Page 22 of Keep

“It is. Barely dry… but Martin insisted it be in the gallery.”

“It’s—” Hank struggled for words. Every adjective felt inadequate. “I don’t know how to describe it. It makes me feel something. Something I can’t quite name.”

“That’s the best review I’ve ever gotten.”

Hank turned to look at him. “Is it for sale?”

“I’ve never sold anything.”

“I would buy this. I’m serious.”

Chad was quiet for a moment. Then: “You can have it.”

“Chad—”

“I want you to have it.” Something flickered across Chad’s face—vulnerability, quickly masked. “Don’t make me regret it.”

The words landed with weight—a gift and a warning wrapped together.

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

Chad held his gaze, searching for something. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, because his expression softened.

“We’re friends, Hank. Right?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Good.” Chad moved closer, close enough that Hank could count the faint freckles across his nose. “It always starts that way.”

In the upper corner of the room, a small security camera blinked red.

Hank noticed it. His pulse spiked briefly. He thought about everything that camera might capture—their hand-holding, their proximity, whatever was about to happen next.

Let them see.

The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

Chad slid his arms around Hank’s waist, and Hank’s body responded before his brain could catch up, bowing down to meet him.

The kiss was different from Tuesday night—longer, slower, more deliberate. Tuesday had been impulse, bourbon-fueled, and breathless. This was a choice. Chad’s lips were warm and tasted faintly of mint, and his hands spread across Hank’s back, pulling him closer.

Hank’s hands found Chad’s hips. He was holding too tight—he knew he was holding too tight—but he couldn’t make himself ease up.

When they separated, Hank’s knees were unsteady.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed.

Chad laughed—soft, delighted. “I’m really not. But I’m glad you think so.”

“I do. I think so very much.”

“Very much.” Chad’s smile widened. “So formal. Even when you’re complimenting someone.”

“I’m sorry. I can try to be more⁠—”

“Don’t.” Chad pressed a finger to Hank’s lips. “Don’t change anything. I like you exactly like this.”

They walked back to the car as the September evening settled around them, the sky fading from orange to deep violet. Street lamps flickered on, and the sidewalks were still busy with students and young professionals.