is the one who turned these old slave quarters into a library. He said he’d filled it with books and art that told their stories without anyone else’s conditions on it. He said it was rebaptized and the ancestors approved.”
I wandered over to the nearest sculpture, a bronze piece about eighteen inches high that showed a man playing a saxophone whose sound poured out like flowering vines. “This is awesome. You got to buy the whole collection?”
“Not exactly.”
I glanced over at him, and even in the soft glow of library lamps, I could see the tips of his ears going dark red again. “He donated his collection to the library at Xavier University. I just thought it was a good idea, so I’ve been filling this place slowly with my own collection, trying to find local artists and writers to put in here. I mostly just buy what I like. You know, like what speaks to me?” He shrugged. “Most of it wasn’t very expensive, but if it becomes valuable like John’s collection, I’ll put them on permanent loan somewhere and keep the replicas here.”
I straightened and turned to face him fully. “You are something else, Miles Crowe.”
“Yeah? Like...something good?” he asked, giving me the tiniest cheeky grin.
“Definitely something unexpected. Let’s finish the tour.”
He led me through the rest of the house, indicating where guest bedrooms were but not opening any of the doors. I wished he would have given me a peek at the main bedroom. I wondered how his style translated to his most personal space, but I had enough brain cells to rub together not to ask him to show it to me.
Finally, we circled back to the garage wing. The other half of it turned out to hold a recording studio on the first floor. I’d never been in a recording studio before, so I was surprised that it looked like every one I’d ever seen in a movie or TV show, complete with a fancy soundboard. “Do you still make a lot of music?” I asked. His most recent release on YouTube was two years old.
He shrugged. “Not so much lately. It’s been more interesting to record other artists. Boogey from the center?” he asked, like I could forget him. I nodded. “He was here last month laying down some tracks. That kid is amazing. And he’s sixteen. Another Jon Batiste, I think.”
“Do you just not like writing music anymore?”
“Uh, I do. It’s...complicated. Anyway, let’s go upstairs. That’s the last stop on our tour.”
He obviously didn’t want to talk about his own music, and that made me want to ask him about it more.
“This is my gym.” He opened the door to a mini version of the big chain gym I went to. It had every machine I could ever need plus a ton of free weights, a treadmill, and... “Is that a Peloton?”
“Don’t knock it,” he said. “Those rides kick my butt.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” And then I clamped my mouth shut. Oh, dang. I had not thought it through before saying those words out loud.
“Miss Jones, did you just hit on me?” Miles asked, and whatever shyness had lurked around him in the library and the recording studio was gone completely, replaced by a mischievous glint in his eye.
“No.”
“I think you did.”
“I think you misunderstood that.”
“I think you just said I have a nice butt.”
“I definitely didn’t say that.” I wanted a hole to appear that would allow me to drop into the studio below so I could then run out into the street and all the way to my place in the Bywater where I would ignore all calls and texts from him forever.
“I don’t think there’s any other way I could take that.”
“I meant that I used my mom’s once, and I know they can totally kick people’s butts.”
He crossed his arms and studied me, and I couldn’t help but notice how well the free weights in this room had done their job on his biceps. I let my eyes travel over them on the way to meeting his gaze, which looked even more amused.
“Miss Jones, I’m going to have to call BS. I don’t think that’s what you meant at all.”
“You’re wrong, but even if you weren’t, a gentleman would let it drop.”
He gave an exaggerated look around the room. “I don’t see any gentlemen here.”
I had no idea what to do, but I wasn’t about to flirt back. The only way through this was a bold-faced lie. I laid my