Page 49 of Emil

Anders settled in for his story about the art galleries he’d visited and the strengths of each. His focus on the main house was clear.

“What about for the cottage?” I asked.

“I didn’t find any artwork, but I found a little statue. It’s not really anything special, but I liked it.” Anders looked embarrassed, which I thought was a little odd.

“What is it?”

“It was in one of the antique stores I stopped in. It’s not fancy, but it’s a brass-plated bouquet of flowers. It’s cute.”

“Are you a fan of getting flowers?” I worked hard to sound casual, but I was damn sure clocking the answer.

“I guess.” Anders looked evasive.

“What do you mean?”

“If someone sent me flowers, I’m sure I’d like it, but I’ve always bought my own.”

“I see.”

“Thanks for helping me clean up.”

After we’d finished dinner, Anders stood, cleared the table, and began doing the dishes. He looked happy and content, but I wasn’t to the point where I knew how much was too much, so I’d joined in on the fringes. He’d given me minimal instruction, usually in the direction of doing less.

“I’m happy to do it.”

“Any plans for the rest of the evening…and don’t say work on files because that’s on the not-allowed list.” I softened my statement with a grin and a friendly hip bump, but I knew the firmness in my voice came through too when Anders looked a little guilty.

“Uh…finish my book, I guess. But I was planning on saving that for book club.”

“In that case, can I show you something?”

Anders nodded. Everything felt soft and intimate today, and the need to feel Anders and keep him close was overwhelming. I captured his hand and led him toward the back of the house.

So far, he’d confined himself to mostly public areas of the house, with the exception of knocking on my bedroom door every morning to let me know coffee and breakfast were ready. He hadn’t spent much time in my office or any in the adjacent workroom. I wanted to share all parts of me with Anders.

I opened the door with more flourish than required, but Anders chuckled at my silliness. He was the only person, with the possible exception of my sister Lila, who’d seen this part of me. She saw it by default, growing up in the same house. He saw it because I wanted Anders to see all of me.

“Whoa. This wasn’t what I expected.”

The awe in his voice settled in my chest. The room had houses and scenes in various stages of completion. I had standard dollhouses, but also cabins, restaurants, bookstores, and even a few woodland scenes. My fabrication area was on the far side of the cavernous room, well away from the painting station. My sitting area, with stacks of reference books for period inspiration, was near the window.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Neither? Both? I’m not sure. I expected something much less grand, not Santa’s workshop.”

Anders looked to me for permission to walk around, which I gave immediately. He leaned close and took the time to study the models.

“There’s so much detail in your work.”

“Thanks. The period pieces are my favorites, so I try to get the details right.”

Anders nodded toward my stack of reference materials and said, “That’s a lot of research.”

“Yeah, and I get so annoyed at myself when I get it wrong.”

“What do you do with them when you’re done?”

“Give them away. Donate. Take them apart and start again if they aren’t right.” I shrugged.