’s from when I was
eight and is the first painting I ever did.”

Tim searched the crowd. If
Ben was here, wouldn’t he be right up front?

“
I owe this art to a lot of
people. The subjects in each piece, of course. My dog Chinchilla,
or Eric, who was a father, a hero, and much more to me. Even
strangers, like the old woman I saw lying in the grass at the park,
staring up at the clouds and giggling like a little girl at what
she saw there.”

Tim licked his lips, eyes
sweeping the crowd once more. No Ben. Well, if he was here, Tim
could only hope he was listening.

“
So many people have
inspired me, but only one gave me the courage to show my paintings
to other people. I hope he’s here somewhere tonight, and as I
finish this clumsy speech, I’d like you all to clap for him, not
for me. Thank you, most of all, to Benjamin Bentley.”

The resulting applause was
impressive. Tim turned off the amp and gave an awkward little bow.
The room began to clear, but some visitors remained behind to speak
with him, asking him about certain paintings or even prices. The
attention was wonderful. Why had he fought against this for so
long? But as good as it felt, Tim kept searching the room, kept
hoping. Then, in the center where a sculpture or some other work of
art should be, was the ultimate masterpiece.

Ben looked small and
uncertain, but still very much himself.

Tim ran to him and scooped
him up in his arms, spinning him around. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Tim set him down reluctantly. He could have run off into the night
with him. Soon enough… “And even more glad that you’re late! I just
gave the most embarrassing speech!”

“
I thought it was really
good,” Ben said with a hint of mischief.

Tim felt his face flush,
but this was all positive. Ben wasn’t broken or morose. A little
more reserved, maybe, but still his Benjamin. And he was here! “I
thought for a second that Allison had changed her mind,” Tim
said.

Ben appeared puzzled.
“Where is she, anyway?”

“
Running an errand for me.”
They eyed each other for a moment, soaking up the details. “Hey,
have you seen much of the paintings?”

“
A little,” Ben said, “but
a tour from the artist himself would be very
informative.”

“
All right, grand tour, but
only if you promise to buy something.”

Ben exhaled. “Do the
postcards count?”

“
Those are free, and
yes.”

Tim led Ben from painting
to painting, eager to show him the ones he hadn’t seen, dragging
him this way and that. Occasionally people would overhear their
conversation and ask Tim questions or make their own comments. That
was fun, but the night wasn’t really about his art or this gallery.
It was about Ben, so Tim spontaneously took his hand and led him
toward the back exit.

“
There’s one more piece I’d
like to show you,” Tim said. “Something really special to
me.”

He led them out to the
parking lot, expecting Ben to stop him and demand an explanation,
but so far he was rolling with it. Hopefully Allison had kept her
part of the bargain. He walked Ben to the passenger side of his
car, letting go of his hand.

“
Have any idea what sort of
car this is?” Tim asked, opening the door for him.

“
Nope.”

“
Care to know?”

“
Not really.”

Tim chuckled. “It’s a
Bentley. I figured it was the next best thing to the real
deal.”

Ben smiled, which alone was
worth the expensive price tag.

Once Tim was in the car and
driving, he glanced over to see Ben looking a lot less certain. He
wanted to comfort him, to explain what was happening, but he also
didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Most of all he wanted to tell Ben
he was sorry about Jace, to find some words to make the pain
disappear from his heart, but Allison had said not to broach the
subject. Tonight was about the future, or so they hoped.

“
Won’t you be missed at the
gallery?” Ben asked.

“
Me? No. We had one of
those life-size cardboard cutouts printed of me that will go in the
corner. No one will know the difference.”

“
What about me?” Ben said.
“It’s only a matter of time before someone calls the
police.”

Tim shrugged. “They’ll have
to pay the ransom if they want you back.”

There was a heavy pause.
“Where are we going?”

“
Trust me. We’re almost
there.”

Holy crap! How had any of
this sounded like a good idea? Tim should have just called Ben and
asked him out on a nice boring date. When he and Allison had
planned this, it had all seemed so clever. Now…

Tim pulled into a
neighborhood. Beside him, Ben grew tense. This was where Ben lived.
Tim had driven past his house every night last week, looking at lit
windows and marveling that the man he loved was just behind
them.

“
What are we doing here?”
Ben asked when they pulled into his driveway.

“
I wanted to show you a
special painting of mine.”

Ben relaxed visibly. “You
mean the one you gave me for my birthday.” He smirked. “You can’t
have it back.”

But Tim knew that the
painting was no longer there.

He followed Ben inside,
feeling less and less certain. This was the house Ben and Jace had
saved their money to buy, where they had shared their final years
together. When Ben turned on the living room lights, Jace’s old cat
Samson woke up, watching Tim curiously from the couch. Ben was
looking at the cat too, no doubt thinking of his
husband.

“
Jace—” Ben
began.

“—
was a good man,” Tim
finished for him. “The best, in fact. I would never dishonor his
memory, and I will never, ever be able to replace him. No one
could.”

Samson hopped down and
walked up to Tim, sniffing his leg and rubbing against him before
doing the same to Ben. Then he returned to his place on the couch
to continue his nap. Well, that was one vote in his favor. He
turned to Ben, who was staring at a nearby wall. There, where the
old painting had been before Allison took it, hung the one Tim had
recently completed. The colors and spirit were the same as the
painting from so long ago, but now the emotions flowed freely, no
longer denied. Tim had poured all of those feelings on the canvas,
choosing two hands instead of hearts, the fingers intertwined. One
hand was clearly his own, the other what he remembered of Ben’s.
Glancing down, he saw that his memory hadn’t failed him. Ben raised
his hand as if seeing it for the first time, and Tim gently took
hold of it, adjusting their fingers, weaving them together until
they matched those of the painting.

“
I love you, Benjamin
Bentley. I should have told you that twelve years ago. I’ve always
loved you.”

Tim looked into Ben’s eyes
and saw uncertainty, maybe even fear. Once upon a time, it’s what
Ben must have seen when looking into his own. Tim didn’t let it
dissuade him. Ben had taught him how to bring a heart out of the
dark. Tim could finally do the same for him.

“
What now?” Ben
asked.

“
Now we start
over.”

Tim leaned forward for a
kiss, only bridging half the distance. The rest was up to Ben—had
to be his choice. Ben closed his eyes and leaned forward, their
lips touching, and they were teenagers again. Time had granted them
mercy, turned back the clock, and given them a second
chance.

“
Wait,” Ben said, pulling
away. His cheeks were flushed. “This is going so fast.”

Tim chuckled. “Twelve years
later and you think a kiss is too fast?” Tim leaned forward again,
and this time the kiss lasted longer. But then Ben fell into him,
clutching arms around his torso and hiding his face against Tim’s
neck. He could feel tears against his skin.

“
I know,” Tim whispered,
wrapping arms around him. “I mean, I don’t know, but I can
imagine.”

This had to be weird. Ben
had kissed Jace for years, had kissed him last, and maybe what he
was doing now felt like betrayal. Or maybe it just felt strange,
because it really was a lot to process, even for Tim.

“
We’ll take it slow,” Tim
said. “There’s no need to rush into anything. I just want to spend
time with you. Okay?”

Ben’s head nodded against
his neck, and when he pulled away, his smile was brave.

“
I love it,” Ben said,
glancing at the painting. He took hold of Tim’s hand with firm
determination. “I love seeing you again.”

“
Yeah, it feels good. Crazy
and unreal, but good.”

Ben sniffed, sighed, and
composed himself. When he spoke again, he sounded like his old
self. “Where’s the old painting? If you sold it at the gallery, I
demand half the proceeds.”

“
You’ll have to ask
Allison,” Tim said. “Maybe she’s planning to give it to Brian as a
present.”

“
She better
not!”

Tim squeezed his hand.
“She’s probably back at the gallery by now. We could return there
if you want. I should probably be there since it’s my
show.”

“
It’s your first
exhibition, right?”

“
Yeah, but I don’t mean
that as much as the gallery opening. I’m heading the Eric Conroy
Foundation now.”

Tim told him all about his
work as they headed back to the gallery, glad he had something to
report that he could feel proud of. No more spoiled rich boy
wallowing in his own misery. Everything was different, and maybe
this time it would be enough.

The nightlife had poured
into Austin’s streets, the vibe at the gallery more like a party
now. Taking care of the visitors and maintaining order occupied
most of Tim’s attention, but every time he searched the crowds he
found Ben not far away. Their eyes would lock and they would smile.
Definitely a promising start, but so much still needed to
happen.

At the end of the evening,
Tim offered to drive Ben home. Allison complained teasingly,
insisting that Ben was her date before winking and leaving them
alone. The ride back to Ben’s house was quiet. Tim wasn’t sure of
Ben’s thoughts, but he dreamt of spending the night together, even
if they only stayed up talking. Regardless, he would keep his
promise to move slowly.

“
Can I have you tomorrow?”
Tim asked as he pulled up to the curb.

Ben raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting choice of words.”

“
I mean, do you have any
plans?”

Ben shook his head.
“There’s a new play starting soon, but rehearsals aren’t until next
week. What did you have in mind?”

“
I thought we’d go for a
drive. Maybe head over to The Woodlands and chase after some old
memories.”

“
Okay.”

Tim shifted in his seat. “I
don’t suppose a good night ki—”

Ben’s lips were on his
before he could finish the sentence, and of everything that had
happened that night, the kiss was the most meaningful. A debut art
exhibition and a successful gallery opening simply couldn’t
compare.