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Noah circled the gallery for the final time. The overhead lights were mellow, track lighting spotting the pieces on the walls and casting long shadows. The old hardwood floor creaked and popped as it settled, but for the moment everything else was quiet. One last moment of peace.
His reflection flitted through the glass on every piece he passed. Sometimes it bore a smile so big it had to explode outward or consume him. But just as often he saw a frown. A grimace. Wide eyed terror. Nearly show time. Time to sink or swim.
He'd dressed carefully for the reception. He had to look the part. Hair shoved back off his forehead, clean jeans, floral blazer so he could be seen from every damn corner of the gallery because tonight he was a part of the show. No one bought art from the human equivalent of those sad velvet clown paintings that populated thrift stores everywhere. He had to look good. Approachable, but not too approachable. Fuckable, if possible. He had to look worth it. He had to be worth it. It was the unfortunate nature of the world that some people only bought because it made them feel like they were buying him along with the work.
Noah was splashed all over the walls, new pieces and old. Liam had talked him into using all the dawn photos, had even paid to get them framed up right, under glass, row upon row of skies that ached to look at. They were a pop of pastel color among the predominantly black and white work. Like candy coated misery. The long exposures he'd taken in the studio were beside that, stretching across the walls in jagged lines of movement until they were caged by the white mats and black rectangles of their frames. Others that he had taken in the weeks without West.
There was only one trace of him left in Noah's show now, the print small and hidden in a corner where he didn't have to see it if he didn't want to. It hadn't felt right to leave it out. Despite everything, West was still the root of this show. The photo was there, that one last truth he hadn't wanted to share, and when the show was over he would take it down and pack it away. Let it pass on to wherever broken dreams went when it was time to move on.
A box partially full of extra pictures sat on the floor beside him. He'd brought them with the intention of hanging them even though they were a pack of pleasant colors and mediocre skylines and flowers, none of which were his usual thing. They never left the box. Imagining them on a wall felt too much like an apology. Slotting purple crocuses and misty Instagram-ready mornings between his rougher shots. Sorry I have too many uncomfortable feelings. Sorry I'm always too much.
Fuck that.
He'd spent weeks on this show. Tonight was his. His time. His work. His... self. Fuck them if they couldn't take it. Fuck every single person who had ever made him feel lesser. Fuck them all.
"Welcome to the carnival of fucking feelings," he muttered as he surveyed his temporary kingdom.
Then he went to check in the back for Margot. She hadn't arrived last time he looked and she still owed him a box of wine. And maybe a hug. Bravado was easier when he wasn't alone.
The back door off the alley closed with a metallic clump before he got there.
"Margot? That you?'
"Not Margot," someone called back.
Noah went white hot and ice cold at the same time, staggering under the sudden weight of expectation brought on by the low voice. Then he rounded the corner in the back hall and saw it was only Carter. Good, dependable, barrel-chested Carter. No one else.
"Shit, I'm so glad to see you." Noah threw himself on Carter's neck like a wilting maiden in a gothic novel. He actually felt faint. His head was spinning. In that moment before he'd recognized Carter his heart had soared with hope. Stupid, silly, inexplicable hope.
"Whoa. What's this—what're you—?" Carter put his hands up and held perfectly still as Noah clung to him. It wasn't the same and for once Noah was glad. He didn't want sameness.
There was another thump from the back door as Margot let herself in. "Leave the poor boy alone, Noah," she called automatically before shrugging out of her coat to hang it on the rack beside the door. Her girlfriend, Anaia, slid in the door in her wake, waving once from the hip like a shy gunslinger. They were both in dresses, Margot's a sweetheart neckline in black with red polka dots, Anaia wrapped up in high necked royal blue lace that popped against her dark skin. Her braids were coiled into a crown atop her head.
"I didn't do anything," Carter said. He smelled like hard work and cheap shampoo. Even that was comforting.
"We know you didn't, dear. Noah's just being dramatic." Margot strode over to pull Noah off him.
"Just give me one more minute. I needed to see something." Noah rested a cheek on Carter's broad shoulders. He had no idea if Carter had ever actually played football, but he looked the part. Even if he probably would have apologized for bumping into the other players let alone tackling them. Carter patted his back with all the awkwardness Noah had come to expect.
Noah released him with a sigh. The hug had been, ultimately, disappointing, but that wasn't Carter's fault.
Margot opened her arms. "Come on."
Noah slunk over and deposited himself in the circle of her embrace, Anaia adding a one-armed hug so that he was completely surrounded.
"Hey, Margot?"
"Yeah?"
"Where's my wine?" Noah asked, face still buried in the folds of the scarf wrapped around her neck.
Margot snorted. Anaia laughed. "I left it in the bag by the door," she said.
*****
LIAM ARRIVED PROMPTLY at six wearing another stylish ensemble from the Cool Teacher department. The wind outside had whipped his hair into a knot of curls and he had ditched his contacts for glasses. The lenses reflected the light as he swiveled to take in the interior of the gallery. He'd seen it all earlier when he helped Noah hang everything, but it always looked different lit and populated. It was the people that made it real.
Liam made his way over, weaving around the clusters of people, mostly friends of friends who had arrived early and would leave just as early. If Noah was lucky, one of them might buy one of the cheaper pieces before they departed for the night, but he wasn't holding out much hope. He knew his friends. None of them had two pennies to rub together.
"What happened to the other pictures? You didn't hang them?" Liam asked.
"Pieces," Noah corrected automatically. "Some of them met an untimely and tragic end. They're back in the box in my trunk."
"Ah."
Someone waved to Noah. "Be right back. Duty calls." He pinned on a smile and slithered off to earn his living.
An hour disappeared like that, maybe more, while Noah circled the room, explaining what colors or titles meant, complimenting shoes and outfits. Small talk. Laughing. Flirtatious hands resting on arms as he leaned in to whisper in ears. He'd missed this. Depression and work had kept him holed up in his apartment and the studio too long. Burrowing like a little rodent. He'd missed the people and the noise and the attention. Excitement fizzed in his veins. That and the knowledge that he'd sold three pieces (cheap ones, but still, three.)
Liam laughed when Noah returned to his side to check in. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you? It's like the school talent show all over again. I half expected you to whip off your jacket."
"I still hold that that dance was perfectly within school regulations and I deserved to win. They were just intimidated by my raw physicality. You need anything? You should've brought a friend or something. I didn't even think. I feel bad ditching you in the corner while I mingle."
"Don't. This is your night. I'm just enjoying the show." He grinned in a way that suggested he was still imagining the talent show. Fair, since so was Noah. He'd been robbed.
The door dinged with a new arrival and Noah turned towards it automatically. The sound was Pavlovian. The jingle and the retail-ready smile. The words "welcome to the store" were already on his lips before he met familiar brown eyes. Noah's smile splintered.
"I need a drink," he said half to himself and half to Liam who shot him a startled look that transformed to understanding when he saw who'd walked in the door.
It had started raining sometime in the last hour. Hard. The rush of water was audible even over the gallery chatter. West's unbound hair was a tumult of drips despite the umbrella he shared with Charlotte. Droplets flecked his glasses. He stopped just inside the door to wipe the lenses clean before looking around the room with a faint frown. He always frowned. Why should now be any different? And shit he still looked amazing. Dressed up, but casual in dark jeans that hugged his legs and a black sweater beneath his leather jacket. Noah didn't want him to look good. He wanted him to be miserable and defeated so he looked half as broken hearted as Noah had felt. He wanted him to look like it had mattered. It was the only way Noah could forgive himself for the helpless want still curled in his heart at the sight of West. He shouldn't have to be the one this undone.
Noah poured himself a cup of wine and kept his back turned to the door.
What the fuck was West even doing here?
Someone wrapped an arm around Noah's shoulders. He flinched so hard he spilled his wine.
"Oh God. I'm so sorry. I was calling and calling," she said. She brushed long black hair over one shoulder as she smiled.
He turned, pulling away from her touch as subtly as he could, so he could study her face in the hopes of placing her. She was pretty because of course she was, with neat, even little features and a heart shaped mouth and stick straight hair only taking on a little frizz from the weather. He couldn't remember her name. He only remembered her lipstick smeared all over his mouth last Halloween. It was the same shade today. Movie starlet red.
"Hey, I'm glad you could make it." He smiled. It felt painful again. Hopefully it didn't look it. "How are you?"
"Oh, you know." He didn't. "New job. Same bullshit. It's nothing all that thrilling. Your show is interesting though. It's not what I expected."
People really underestimated the amount of work that went into keeping a blank face. He sipped his wine. "Yeah? You want a drink?"
She nodded and he poured her one, handing it over before topping off his own. "Yeah. Your old stuff was really colorful, wasn't it?"
It wasn't.
"Some of it, yeah." Margot's exact words to describe it had been 'a John Green nightmare of photo editing.' He didn't know what that meant, but he assumed it was true. He smiled. The wine was starting to warm his face. It was the next best thing to actual homemade cheer.
"That's what I thought. But these are good too," she assured him. She squeezed his arm.
"That means a lot. Thank you."
She lingered a few more minutes, making small talk that felt increasingly like wandering through a labyrinth as he tried desperately to recall her name. He'd been so drunk last Halloween. Everything was gone. Except the lipstick. Maybe her name was something with a T. Tamara? Or Kara? Something heavy on the A's, a name made for panting out while you fucked, he vaguely remembered thinking. They hadn't gotten that far and now he was glad. Forgetting names always made him feel bad. Faces. Phone numbers. He was better at feelings, but you couldn't call out a feeling in a crowded room. No one answered to "vague sense of possibility" or "a solid seven on the comforting hug scale."
By the time she'd drifted away with a promise to catch up later, West had disappeared along with Charlotte. Noah wasn't sure if that was a relief or not. Margot would tell him to be relieved. Liam would agree. But still... that yearning feeling crept up into his throat like bile.
He was on his second cup of wine and talking about books with Sophie when Margot bumped his shoulder. She took his hand. "How's things?"
"Someone asked me to explain the symbolism behind making my self portrait a triptych." Beside him Sophie snorted. She'd caught at least half of the conversation in passing, but they all had stories like that by now. It was everyone's favorite question: but what does it mean?
"That good, huh? Who was it?"
He pointed through the crowd as casually as he knew how. "That one. Dude with the scarf."
Sophie was handling sales for the night, but generally that was Margot's job. She was better at the necessary math and keeping all the filing neat and tidy. After a couple of years at it she also knew most of the usual buyers on sight. Margot nodded. "He looks new. He buy anything?"
"Not a fucking thing. Someone else did though. I didn't even have to flirt with them first."
"Impressive."
He shrugged with false modesty. "Well."
Carter trundled over, looking harried. Color spotted his cheeks. "Sophie. Someone wanted to buy."
Noah rubbed his hands together. "Yes, more money for me. Come to me, my pretties."
"Don't get a big head." Sophie rolled her eyes.
"Too late," Margot said.
"Hey. My head is the exact right size."
Sophie patted his cheek before she followed Carter towards the office in the rear where they kept the log book and the cash box.
Noah took in the room. The crowd was modest, but that was all right. He hadn't expected to sell everything. A half dozen pieces at most. The show was up for a month and sometimes additional sales trickled in during the remaining weeks. It wasn't about that. It was about finally getting to this moment. All the sides and angles of it laid out before him. "I'm a real boy now," he said in a low voice.
"The magic was in you all along, Pinocchio."
"I don't think that's the line."
"Close enough."
He had no clue what it was supposed to be either so he shrugged. "I should get back to Liam. He's hopeless at this kind of shit. He'll start talking about the Battle of the Bulge if we don't do something."
"Already taken care of. I left him with Anaia. She can handle him."
"Thanks."
Margot said something after that, but Noah didn't hear it. His ears filled with the rushing noise of waves crashing over him. The lake must have jumped its banks because he was drowning.
West hadn't left. He was right there, watching him from across the room. Noah's very own apparition. Their eyes locked again and some expression that wasn't pleasure flitted across West's features. Then he started towards them. Charlotte tagged along in his wake. She was swaddled in the coat he'd given her, hands disappearing into the sleeves as she hurried to catch up with West. Noah wished he could be happy to see her.
Fleeing was the best option clearly, but that took a stunning lack of pride and two legs that would hold him. The first he had. The second... Noah didn't know if he had those. It was entirely likely that he would make it two steps and fall on his face. What he had instead was a well of anger. It burned brighter with every step West took towards him. Noah stoked that fire even though it burned him too.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Margot gasped at his rudeness but he ignored her, pulling his hand free of hers. He had so many awful things he'd been saving up for this impossible occasion and she wouldn't approve of any of them, but it didn't matter when he couldn't squeeze another syllable past his pinched lips and gritted teeth. He couldn't do it. All he could do was stare as West lifted his chin in that familiar haughty look.
"I came to see your show. And... apologize."
"No."
That caught West by surprise. His composure slipped, cracking open like a geode to expose the crystalline emotion within. He actually looked sad. "I guess I deserved that." He looked down. Back up again.
"Hi," whispered Charlotte. She waved sheepishly.
Noah waved back despite himself. "That's a nice coat you got there."
West turned to Margot. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation."
"Oh, no problem. Did you need something else?" Her smile reached new levels of brilliance in an effort to cover Noah's scowl.
"No. That was it. But thank you for your help earlier."
"I don't know if Sophie told you but you can pick up the piece when the show is over next month."
"Wait, what?" Noah stiffened. "What piece? What are you talking about?"
"He bought one of your pieces—"
"Give him back his money," Noah demanded.
"Noah." Margot's face darkened with warning.
West's voice was almost deadly calm as he said, "I paid for it."
"And I'm saying it's not for you. Give him back his fucking money, Margot."
"Holy shit, Noah. Let it go. You're causing a scene."
She tried to take his arm and he yanked it away.
"He's not usually like this."
"Yes, I am," Noah said at the same time that West smiled and said, "Yes, he is."
It pissed him off more to have West agree with him. With that look on his face. That smile like he'd meant something to West when they both knew it wasn't true.
"Margot, meet Charlotte. Charlotte, Margot. You two talk about art bullshit for a sec," Noah said without removing his eyes from West while he made the introductions. "And you. Come with me." Noah took West by the arm and towed him, aggravatingly unresisting, towards the back. Every impulse Noah possessed longed to throw West against the wall and pin him there, to kiss him until neither of them could breathe. Anger still boiled through him. But that didn't change the times he'd dreamed about putting his hands on West's body again. He dreamed of curling up, just the two of them, and forgetting the rest of the world. He could keep himself angry, but he couldn't stop wanting West.
Noah shoved him into the back room and slammed the door behind them to muffle all the yelling he planned to do. "All right. Talk. Say whatever it is you wanted to say and then get the fuck out of here."
*****
WEST STARED AT NOAH, eyes darting over his face as he took a shaky breath. "You're angry—"
"No shit."
The lighting in the backroom Noah had brought him to was dimmer than the front of the gallery. Almost painfully intimate. The old, scarred wood floor reminded him of Noah's studio the last time they had seen each other. Flattened boxes leaned against the wall, held in place by a folding table and a stepladder splattered with blobs of white paint. In the dark, they looked like stars. Constellations. He bit his lip and tried to connect them into something that made sense.
He hadn't planned what to say and he realized now that he should have. His voice had dried up. There were no words. Only feelings with nowhere to go.
West had spent all night circling the room, looking for any signs of himself in Noah's show, an archaeologist unearthing clues with nothing but a toothbrush and a will. His presence had been completely scrubbed away. He might never have existed to look at the work hanging on the walls. He'd expected it. And it hurt to be a ghost, but he'd been prepared for that too. He didn't blame Noah. It was the same thing West would have done in his place.
He wasn't even jealous seeing everyone else talking with Noah and touching him when West couldn't. He was... glad. Glad that he might have ruined everything for himself, but he hadn't ruined it for Noah. Glad that there was something hanging on the walls tonight. Glad that even if Noah couldn't smile at him, he was still smiling at someone. Talking with someone. Laughing. West had never felt lonelier in his life, but Noah was fine. It hurt like hell, but it was a good pain.
West was glad.
He meant to leave then. He could find another way to apologize. Another time.
Until he saw himself.
He'd almost missed the photo. It was easy to miss—smaller than the others around it and taken from so close that the shapes became abstract if you didn't know what you were looking at. But West did know. The moment was seared into his memory. Their hands stretched across the floor, fingers almost touching. It had been an accidental shot, taken as he fumbled with the camera and joked about something. West thought he'd deleted it.
But there it was. On the wall, tagged and titled like a secret gift.
The Sun Sets In The...
So yes, he'd bought it and he wouldn't give it back. If he couldn't have anything else, he wanted that. Proof that he'd been happy for a little while. With Noah. With himself.
"I didn't mean what I said. I know that doesn't make it better or make up for hurting you. But I was wrong. And I'm sorry. I just... wanted to say that." He had other things to say, but they felt like manipulation now. Noah didn't want his apology. He sure as hell didn't want anything else from West. So, he pressed a smile onto his lips and took a step towards the door.
"Which piece was it?"
West froze. "Does it matter?"
Noah folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. "Everything always matters to me."
West knew that. He ached to go back to that moment in Noah's studio before he had spoken, the pain so sharp he couldn't breathe around it. If he could go back he would be able to do what he wanted right now. Kissing Noah would be perfectly natural. Desired even. Nothing strange about it. Nothing complicated. If he could go back he would undo everything and make it right.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't fix anything.
"I'll find out eventually—it's recorded in the book—so you might as well tell me." Noah's eyes on him held the faintest sparkle, blending with the black rim of eyeliner against his lashes and the angle of his jaw as it clenched. And God, West had missed looking at him. Even with the new weariness. He had caused that. Everything in him longed to wipe it away. If West held him, he would feel like magic.
His stomach clenched. "Us. It was the one of us."
Instead of looking at him, Noah looked down. "Why did you come here tonight, West?"
Telling the truth meant tearing open his heart and waiting for Noah to stomp on it. But he didn't want to let this moment go either. That was worse than opening himself up to whatever mockery Noah decided he deserved. "I wanted to see you."
Noah's eyebrows went up, but his mouth stayed diamond hard.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me. If I were you I probably wouldn't." West laughed once. Bitterly. "But I regretted every word even before I'd said it."
"So why did you do it?"
"I don't... know. It doesn't matter, does it? What's done is done." West shook his head.
"No, don't stop now. It's been weeks and nothing. Now you barge in here saying you want to see me and you're sorry but what are you actually sorry for, West?" It was the way Noah said his name. That snag of teeth like they wanted to sink into his flesh. "For treating me like shit? Or for ghosting me? Because you know I already feel shitty enough on my own. I didn't need help." His voice caught and he swung around.
"Because I panicked!" Nothing hurt like the truth. He hadn't realized that before now. "Okay? Because everything was happening so fast and because I was falling in love with you and it scared the hell out of me. It scared me so much. You scare the hell out of me. Nothing about you is what I thought I wanted, but when I'm with you—when I was—it felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Exactly how I was supposed to be."
His chest was stretched tight as a balloon about to burst. "But I couldn't do that anywhere else. I couldn't go out there and be the person you thought I was."
"I never asked you to be anything else."
"I know that! But you..." He looked down. "I wanted to be that. For you. With you. But I couldn't. Every time I left your studio I felt like I was tearing myself in two. I couldn't love you and I couldn't be what you want. I didn't know how." When he finally dragged in a breath it sounded like a sob. No, it was a sob. He didn't realize he was crying until he tasted the salt on his lips. "And I hated you. I was so... angry and it was easier to blame it on you than admit I was a coward. It was easier than facing my family and their bullshit judgment. It was easier not to try. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Noah swore and yanked him in, momentum driving them together so West fell into his chest. He stayed there. Noah smelled faintly of soap and the wine he'd been drinking earlier. His breath was a tickle along West's neck. His hands skated up West's arms and stopped. Neither of them moved except to breathe.
"Don't go," Noah said. Softly. Like it hurt just to say the words. His eyes searched West's face, full of some unreadable feeling. It wasn't the calculating one or the hungry one that West knew. It was something else. "I hated you too," he whispered, still so soft it was practically a prayer. "For about a week. I hated you more than anything."
West nodded helplessly. His mouth formed another "I'm sorry" that may or may not have been audible. Noah went on as though he hadn't heard.
"But I don't want to hate you. I never wanted to hate you." He leaned in to rest their foreheads together. "And I don't need you to be something else. I don't want you to be. I just need you to talk to me. If something is bad you have to tell me, sweetheart. Please."
"I'm sorry. I'm trying. And I want to do better it's just..."
"Hard. I know." He closed his eyes and something dark passed through his expression. "I know. And maybe I should have known it was too much too soon for you. I was just..." His smile turned rueful. "Scared too. That I would break things by looking at them too hard. Or asking too much. Especially after everything at my studio..." He paused, obviously rewriting everything he had planned to say. "I thought I must have done something. To make you feel that way or to make you angry. I ruin things."
"You didn't."
"Yeah, but all of that made a lot of fucking sense to my anxiety brain."
West winced. "It wasn't you."
"Even though I'm a mess?"
"You're not a mess."
"Sometimes I am."
"Sometimes so am I."
"So what was it?"
West looked away.
"Talk to me. Please."
The pain in his voice undid West. He had helped put it there. Maybe not the root but the flower was his. "My family," he said and it was like pulling a cork free, finally unbottling the monster he'd kept locked away all this time. "I should’ve just told you everything that day but I didn’t have the words to explain. Reese, my brother, is moving back. I found out the night before I broke up with you. I went to visit my family and he was there acting so smug and he... knew things. He saw things. About me. About us. And suddenly I was right back in my childhood and Reese was the boogeyman in my closet and I couldn't deal with that. Not just him. My mother too. She gets this tone and I thought it was easier to give up on you than deal with them, that if I kept doing what they wanted it would make things better. But it doesn’t. It only makes me worse. Every time I’m around them something just... happens. And I lose myself." He paused and the next time he spoke his voice was barely a whisper. “So I can’t be around them. I love them. But I can’t.”
"West, I don't want you to give up your family for me."
"God, you're still so full of yourself." He laughed. "I'm not choosing you over them. I'm choosing me. They do nothing but make me feel like I'm wrong. About everything. I'm not doing that anymore. And I know it's too late and I screwed everything up between us but—"
"Who said that? I didn't say that." Noah cleared his throat. "We can try again. I haven't stopped thinking of you since the day we met. I tried and I can't. You're in every one of my dreams whether I want you there or not. You're my ghost. So, if you want me, I'm yours, but," he began, tension thrumming in every inch of his body, "I can't take a repeat, West. If you don't want it you have to tell me. It's better than the alternative."
"I want you." West hesitated. But he'd already said it once. He could say it one more time. "I love you."
Noah stiffened, a flash of panic crossing his face before he shook it away. He made a hungry noise. "Say that again."
"I love you."
Noah smiled shakily. "Well shit. That's... well, honestly that's really fucking good because I've been in love with you for months. I didn't think I was ever going to get to tell you."
"How many months?" West grinned impishly, lighter than he'd felt in weeks.
"I don't think I should tell you. You'll only use it against me."
"That long, huh?"
A ghost of the old smile flitted over Noah's lips. "I can neither confirm nor deny. But yes. That long." He hugged West to him. "Is this real?"
Good question.
Noah's head bounced off the door at his back as West crashed into him, his startled laugh swallowed by West's hungry kiss. He had never wanted anything this bad. He could have kissed Noah forever. His hands moved up into Noah's hair, fists clenching as he held them together. "Feels pretty real."
"I swore I wasn't going to do that," he said in a low voice. He still held the back of West's neck with the gentlest touch.
"You can blame me if it makes you feel better."
"A little." He leaned in and stopped. "You might still need to remind me that you don't hate me. From time to time."
"I can do that."
"Not too often."
West kissed him, trying to put everything into it, everything he'd been holding back, everything he wanted Noah to feel.
"Shit, I missed you." Noah's hands explored him, running down his arms and back and cupping West's jaw. He lifted his face so he could kiss West again.
"I missed you too." His head rested on Noah's shoulder. "I should probably apologize for making a mess in the middle of your show while I'm at it. I know this was a big deal for you."
Noah scoffed. "You kidding? They were probably eating that shit up. Might even net me another sale if I'm lucky. Everybody loves drama." He sobered suddenly. "You might want to sneak out the back though. People," he said by way of explanation. "They stare."
West reached up to kiss him one more time. Bracing himself. He could do this. More importantly, he wanted to do it. "Actually, I thought you might show me around the gallery."
"What for? You've seen it already."
"But I didn't see it with you."
Noah fell back against the door. "Fuck, sweetheart. You can't just spring romantic shit like that on me. My heart might explode."
West pressed a hand to his chest. "Feels all right to me." He pulled Noah upright with him, twining their fingers together. "Now come give me the tour. I promised Charlotte some good gossip. If I don't provide, the penalty is a week's worth of pizza and gelato."
"I knew I liked your sister," Noah said as West led him out the door and towards the gallery floor.