Top Shelf: A Seacroft Novel Page 26

  “The first time I met Seb, I thought he was a ghost. The second time, I nearly tore a piece of his artwork, and he kicked me out of his apartment.” He smiled at the memory. “But he takes great care of the people close to him. He sees the beauty and potential in things others have cast aside or forgotten about.” Martin bit his lip. “He saw me, when I felt like no one else did anymore. I hope he knows how much he’s helped me. I hope we can help him too.” His cheeks flamed at the thought of other people seeing this video, but he stared at the camera lens like it was Seb, standing at the back of the crowd in a darkened bookstore.

  Cassidy gave him a grinning thumbs up as she stopped recording.

  They all sent the campaign link out to everyone they knew, and then they waited. Martin sent the link to Seb too, hoping he would see the video at least and know how many people were waiting for him to come home.

  It was disappointing when he didn’t reply.

  Donations were slow at first. They’d set a goal to raise ten thousand dollars, enough for new artist’s supplies and the rent Seb would need to focus on his work. Oliver chipped in a few hundred to start, and he said some early anonymous donations came from their family. A number of townspeople made donations of varying sizes. By midday on the first day, they passed the two thousand dollar mark, but stalled out just below five on the second.

  “We need more people to help,” Cassidy said, staring at their tally. She kept hitting the refresh button on her browser, but the number didn’t change.

  The idea of more people was only slightly less terrifying than public speaking to Martin, but she was right.

  So, despite the roiling in his stomach that told him he’d only get laughed at for his request, Martin called every community radio station and newspaper within an hour’s drive of Seacroft.

  No one laughed at him.

  Town Rallies to Raise Funds After Local Artist’s Studio Lost in Fire

  The campaign appeared on one news site and then another. And donations from people Martin, Oliver, and Cassidy had never heard of started to come in.

  On the third day, a complete stranger called Martin and said they were making a four thousand dollar donation and would also donate a piece of Seb’s work they had purchased years earlier to the highest donation in the next twenty-four hours.

  They hit twenty thousand dollars that day and doubled it when another collector made the same offer with another piece.

  By the fifth day of their seven-day campaign, they had raised more than seventy thousand dollars, and the art collectors were still calling to find out how they could help. Cassidy said once that Seb had a following, and she hadn’t been exaggerating.

  But Seb still hadn’t responded.

  Martin sat in the diner. He was supposed to be reviewing an application essay for a friend of Cassidy’s, except he’d been staring at his laptop screen for close to an hour and had failed to make any progress.

  He clicked over to the crowdfunding page. Seventy-eight thousand, six hundred and seventy-two dollars. Every dollar of it for Seb, and he wasn’t there to see it.

  Martin glanced across the street as a truck rattled by, splashing through a puddle. The world outside was gray and burnt red from the last of the fall leaves on the trees. People rushed past, trying to stay dry under dark hoods and umbrellas.

  And in the midst of it all was white. A bright flash that disappeared as another car slid by. Martin blinked, and the white-blond figure reemerged, standing perfectly still.

  It was the ghost again, and Martin’s heart leapt into his throat. He was afraid to move or to lose eye contact in case the apparition vanished. The man across the street stared at him, too far for Martin to make out the features he had been waiting to see for over a week. That wasn’t good enough, so he groped blindly for his coat and barely pulled it on before heading to the door, calling over his shoulder to Penny to watch his laptop. He didn’t know if she heard him, and frankly, if someone stole it, it wouldn’t matter as long as the man outside was still there when Martin got to him.

  It took two tries to cross the street; Martin was so enthralled that he nearly collided with a cyclist on his first attempt. He hurried over the pavement on his second, weaving as a car splashed through a puddle, but never taking his eyes away from the other man’s face.

  Seb stood, hands in the pockets of a dark coat. It had only been a week, but his face was harder than Martin remembered, the lips thinner. White-gold stubble coated his chin.

  In another life, Martin would have hesitated, would have stopped on the edge of the curb to gauge Seb’s reaction. In another life, he would have let Seb make the decision.

  He couldn’t take that chance now. If he let Seb decide and he chose to leave again, Martin would regret it.

  He walked right into Seb’s space and wrapped his arms around him, until he was sure the ghost wouldn’t vanish, that Seb was real and back and here with him.

  “You asshole,” he gritted out as he buried his face in Seb’s neck. Seb held him close.

  “I’m sorry.”

  * * *

  The first time I met Seb, I thought he was a ghost.

  He saw me when I felt like no one else did anymore.

  Martin’s serious expression, the soft gray eyes and the crooked jaw, the private smile Seb had been lucky enough to be part of sometimes, had drawn him home.

  Kenneth showed him the website, the crowdfunding page with the improbable sum of money at the top, but all Seb saw was the screenshot with Martin gazing at the camera. Seb and Kenneth watched the video, the familiar faces moving past. And then Martin. His gentle voice and serious eyes bounced nervously over the screen as he spoke. He looked tired and completely sincere.

  “I’m sorry,” Seb said on the street as he pressed closer, letting the world around them disappear for a few seconds. He reveled in Martin’s solid warmth, in the ragged way his breath washed over Seb’s skin.

  “You came home,” Martin said.

  “I’m sorry I left.” He shivered as a raindrop hit the back of his neck and slithered under his shirt. He wanted to be even nearer to Martin, feel the heat of their bodies together. They had been in bed, safe and possibly happy, when Seb’s world flew apart. He wanted to be like that again.

  “Did you get my texts? Cassidy—We—There’s a lot of money. So much more than we expected. You could go anywhere, do what you want to start over and—”

  Seb stopped him with a kiss as the rain picked up around them. It streamed down, soaking them, and Seb didn’t care.

  “I didn’t come back for the money,” he said when they pulled apart.

  “Penny. She’ll want to see you. We should—”

  “Why do you always sell yourself short?”

  “I don’t!” Martin laughed between kisses.

  “You do. All the time. Did Cassidy have to tie you down before she made that video of you?”

  “No!” Martin’s pink cheeks said he was lying.

  “I came back for you. I need—I saw you—”

  “You always see me.”

  Seb warmed, despite the damp chill. He wanted to slip his hands under Martin’s coat, feel the heat of him there, the solid realness of him. They were across the street and two doors down from the remains of his apartment. He’d been prepared for it when the cab dropped him off. The damage was better than he remembered, although still hard to look at it. But then he’d seen Martin, in the window of the diner, lit from a lamp that hung above his head. He looked warm and safe and . . .

  “I’m ready to come home,” Seb said, and he meant it. Martin tried to bring up the campaign again, and Seb shut it down with another kiss. He didn’t want there to be confusion. He wasn’t here for the money they’d raised, and while he was grateful to all the people who had participated, he was there for Martin.

  Martin, who laughed softly against his lips. “Home. There’s a small problem there.”

  “What’s that?”

  Martin untangled himself again, turnin
g so they could both face the old bookstore.

  “Well, you don’t really have one. A home, I mean.”

  Seb squeezed him gently. “This is true.”

  “And . . . ” Martin scratched at an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’m going to have one for much longer, so—”

  “What happened?”

  An odd expression passed over Martin’s face before he shuddered. “Straight people sex. You don’t want to know.”

  Soon, the rain came down so hard that no amount of fuzzy feelings could keep them outside. They returned to the diner, because Martin had left his things inside. Leaving again took longer than Seb wanted because Penny had been watching them the whole time. She nearly tackled Seb as he entered the diner. She served slices of pie and dragged over other patrons to celebrate Seb’s soggy return, but he was anxious to have Martin to himself.

  For lack of any other option within a reasonable cab fare, they wound up at the nicer of the two motels near the beach. Its only real qualification to be nicer was being bought by a chain in the last few years and having a bigger sign. The room was clean though, and dry, and that was all they really needed.

  Seb took Martin to the shower with him, arguing the hot water would do them both good. Martin’s hair had begun to dry on the ride over and was sticking up at odd angles, and Seb smoothed it down.

  The tiny space of the shower, behind the yellowing curtain which wouldn’t quite hang flat against the side of the tub, was surreal. Seb nipped at Martin’s chin, trying to make sense of the time since they’d been in a very similar position in the guest bath at his parent’s house. Ten days? Was that all it had been?

  Afterwards, warm and dry and sleepy, they lay, face to face, on one of the two double beds.

  “Can we talk about the money now?” Martin said.

  Seb pulled him close. “If you want.” There would be time, but it seemed to be weighing on Martin’s mind, so he let him speak.

  “It’s a lot. I haven’t checked it this afternoon, but it’s got a few days to go, and even if we don’t get any more big art donations to spike the contributions, I bet it will be close to a hundred thousand dollars. You could do pretty well anything with that. Go anywhere you wanted.”

  “I could.” Seb pressed a kiss to the top of Martin’s hair.

  “What do you think you’ll do?” Martin ran a hand over Seb’s chest, hesitation in the touch. Seb would be making up for the space he’d created between them for a while.

  “I have an idea.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  The gallery glowed with strings of lights hung from the ceiling. The front window facing the street was decorated with daffodils and crocuses. Penny’s staff passed around trays of snacks to the people gathered.

  Martin smoothed the lapels of his new suit jacket as he came down the stairs from the apartment. Carol Anne stood at the bottom, grinning at him.

  “You’ll wrinkle them if you keep doing that,” she said.

  “I will not.”

  “Mom! Come on.” Penny appeared and tugged at her mother’s hand. “It’s about to start.”

  Martin followed slowly after them, still trying to get the lie of the suit just right. Oliver helped him pick it out, and Seb’s eyes had flashed with approval when he’d seen Martin slip the jacket on earlier, but nerves made it impossible for Martin to settle into it completely comfortably.

  The gallery space was packed, full of people from town, and some who had come from farther away. Seb’s family—Oliver, their sisters, their mother, and even their father—talked on one side of the room. Mrs. Green held court on the other side with a small crowd of her usual entourage.

  After their investigation, the fire department ruled the cause of the bookshop fire to be accidental. They never officially confirmed the coffee maker started it all, but Mrs. Green said she still felt guilty about the fate of the bookstore and Seb’s apartment. She had been nothing but accommodating when Seb had approached her about renting a storefront, along with the apartment upstairs.

  “Looking very smart today, Dr. Lindsey,” Kenneth purred. Martin promised Seb he would try to like the agent, but he wasn’t sure Kenneth was working equally as hard to be on his best behavior.

  “Thank you.”

  “And our Seb is quite the hit. I never thought this little town had much appreciation for fine art, but it appears I might be wrong, just this once.”

  Martin spotted Brian and Jess as they came through the gallery door. Brian waved. Martin could kiss his brother and his excellent timing as he excused himself and stepped away from Kenneth.

  He was nearly across the room when a tangle of green eyes and curly hair collided with him.

  “I did it!” Cassidy wrapped him in a tight hug.

  “Did what?” he asked.

  “I got in! Art school! My letters came today. Two of them! Can you believe it?”

  Martin’s eyes widened until his expression matched Cassidy’s. He was about to shout his congratulations when a glass clinked, distracting them both. They turned to follow the sound.

  Seb stood by the front window on a small raised platform put there for the occasion. His bowtie was back, as was his sly grin. His eyes flicked over the tops of everyone’s heads, and he winked at Martin before his attention returned to the people around him.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming. We are so pleased that you’ve all come out to our first official exhibit, and the grand opening of the Phoenix Gallery!”

  The crowd applauded. Someone whistled, and Martin turned just in time to see Brian lowering his fingers from his lips while Jess swatted at his shoulder with a smile.

  “This first exhibit is very important to us. It’s called Ashes to Ashes and follows the theme of rebirth, return, and rediscovering that which was lost. On that note, I would very much like to thank those of you gathered today who have lent works to this exhibit.”

  The donations had been a surprise. After the crowdfunding campaign closed, the updates were Kenneth’s idea. People wanted to know what happened to their money, he said, so they sent out periodic notices, letting donors know about the progress renovating the Phoenix and getting it ready for its first opening. It shouldn’t have been surprising when some of the people who offered up Seb’s pieces that they owned as incentives to the campaign offered to lend others for the exhibit. Yet Seb had been speechless when Kenneth had called to tell him.

  “As you look around, you’ll find some carved pieces,” Seb continued. “You’ll also find works of poetry. If you ask Martin, he can tell you that he literally wrote the book on Werner Bergmann, whose poems are featured here today. Martin won’t tell you a lot more than that, though, because he’s not much of a talker.” He smiled across the room again, and Cassidy sighed softly next to Martin.

  “You guys are so adorable,” she whispered. He flushed and stared down at his shoes.

  “As some of you might know,” Seb said. “I started my work in carved poetry. I would take old books and carve them into new words. My agent said the exhibits where I showed those early pieces were lacking because we only displayed the work, but never read them. I said that wasn’t the point, but in keeping with the theme of this beautiful new space and rediscovering the things we’ve lost, I wanted to share something with you today. It’s called One of Them Is Love, and it’s by Werner Bergmann and Sebastian Stevenson.”

  Martin’s head shot up. Over the last few months, he had helped Seb collect Bergmann’s translated works. Seb had been tight-lipped about what he planned to do with the poems, but now he held a single piece of paper. The page itself had once been a plain sheet of white printer paper, but it was now punctuated by periodic black marks where words had been cut from whatever was printed on one side. The pattern reminded Martin of spiderwebs and lace, and his breath caught as he fumbled for Cassidy’s hand.

  “What is it?” she hissed, but Martin could only stare ahead as Seb lifted the page and cleared his throat.

 
“Three women standing at the crossroads.

  They say they are Sadness, Loss and Grief.

  But surely one of them is Love.

  Surely one of them will open her arms

  to me when I approach,

  and wrap me up tight against her,

  protecting me from her sisters

  and the way that I have come.

  Surely one of these women

  will offer me comfort,

  as far as I have traveled,

  surely one will show me which is the next path.

  The great tragedy of a journey

  is I can only see to the next corner,

  but at the same time, I must trust

  that Love stands only two corners away.

  And when I arrive on that second bend,

  and find her twisted siblings waiting,

  I can only choose to continue on,

  in hopes that Love waits past two more corners still.

  Or else I must join Sadness, Loss, and Grief,

  and wait until the day Love finds me.”

  Martin’s mouth hung open as he tried to hold on to the threads of what he’d just heard. He glanced around the room. Jess had her head resting softly on Brian’s shoulder. Tim had one arm around Penny. The air felt heavy as people stirred and started to applaud, breaking the quiet spell of Seb’s words.

  Carol Anne handed Seb a glass, and he lifted it.

  “Thank you everyone for finding us today, and to those of you who worked so hard to help us bring this together. And I’d like you all to raise a toast to Martin, who,” Seb’s smile quirked in the way that always made Martin’s skin prickle “is my love, and without whom I would not have found this path. Cheers!”

  Cheers and more applause filled the room. Cassidy giggled and hugged Martin, but she stepped back as Seb came to join them.

  “That was . . .” Martin still couldn’t process it all. He’d need to get Seb to read it to him again later.

  “It was okay?” Seb asked, looking uncharacteristically shy. Martin launched himself at Seb and pulled him in for a hard kiss that could only begin to express what hearing Seb’s words felt like.