by A. D. Ellis
“Let’s unpack what’s here now and break down boxes. Tomorrow we can work on set up of the studio area and the sales floor. Unpack some more. I’d love to be ready for business by next week if possible.”
Rhys nodded. We set to work unpacking and breaking down boxes and I turned on some Andrew McMahon music.
“Ugh, we’ll need to work on finding a happy medium for music because that is not going to cut it,” Rhys grumped as he curled his nose and tossed flat cardboard onto the pile.
“What?! You don’t like Andrew McMahon? He’s great. I saw him in concert not too long ago.” I seriously couldn’t believe he didn’t like the music.
“He’s not exactly my style.” Rhys shrugged.
“What’s your style? Is there hipster music?” I teased with an elbow to his arm.
“I like the Mountain Goats, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, stuff like that.”
I whistled. “Yeah, we’ll need to negotiate music. Maybe just a calm Spotify channel of generic music would be best.”
Rhys nodded.
It amazed me that Rhys and I were so damn connected and compatible in bed, both super artistically talented, shared a lot of the same personality traits—both positive and negative—and yet we were so very different. Part of me wanted to tackle the challenge of overcoming our differences and allowing the rest to meld together into the relationship I’d thought was possibly growing before the building mess up. The other part of me was beyond irritated with his moody, pouty, selfish ass and wanted to think I’d dodged a bullet.
But as I watched him and recalled the fantastic sex and quiet talks in bed, I couldn’t help but side with the part of me that wanted to make this work.
Would Rhys even be willing? Did we have the time and energy to put into building a business and a relationship? I sighed. Now was not the time to make those decisions. I switched the music to something soft and relaxing just to have some background noise and we worked in comfortable silence for another hour.
I wanted Rhys to pull me into a hug as we finished up and said our goodbyes. Did he want that? I missed his touch, his heat, his strength. I longed for his mouth on mine, his hands cupping my face, his hard body against me. The way Rhys clenched his jaw and clipped out a farewell, he either wanted exactly the same thing, or he couldn’t wait to be far away from me.
I trudged home.
Tomorrow would be another day.
An hour into the next day, I was ready to strangle Rhys.
He likely would have gladly done the same to me.
We were not meshing well as we attempted to set up our sales floor.
“I was thinking of putting a sales counter over here and toward the back.” I gestured to the area I thought would be perfect for the sales counter.
“Well, I was planning to have a sales counter on the opposite side.” Rhys folded his arms.
Of course he was.
“Can figure that out in a bit.” I breathed deeply. “With my last name being Silver, I was planning to do mostly brushed silver for most of the fixtures.”
Rhys glared. “With my last name being Golden, I was planning most of the fixtures to be a brushed gold.”
“I wanted a large area rug. In silver.” I pointed to where I’d planned to put a decorative rug.
“I’d been looking at rugs. In gold.” Rhys’s eyes were hard.
I nodded and fought the urge to cuss and storm off. “Thoughts on a coffee and tea station for the customers as they browse?”
“I planned to have one. And use local bakeries to supply pastries and things.” Rhys’s cheeks pinked. “Did we just agree on something?”
“Don’t get too excited. We haven’t discussed color or location just yet.” I smiled wryly.
“Maybe we could plan the layout of our displays and then work around that first?” Rhys’s words at least sounded like he was attempting to cooperate.
“That sounds like our best bet for now.”
An hour later, we stood in the middle of our future display store with a scratched-out map and tentative smiles on our faces.
“So, we can’t agree on color schemes, décor, and locations of a lot of things, but at least we’ve got a fairly good idea of where we’d like our pieces displayed.” I sighed. We were butting heads on many things; having agreed on the displays was a huge relief.
“I guess we could do separate sales counters and coffee stations and two rugs?” Rhys wrinkled his nose.
I rolled my eyes. “Does that sound like it would be inviting or even close to aesthetically pleasing?”
“No.” Rhys ran a hand over his face.
“I want The Silver Creative to be welcoming, a place people feel comfortable, somewhere they want to spend a lot of time and buy items.” I realized a split second too late the mistake I’d made.
“The Silver Creative?” Rhys bit out. He let loose a gravelly, growly sound and huffed away. Five seconds later I heard the backdoor slam.
Fuck.
The Silver Creative was what I’d planned to name my studio from the very first conception of the idea. I understood why Rhys wouldn’t be on board, but damn, it hurt to think the name wasn’t going to happen.
I glanced around the room and shook my head as I folded up the map. We’d discussed opening next week. As it was, all we had ready were our pieces. We didn’t have a name, nothing was set up, we couldn’t even agree on a fucking rug. Oh, well we did agree we wanted a damn coffee and tea station. But style? Color? Location? Nope.
A growl similar to Rhys’s rumbled in my chest. I needed to work on something, get my hands dirty, forget the frustrations of the day. I stalked to the studio area and found a blank canvas. Stripping my shirt, cranking up the music, and wrapping an apron around my waist in hopes of protecting my jeans, I set up my paints and brushes and submersed myself in a new piece.
How the fuck was this ever going to work out?
4
Rhys
I stomped up the stairs to my apartment, flung my clothes onto my bed, and pulled on shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes. My contacts were drying out my eyes, so I exchanged them for a pair of glasses suited for running and fixed a thin rubber hair band on my head to keep my floppy blond hair from hanging in my face as I ran.
I was not much of a runner. I preferred yoga or a spin class or a few burpees. I only ran when I was pissed.
And I was pissed.
Yes, I’d run away from the studio in a huff. But the day had been overwhelmingly frustrating with Benji and I butting heads on nearly every single decision we needed to make. I had to take a break.
I shot down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. I pulled up a generic running playlist and popped in earbuds. The burn in my chest and legs set in almost immediately and it spurred my anger.
Who the fuck did Benji Silver think he was? Coming in with his plans as if I didn’t have my own plans. Silver rug, silver décor, silver this, silver that.
Each slap of my feet against the sidewalk echoed Silver, Silver, Silver. Each fiery hot breath I pulled into my lungs delivered yet another angry complaint about Benji.
By the time I reached a park area, I’d run out of steam. Yanking out my earbuds, I slowed to a walk and headed toward the little fish pond. I couldn’t run any farther, I couldn’t think about the shit show this business situation was turning into. I shouldn’t have been able to think of Benji anymore either.
But I could.
And I was out of angry thoughts. Oh, they were still there, swirling in my head.
But my head and heart betrayed me by bringing to mind thoughts of Benji in my arms, Benji’s mouth on mine, Benji in my bed moaning my name.
Holy fuck.
How could I want someone so badly yet be completely incapable of working with him?
Maybe you’re not incapable of working with him. Maybe you’re just being a brat. Maybe you’re just looking for reasons why things wouldn’t work between you two. Maybe you need to stop thinking everything has to be perfect
.
Whether the voice in my head was mine, Caroline’s, or a combination of the two, it pissed me off. Even considering a relationship with Benji when we couldn’t even decide on a damn rug would be setting us up for complete and total disaster. And what of the business then?
“Golden, good to see you, man.” A voice to my left pulled me from my thoughts.
“Triston, how’s it going?” I slapped an old college buddy on the shoulder. We’d dated for a bit, but he’d had some family stuff going on and we ended up being better off as friends. Honestly, the craziness of some of his family issues made me worry about how stable a relationship between Triston and me could have ever been.
“Good, good. How’s Caroline? How’s the art?” Triston leaned against the railing that encircled the decorative pond.
“Caroline is good, neck deep in all of her philanthropy. Art is going well. In the middle of setting up a studio and display floor.” I wiped sweat from my brow with the arm of my shirt.
“Dating? Thought I saw you at Metro the other night with a guy.” Triston waggled his brow.
“Eh, was seeing someone for a while, but a lot of wrenches recently got thrown into the mix and it’s probably not going to work out.” I frowned and attempted to push down the sad feeling that filled my chest when I admitted that out loud. “How’s your family?”
Triston laughed. “Still putting the fun in dysfunctional. Mom and Dad got back together. Gluttons for punishment. My sister had another baby. I’ve got six nieces and nephews now. My brother is dealing with some pretty heavy shit with his ex. Overall, we’re just a big mess. But they’re my mess and I love them.”
I chuckled. “Your family are nice people, but those are the types of messes I’m determined to avoid. Perfect example of why the guy I was kinda seeing and I can’t continue. I don’t want to end up in situations like that.” I gave Triston a nudge. “Don’t get me wrong, I like your family, I just can’t allow myself to get derailed by drama like that.”
Triston raised a brow and studied me for a moment. “Nah, I don’t look at it like that. We all make mistakes, none of us is perfect, life is far from perfect. But if you avoid imperfect relationships, you may miss out on the most perfect person for you. Imperfections are what make us real. And a real relationship will never be perfect.” He glanced at his phone. “I gotta go. Holler at me some day, we’ll grab lunch. And I definitely want to see this studio once it’s up and running.” He slapped me on the shoulder and jogged off.
I glanced to the left and to the right. Back to my apartment? Or to the studio? I opted for the studio. I could at least organize some supplies or something.
And maybe see Benji?
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“…if you avoid imperfect relationships, you may miss out on the perfect person for you. Imperfections are what make us real. And a real relationship will never be perfect.”
Triston’s words played through my head over and over. And over.
I heard what he was saying.
It made sense. I believed it.
But for other people. Not for me.
Or at least not for Benji and me.
If we couldn’t even set up a business without wanting to strangle each other, how would we work out a relationship? No, whatever had started to grow between us was doomed the moment Mr. Scott fucked up the lease.
Then why can’t you get Benji out of your mind?
“Shut up,” I growled through clenched teeth as I reached the backdoor of the studio. I slid my key into the lock and slipped inside.
Benji was there. Oblivious to the world around him, earbuds in, paint brush in hand.
Jeans hugging his ass, no shirt, and looking sexy as hell as he worked.
Fuck.
I wanted to go back to before the lease situation screwed us over. Back to when things were tentative yet exciting as we grew to know and trust each other.
I wanted him back in my arms, back in my bed.
I wanted to watch movies with him, eat dinner with him, dance with him.
I missed holding him, missed talking with him, missed having him in my life.
He’s still in your life.
Not how I want him to be.
Maybe not exactly the way you’d planned, but that doesn’t mean it can’t work.
I shook my head and leaned against the door to admire both his painting and his body. The colors, the strokes, the passion of the piece mesmerized me just as much as the strength in his broad shoulders, trim waist, and muscled arms. I recognized anger in the painting. Had he started it after I stormed out? But I also caught glimpses of hope and determination in his choice of colors and brush strokes. His initial anger had calmed and morphed into something brighter.
My initial anger had faded into a melancholy of mourning what might have been.
What could still be if Benji’s work is any indication.
I gritted my teeth. “Shut. Up.”
Benji turned and startled to find me standing in the studio. But his surprise quickly gave way to a smile.
Go to him.
I scowled as I pushed off of the door and slipped into the night. There was simply too much going on for me to consider trying to bring back whatever we might have had going between us.
As I crawled into bed that night, I thought of all the things Benji and I needed to discuss and work out. We wanted to open as soon as possible. I had some things I simply wouldn’t budge on. But I knew Benji did as well. How the fuck were we ever going to get the studio and display floor up and running as a legitimate business and livelihood?
Maybe you’ll need to think outside of your self-absorbed box for a bit.
I ran a hand over my face, rolled to my side, and buried my head under the pillow.
“Shut up,” I whispered.
5
Benji
“I swear to God he’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.” I stabbed at a bite of waffle and swirled it in pool of butter and syrup before stuffing it in my mouth.
Bode snickered. “He’s got you all kinds of riled up, huh?” He sipped his coffee.
Bode, Sage, Kyson, and I were seated at a corner table at Love Handle eating brunch before we headed out for our regular Sunday shopping trip.
“Well, we wanted to open this coming week, but it looks like that’s not happening because we can’t agree on anything.” I shoved another bite of waffle in my mouth. “I think sometimes he just disagrees and causes an issue because he can and he knows it pisses me off.”
“Dude, you need to relax. You’ve got a vein bulging in your head. Kyson, tell him he needs to relax.” Bode put a hand on my shoulder. “For real, calm down. You have to work with him, best to get this all figured out and smooth out the ruffled feathers.”
“What are you guys disagreeing on?” Sage asked before taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich.
“The list of what we’re not disagreeing on is much shorter.” I took a drink of orange juice.
Sage waited.
“We’ve agreed on the layout of our displays and pieces.” I shrugged.
“That’s it?” Kyson wiped his mouth with a napkin.
I nodded. “We both want a big area rug, coffee and tea station, decorative fixtures, a sales counter, but we can’t agree on the color or location of any of it.”
“Is it that you can’t agree or just haven’t given it enough effort?” Bode leaned on his elbows. “Sounds like maybe you both have these big, great ideas and plans and now you need to combine them and you’re finding that hard.” My brother held a hand up when I frowned. “I get it, completely. If I’d had to share The Salty Lizard and cooperate with someone else’s ideas all of a sudden, I would have lost my damn mind.”
Yeah, Bode would have likely exploded. A flutter of pride filled my chest that maybe I was handling it somewhat better than he would have.
“I’m thinking you both need to swallow some pride, open your minds more to the benefit of the business rather t
han holding former plans in clenched fists, discuss two or three top items that need decided. Maybe start with smaller negotiations. Once you can work through a coffee/tea station, maybe a bigger decision will be easier to cooperate on.” Kyson poured another cup of coffee from the carafe and stirred a packet of raw cane sugar into the dark brew.
I sighed. “How much of a baby’s ass do I sound like if I say I don’t want to swallow my pride or cooperate or negotiate?” My head was heavy in my hands as I leaned forward.
“It’s a natural reaction.” Sage squeezed my shoulder. “But if you dig deep and you’re honest with yourself, you’ll realize that the studio has a much better chance of being successful if you guys can come together and mesh your ideas. May end up being the best thing you’ve ever done and you’ll look back on this time and laugh at all the drama.”
I pursed my lips. “Yeah. Maybe.” The level of doubt floating through my head was beginning to give me a headache.
We paid our bills and headed toward the bulk warehouse store. We’d learned quickly while living together that it was cheaper and easier to do the majority of our shopping with a once-a-month warehouse trip and just make quick trips to the local grocery for smaller items we didn’t need a large supply of.
The four of us could have easily split up the list, gathered what we needed, met up to check out and cut time off of the trip. But our shopping trips had become something we all looked forward to. We stuck together, taking turns pushing the cart, trying samples, and pointing out items we should get even if they weren’t on the list. These three men, my twin, my cousin, and Sage, were my best friends and I enjoyed our time together and didn’t want to take it for granted.
But my mind kept flitting to Rhys.
Kyson and Sage moved farther down the condiment aisle, but Bode walked near me. “You really like him, huh?”
“What? Who?” I played dumb, my cheeks heating even as I spoke because there was no way to fool my brother.
