Love In Slow Motion (Love Beyond Measure #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,90

just to give himself something to do and carefully touched the set-up in front of them. Two canvases were propped up on stands, several tubes of paint laid out on the table. There was a small bucket of brushes, bristles up, and water that he nearly knocked over as he explored.

“Nothing’s labeled,” Ilan said after a beat. “I mean…did she say they were going to label anything for you?”

“No,” Fredric said gently. “I think she tried to discourage me from coming tonight, even though she was polite about it.”

“That’s such bullshit. We don’t need to stay,” Ilan started, but Fredric reached for him and found his arm.

“The wine list on the website was good. Expensive,” he said, and Ilan barked a laugh. “I don’t want to be…what do the kids say these days? That basic bitch?”

“Oh my god,” Ilan breathed out and dropped his forehead to Fredric’s shoulder, laughing into the fabric. “Stop.”

“But I really just care about getting a little buzz from expensive wine and doing something ridiculous with you.”

“Fuck. Fredric, I…” but his words stalled, and Fredric’s breath caught because he was pretty sure two words with single syllables were meant to follow that I—but they didn’t. And he wasn’t about to ask for them yet. “Come on, there’s a table with all the wine on it and people are already filling their glasses.”

They made their way to the far end of the room, and Fredric heard quiet whispers around him—but that was nothing new. And more than ever, he didn’t care. The only person that mattered was the man holding him tight with one hand and holding wine bottles in the other so he could read off the labels.

“They have a Malbec,” Ilan said, and Fredric raised his brows.

“I didn’t bring my Tums with me.”

“Oh, fuck off, old man,” Ilan said, and Fredric heard the pop of the cork, then the sound of wine sloshing into a glass. “Take this. It’s a good year.”

Fredric knew—he’d memorized the list from their website, and he lifted the drink to his nose and breathed it in. But the quality didn’t matter either, he realized as they made their way back. He would have gladly taken cheap, five dollar drug-store shit if it meant having this. If it meant Ilan staying in close and laughing and calling him old man. If it meant whispering snarky comments about the pixie-voiced instructor who went on a ten-minute tangent about following their vision—but also making sure to follow the instructions exactly.

Nothing was better than Ilan’s hand closing over his and guiding him through the lines and then through the shading. He hadn’t known true pleasure until Ilan swiped paint off his cheek and followed it with a casual, easy kiss that meant the goddamn world.

The instructor only passed by them once, and they were laughing loud enough that Fredric had no doubt she was glaring. But the night had been something of a success, even if the weight of what might come next was heavy on his shoulders. Because he wasn’t ready to part ways.

Not this time.

Ilan put the paintings on the far wall to dry with the promise to pick them up the following week, then they washed at the sink not saying much, and Fredric relied heavier on his cane than he did on Ilan’s guide. They were some of the last to leave, so the parking lot was quiet save for the traffic in the distance, and he could feel Ilan lingering a few steps behind him as he reached for the door handle.

“Do you,” Ilan said, then stopped.

Fredric turned but this time, he didn’t reach for him. He needed to wait. “Stay over tonight?”

Ilan’s silence filled the space between them. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” It was the easiest answer he’d ever given, and one of the only he knew he’d never try to take back.

The air between them was charged as Ilan pulled back up in front of Fredric’s house. The night air felt even colder against his heated skin as he stepped out of the car, and he braced himself against it as he heard Ilan shut his door. He barely breathed, didn’t dare move as footsteps walked toward him.

“It’s dark,” Ilan said, his voice a low rumble.

Fredric couldn’t help his smile. “I can guide you if you want.”

“Ha.” The laugh was more like a whisper, and then a hand touched him, pressing against his hip, then drawing up toward his ribs. “You’re the only one I’d trust to do