Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
He was across the room in two strides and almost got a paintbrush in the nostril as he bent to kiss Zachary.
Zachary grinned at his ardor and let himself be caught up in Bram’s arms, paintbrush falling to the floor.
Bram loved the feel of Zachary in his arms. He was small, but strong, and he held on so damn tight when Bram kissed him.
The kiss was deep, and a wave of heat broke over him, but Bram let him go with one last kiss to his cheek.
“You’re very tempting,” he said, and he thought he saw the slightest flush over Zachary’s cheeks, but maybe it was just a trick of the light.
They painted in quiet companionship for about an hour. Bram worked on the box for the library, smiling as he inked titles of books onto spines with a detail brush.
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Cat’s Eye, Cat’s Cradle, and The Catcher in the Rye.
Bram finished before Zachary and was able to watch his meticulous work. Zachary held the paintbrush like it was a pencil and used tiny, precise strokes.
From afar, the to-go cup looked like you could stop to pick it up and throw it away. The spill of wooden coffee that was the entry to the shelter looked wet.
“How did you learn to paint like this?” Bram asked, impressed.
Zachary shrugged.
“I always liked painting.”
“You’re amazing.”
Zachary looked confused for a moment, then said, “Thank you. Should I put something on the cup? Like a name or an order?”
“Catnip Latte,” Bram suggested.
Zachary nodded and lettered it onto the cup. His eyes were bright with interest.
“Can I ask you something?”
Zachary mmm-hmmed, eyes on his work.
“Do you like your job?”
“I love my job,” he said instantly, still painting.
“Right, I know you love architecture. But do you like designing pet stores and other boxes that don’t let you express your skill or creativity?”
Zachary’s eyes darted left and then right.
“It’s a good job. They aren’t easy to get.”
“I’m sure they’re not,” Bram allowed.
He’d decided to broach the topic, but clearly this wasn’t something Zachary was open to discussing. At least not right now.
“You want to do another one?” he asked instead.
Zachary took the bait.
“This one is for that bakery on the corner of Main and...”
“Turner,” Zachary said. “Got it.”
He studied the cutout, squinting. Bram had come up with this one himself.
“A giant croissant?”
“Yup.” Bram was relieved it was recognizable.
Zachary smiled. “Okay, I can do that.”
As soon as he started painting, it was like he went away somewhere, his essence retreating an inch inside his skin. Unreachable. He worked for an hour without speaking, not seeming to notice Bram starting and finishing the Matheson’s Hardware shelter, washing his brushes, or taking a shower.
When Bram came to ask if he was hungry, he was crouching in front of the shelter examining his work.
It was golden brown and flaky-looking, and for some reason it struck Bram as one of the cutest things he’d ever seen—a cold cat curled up inside a giant croissant, warm from the oven.
“Damn, it’s so good it’s making me hungry,” Bram said.
Zachary drew him close with a curled finger and Bram sank beside him. He pointed at the layers of pastry and when Bram squinted he saw that in several places the whorls of dough formed...
“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Tiny cat faces. You freaksome genius.”
Zachary laughed with joy.
“I realize it could be interpreted as a bit ghoulish—like the croissants are made out of kittens or something. But I didn’t mean it that way. I thought maybe unconsciously the cats would recognize familiar patterns and be drawn to it. I don’t know. I don’t know how cats work. Just a thought.”
Bram also could not claim to know how cats worked. But he was learning how Zachary Glass worked, and it was with utter, sincere dedication to every single detail.
Bram wasn’t exactly sure why he found that so attractive and endearing, but he really, really did. In fact, there was a lot about his responses to Zachary that were surprising him. Bram had always been drawn to people that felt like his family: warm, socially skilled, and motivated to destroy the tethers of corporate capitalism that threatened to ensnare anyone not actively working against them.
When they’d first met, Zachary had seemed the opposite: standoffish, prickly, and so dedicated to the nine-to-five grind that he wore suits while working from his own living room.
How, Bram had wondered, was he drawn to this man? Of course, he’d quickly realized that Zachary wasn’t standoffish, he just operated in tune to a different set of social mandates. He wasn’t prickly, he’d just always had to defend his way of being in the world to detractors and had internalized it as a default. And he wasn’t dedicated to the grind, he was soothed and supported by a strict schedule that freed his mind from the pressure of having to make certain choices so that it could meander freely through his creative process.