For a while after that I mostly saw Diego at GFW events, some in person, some on video calls where he and Claris would be sitting at the counter in their kitchen in the same shot and the rest of us would be little boxes in our various houses and apartments. It took me about half an hour of trying different backgrounds in my place before I came up with one that didn’t feature the futon of Butt Divot fame, my disorganized bookshelves, or the uninspired stretch of wall behind the futon. I settled on standing up at my own kitchen counter so at least everything in the distance was blurred.
It might be weird—and I’m not saying seeing him on video was a great substitute for in person—but I relished watching him in his element like that. He talked like Claris ran everything, and she did always start the meetings, but once they got going Diego would more often than not pull the agenda toward himself and keep it running. And I might be wrong, but I swore each time he did it Claris smirked very slightly, like that had been her plan all along. She’d gently nudge him back to the topic if he went off on one of those designer tangents about fabric availability, but even that was less about Diego and more about Claris facilitating and nudging all of us back on track. (I may have at one point talked for two minutes about all the research I’d been doing on TikTok demographics until she said she’d be happy to add an agenda item to the next meeting if I felt it was helpful for everyone to have that information. It might have made me feel silly except Diego was just looking at me through the camera’s lens as if I was the sexiest rambling maniac he’d ever seen, so I said that wouldn’t be necessary and yielded the meeting back to her. And blushed. I may have blushed. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who was a little too much at times, and hell, didn’t that mean “too much” as a concept was absurd?)
And we texted. We texted all the time. We texted about GFW, about what we were having for dinner, about what we were reading. We sent links to YouTube videos and Spotify tracks, shared podcasts, and mutually became obsessed with Snap Judgment, keeping each other up at night talking about the stories. When I woke up in the morning, I checked to see if he’d sent me anything, and when he had my heart did a little joyful flip thing. We always said goodnight before going to sleep.
When I informed Dec that I had no idea what I was doing with this amazing man, he stuck his tongue out (in a snap) and told me to enjoy it. My friends notably did not ask about Tim. And Tim? Was busy. So was I. I hadn’t texted. He’d texted like once in the last who-knew-how-long. It was just...one of those things. Where two people get busy and sort of...drift. That’s all. Not a big deal in the long run, I told myself. Happened to everyone.
It had been a whole week since I’d managed to see Diego face-to-face, which is probably why when Claris told me he was doing a student art show at the same coffee shop where we’d first met up I readily assembled a very casual (and flattering AF) T-shirt-and-jeans combo, topped it with a dark red fedora, and walked over. I donated my five bucks at the door (optional, but made me feel good) and grabbed my complimentary latte, ready to be not-judgy about bad high school art.
Far from being the drudgery I expected, the student work was hot. Not in a sexy way, in a pay attention and be impressed way. There were some amateurish pieces, sure, but a lot of it was well beyond anything I could have imagined doing as a teenager. Or ever.
I was studying a portrait of a lizard, which had captured the lizard skin texture amazingly well, when a voice slightly behind me said, “Incredible little bastards, aren’t they? I’d be consumed with envy except I’m far too clever for that. Darling, how are you?”
“Enjoying the show.” I kissed Claris’s cheek and gave her dress an appreciative nod. “You’re full-on Maleficent today.”
“But no horns! Though I am swooping from place to place without any responsibilities to speak of, in true Maleficent style. Poor Diego is stuck talking to every parent who ever put a crayon drawing on a refrigerator. He would have been over to say hello immediately but he’s embroiled in a deep conversation about artistic ethics with a very earnest sixteen-year-old, you know how that goes.”
I didn’t, but I could imagine. “So you’re Diego’s agent in this case?”
“I’m his agent in most cases. Now. Tell me everything.”
“Um. Everything?”
She held out her arm after we’d released hands. “May I escort you around? Diego will be a few minutes yet. Though I really can’t undersell how much he wishes he was speaking to you right now.”
What do you do when the wife of the man you’re dating asks to escort you? Offer her your arm, of course (so different than linking arms with Mia; Mia’s energy was lemon yellow where Claris’s was claret red). We began walking around, slowly, stopping before each piece. “It’s hard for me to believe kids did this work,” I admitted.
“Rather remarkable, I agree. Though if you can get him to show you his youthful sketchbooks you might look at even the, shall we say, less obviously of merit work differently. Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a genius. But it’s also valuable to see that every line he’s ever drawn has not been perfect.” We moved on to a sculpture in a pool of light. “It’s one of the things that makes him such a valuable mentor.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“No, I’m sure. You being quite perceptive yourself. But you know what we’ve never spoken of? Art. What do you create, Mason?”
“Um.” I wracked my brain for a decent answer to that question, feeling wholly inadequate. “I...don’t create? I don’t think.”
Her eyebrows rose in delicate disbelief. “How is that possible? You don’t make crafts out of grocery bags or concoct multi-layer desserts? What about doodling? Surely you express yourself in some creative way.”
I tried to mentally scan my apartment, searching for some good answer to Claris’s insistent question. “I’m not sure I do. Do you count making worlds in video games?”
She smiled. “I knew there had to be something! A man who dresses the way you dress must have other outlets. So then you like designing in space, that makes perfect sense.”
Before I could ask her exactly what that meant, the bright bubble of Diego’s laughter reached us from across the room and I couldn’t help turning my head to glance in his direction, flushing when I realized how obvious I’d been.
“Nearly time now,” she said cryptically, guiding us to a mixed media piece that appeared to be an effort to push the exact lines of just how many booze coasters could be covertly collaged and turned into art. “Now, this one’s just cheeky. How fun.”
We spent a couple of minutes debating whether anyone school-related had noticed the fact that this particular student had made art out of alcohol ads before she leaned in closer to me and lowered her voice. “It’s time to rescue Diego. He’s been cornered by An Authority Figure With A Mission. That’s never good because he cannot say no to people. If we leave him he’ll agree to do nothing but teach high school art pro bono for the next three years.”
“Will he?”
She mmm’d. “He just might. Of course, it wouldn’t be so bad except he won’t say no to anyone else either. By the end of those three years he’ll have collected a dozen other similar commitments and won’t be able to finish any of them while also making time to eat and sleep.”
Not that I needed a precis on a guy I’d kissed in a garden of dappled sunlight, but then again, she said it all without any hint of true criticism. In fact, it almost felt like she was...sharing something about him with me. Which was almost a form of intimacy, to be honest. Still, I had to remain...like, neutral or something. “Eating and sleeping are pretty important.”
“They are, darling! They are.”
We approached from the side and Claris detached from my arm when we were still some distance away. “Divide and conquer,” she murmured. “Principal Zimmerman! How good to see you. Tell me all about the way you’re distributing the proceeds from this event. I know it’s going to a nonprofit, but I’m not familiar with the group. And do the students receive paperwork of any kind? Presumably they can count the work as donations to charity?” She kissed Diego on the cheek, said something I didn’t catch, then led away the principal, who seemed a bit flustered by being forcibly carried off.
Diego beamed at me. Was already beaming at me by the time I turned away from Claris. “You made it. I’m so pleased.”
“I’m glad I did. The student work is amazing.”
“Isn’t it? I was so inspired working with this group. Claris says I tell her that every time, but it’s always true!” He licked his lips, which was distracting as hell, but I tried to stay focused on his words. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
For an extended moment we just...looked at each other. I had the sensation of that movie effect where a character stands in place and the world moves in fast-forward around them, except it was both of us sharing this bubble of stillness amid all the chaos.
Which was broken when a glass shattered. I blinked, coming back to myself. “Claris is really bringing the Maleficent realness tonight. She showed me around a little.”
“I saw. And was jealous. She has a lot more freedom at these events than I do. With good reason, but still, I would have liked to be the one to escort you.”
“I do like the sound of that.” I smiled. “My dear sir, I’m sure we can find time to walk around together presently.”
That got me a smile, and damned if he didn’t look good in a pair of jeans with a button-down shirt. “Just promise me you won’t give away all your favors.”
“How could I?” I laughed—at the absurdity of our conversation, at the paradox of feeling so close to someone while surrounded by strangers. “Also you look amazing. I’d say more but it would be inappropriate in this environment.”
“Oh, same, Mason. Same. Is there any way you can stay a little longer? I see Concerned Persons bearing down on me, but I should be able to extricate myself shortly.”
I followed his gaze and saw what appeared to be two parents towing a reluctant teenager. “That does look urgent. I can stick around for a bit.”
“Wonderful! Thank you.”
The couple was closing in, the dad-type clearing his throat in that blustery Vernon Dursley way that always makes me want to roll my eyes. “Mr. Flores, we’re Starla’s parents, and we just wanted to ask you a few questions about what criteria you used to choose which pieces would be in the show...”
Yikes. I slipped past them, but not before noting that Starla, assuming that was the reluctant teenager being dragged in their wake, looked mortified, her skin stained a blotchy red. Did she not have anything in the show? Since I had nothing better to do, I went around again, this time paying attention to the names on the artwork.
It didn’t take long to find Starla’s piece, which was...wood. Uh. There was more to it than that. Tiny lines were carved into it in four columns, clearly representing writing, but parts of it were burned, other parts gouged out, some stained with dark colors. It took reading the title for me to figure it out. The Twenty-Seven Amendments by Starla Friedman. As in the Ten Commandments, but more American. A commentary on the frailty of rhetoric, maybe.
It was propped on a stand made of cardboard with artistic weathering so that it looked as if it was about to collapse. In all, the piece seemed pretty clearly to be a critique of the default American narrative, and as such, I was for it. Well done, Starla. Don’t listen to your parents.
I was in the middle of reminding myself that I’d just made up a whole story that might not even be true when Claris appeared at my elbow once more. “I told you he can’t say no. Here.” She pushed two glasses of sparkling non-alcoholic-something into my hands. “Take him in the back for a brief break. He realistically only has a few minutes, but it should be enough to say hello.”
“We did. I mean. Before.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, say hello again. Assuming you’re interested in having a few minutes alone with my husband.”
“I—I mean—” I sputtered to a stop, taken too by surprise to play along. “I wouldn’t have said it like that...”
“Darling, don’t be so easy, you’ll attract predators like me. Come now.”
I followed Claris not unlike Starla following her parents, though I trusted that I was a lot happier about talking to Diego than she had been. This time Claris barely made a nod to politeness before grabbing his arm and excusing them to “important business” in the back. Diego nodded to me, inclining his head in that direction, so I...followed again.
Never really thought of myself as a follower, just gonna put that out there. But when there was the possibility of talking to Diego, suddenly I could follow all day long.
I found them in the back of the cafe, a small storage room with shelves lining the walls, smelling of stale coffee and cardboard dust.
“Enjoy your cider, I’ll hold down the fort, and then we can wrap the show.” She kissed him on the cheek, murmured something in his ear, and went back out to the front.
After a slight hesitation I offered one of the glasses. “I like Starla’s Amendments piece.”
If there was a right thing to say, that had been it. The tension eased from his face. “Isn’t it great? She has such a fun grasp of context and symbolism.”
“Her folks weren’t into it?”
“They were careful not to say that exactly. But they did ask why her painting of a woodpecker wasn’t more appropriate to the event.”
“A woodpecker?” Skepticism laced my tone. Or, okay, dripped from it. “They wanted to replace a well-executed commentary piece with a woodpecker.”
“Because it was more appropriate.”
“Right. Heaven forbid a teenager display critical thinking skills.”
He grinned. “Exactly. Starla excelled in my workshop and caught every point I made, but her parents are just the sort of people who wouldn’t have even let her enroll in it if it was actually called Critical Thought and Artistic Commentary or something like that.”
“To be fair, that would be a terrible name for a workshop.”
“Hey! But yes.” His eyes caught mine and held. “May I kiss you? Just, um, to say hello and I’m glad you’re here and goodnight and all the other things I don’t actually have time to say?”
I whistled. “Sounds like this kiss has a big damn job to do, Diego.”
“Mmm. Say my name again.”
“Diego,” I said, watching him watch my lips.
He stepped forward. “Again.”
“Die—”
The kiss was desperate, his lips attacking mine with force, his tongue darting forward, then withdrawing, his fingers suddenly clutching the back of my neck. Then, before I could fully commit myself, he pulled back. Pulled his lips off mine, though his grip kept me in place. “God, I needed that. Thank you. I’ve been playing a responsible adult for hours and I so wish I could fall to pieces for you right now. Also I cannot believe I just said that, please don’t hold it against me.”
I blinked. “How could I possibly hold that against you?”
Now he stepped away, turning his face slightly, dropping his eyes. “It’s too much. It’s too soon for that kind of talk, and I know it, I just...was a little overcome. Forgive me, Mason.”
I touched his jaw, coaxing him to look at me. “So we can revisit this when you feel like it’s not too soon, then.”
He bit his lip for a second before releasing it. “I’m sorry Claris is forcing you to be my mandatory rest period, but I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Is that what I am?” I teased. “A mandatory rest period?”
“Oh gosh, would that offend you?” His tone was much lighter.
I pretended to think about it. “Maybe I’m a pit stop.”
“Maybe you’re a summer cottage in upstate New York, with a lake view and a private beach.”
“Maybe I’m a spa weekend.”
“Maybe you’re a house in Bath I’m renting so I can take in the waters.”
I laughed. “Okay, you’re really bringing the Georgette Heyer now.”
“I could have sex with you for knowing that reference.”
“Oh yeah?” I tossed a glance toward the coffee shop. “That could be arranged, friend. Though unfortunately not right now.”
The curtain to the storage room fluttered and Maleficent was back. “Brilliant idea. Shouldn’t Mason come over for dinner, darling? We can’t do this weekend, but what about next Saturday?”
Diego shook his head at her. “How can I tell you to stop butting in when you butting in benefits me?”
She beamed. “I am the worst. You two sort it out, and then I’m afraid I need you out front.” With kisses blown at both of us, she fluttered away again.
“She is the worst,” I mused. “So, Saturday?”
He giggled. “We should change the day just to show her who’s boss.”
“We could, but don’t you think she’d realize we’d only done it for that reason and it would make her feel even more powerful?”
“You might be right. Saturday works for you?”
At this point I didn’t care. I’d make it work for me. “Definitely.” I hesitated. I couldn’t help but hesitate. He’d kissed me, though. Desperately. Surely that made it all right that I leaned in and kissed him now. “I look forward to seeing you, my dear sir.”
“As do I. I mean seeing you. Not seeing me. Obviously. Ahem. Anyway.” One more quick kiss and both of us backed away. “I should—”
“And I should let you.” I tipped an imaginary hat to him. “Good day, sir.”
He returned it and added a bow. “Good day to you, sir.”
I waved to Claris as I left. And then, with the pleasant memory of Diego’s lips on mine and his fingernails digging slightly into my skin, I drove home.