Chapter 2: The Artist's Muse
bb
The scent of yesterday's citrus and cedar still haunted Dan’s dreams, clinging to the edges of his consciousness as he wiped down tables before opening. Bruce, sprawled in his usual patch of sunlight, thumped his tail once as Dan passed. He kept glancing at the door, the memory of Lex’s green eyes and easy smile making the familiar routine feel charged with anticipation. Would he really come back? The quiet hum of the pre-opening shop felt amplified, every tick of the clock echoing.
Jingle.
Dan’s head snapped up. There he was. Lex pushed through the door, a worn leather satchel slung over one shoulder and a thick sketchpad tucked under his arm. He looked rumpled and effortlessly cool in faded jeans and a soft-looking grey t-shirt, his dark hair slightly tousled. And those eyes. They found Dan instantly, lighting up with a warmth that made Dan’s breath catch.
"Morning, Dan," Lex said, his voice smooth and familiar now, already threading itself into the fabric of Dan’s day.
"Morning, Lex." Dan leaned on the counter, trying for casual and probably failing. "Usual?"
"Please. You make the only dry capp I actually trust." Lex approached the counter, setting his satchel down. He tapped the sketchpad. "Couldn't resist bringing my work with me today. Got a tricky layout to puzzle through."
Dan busied himself with the espresso machine, the ritual calming his jittery hands. "Graphic design, right? Must be cool, creating stuff people see every day." He glanced back. Lex was scanning the shop, his gaze lingering on the play of light through the window, the worn texture of the brick wall. Assessing. Absorbing.
"It has its moments," Lex replied, accepting the steaming cup Dan slid towards him. He took a slow sip, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation. "Perfection." He looked back at Dan, a thoughtful tilt to his head. "You know… this light is incredible right now. Streaming right onto you behind the counter. And Bruce… he’s pure character." He hesitated, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes before his usual confidence resettled. "Would you… would you mind terribly if I sketched you? Both of you? Just quick gesture drawings. Practice."
Dan blinked. "Me? And Bruce?" He looked down at the dog, now snoring softly. "He’s mostly just a rug at this hour."
Lex’s laugh was bright. "He’s perfect. And you… you’ve got a great profile. Strong lines. Interesting." He met Dan’s gaze directly. "If it’s weird, say no. No pressure."
Weird? It was flattering. Deeply flattering. A warmth spread through Dan’s chest, warmer than the coffee. "No! No, it’s… it’s fine. Cool, actually. What do I do? Just… stand here?"
"Just be you," Lex smiled, pulling a stool closer to the counter and opening his sketchpad. "Keep doing what you’d normally do. Pretend I’m not here. Though," he added, a playful glint in his eye, "feel free to make coffee if the urge strikes. I might need a refill." He pulled out a charcoal pencil, its point sharp and dark.
Dan tried. He wiped surfaces that were already clean. Adjusted mugs unnecessarily. Patted Bruce’s head. All the while, intensely aware of Lex’s presence mere feet away, the soft, rhythmic scratch of the pencil on paper, the intense focus in those green eyes as they darted between him and the pad. It was intimate. Strangely intimate, being studied so intently. He stole glances. Lex’s brow furrowed slightly in concentration, his lips pressed together, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he made bold, sweeping lines. The quiet intensity radiating from his small frame was magnetic.
"Chin up just a fraction?" Lex murmured, not looking up from his pad. His voice was low, absorbed. "There we go."
Dan obeyed, tilting his head slightly. The scratch of charcoal resumed.
"Relax your shoulders, Dan," Lex said softly a moment later. "You look like you're guarding state secrets." A gentle teasing note.
Dan huffed a laugh, consciously letting the tension drain. "Harder than it looks, being a model." He focused on Lex’s hands – slender fingers smudging a shadow, the quick, confident strokes defining form. He found himself studying the curve of Lex’s jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes against his cheek, the way his lower lip caught slightly between his teeth when he focused.
"Okay, hold it just like that," Lex said, standing up. He moved around the counter with an artist’s fluidity. "The angle from here is better." He stood beside Dan, close enough that Dan could smell that clean citrus-cedar scent again, mixed now with the graphite and paper. Lex peered at his sketch, then back at Dan’s face. "Almost..."
Dan held his breath. Lex reached out. Not with the pencil, but with his bare fingers. Light as a feather, he touched Dan’s jawline, just below his ear. A deliberate, gentle nudge, adjusting the angle he wanted. The contact was brief, barely a second, but it sent an electric jolt through Dan’s entire system. His skin tingled where Lex’s fingers had brushed. His grey eyes locked onto Lex’s green ones, mere inches away. The air crackled, thick with something unspoken – a sudden, intense awareness that hummed louder than the fridge.
Lex froze too. His gaze held Dan’s, wide and startled, as if he hadn't consciously intended the touch to be so intimate. A faint flush crept up his neck, visible even against his olive skin. He pulled his hand back as if burned, the charcoal pencil clutched tightly. The easy confidence seemed to falter, replaced by a flicker of something raw – vulnerability, maybe fear.
"Sorry," Lex breathed, the word barely audible over the sudden pounding in Dan’s own ears. He looked down at his sketchpad, avoiding Dan’s eyes. "Just… needed the line."
"No, it's… fine," Dan managed, his voice rougher than intended. The ghost of Lex’s touch still burned. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, charged with the echo of that simple contact. Lex didn’t look up. He focused intensely on his drawing, the pencil moving faster now, more forcefully. Dan watched him, the shift palpable. The easy connection of moments before felt suspended, replaced by a tension so sharp Dan could almost taste it – metallic and thrilling.
Lex snapped the sketchpad shut abruptly. "I should… client call." He shoved the pencil into his bag, avoiding Dan’s gaze. "Thanks. For letting me draw you." He grabbed his barely-touched cappuccino.
"Lex, wait," Dan started, stepping forward. He couldn't just let him bolt. Not after that.
Lex paused, finally meeting Dan’s eyes again. The vulnerability was still there, guarded now, waiting. Bruce, sensing the shift, gave a soft whine and nudged Lex’s leg gently with his nose.
Dan took a breath. He wouldn't let his own fear choke this. Not now. "I'm glad you came back today." He held Lex’s gaze, pouring every ounce of sincerity he had into his words. "And… dinner? Tonight? If you don’t have that client call. There’s a great little Thai place around the corner." He gestured vaguely, his heart hammering against his ribs. "My treat. To thank you… for the art."
Lex stared at him. The guarded look flickered, then slowly, tentatively, began to dissolve. A small, genuine smile touched his lips, chasing away the shadows of hesitation. Hope, bright and fragile, sparked again in his green eyes. He glanced at Bruce, who thumped his tail encouragingly.
"Yeah," Lex said, his voice regaining a little of its usual melody, though softer. "Yeah, okay. Thai sounds great." He checked his watch, a familiar gesture. "Seven?"
"Seven," Dan confirmed, a matching smile spreading across his own face, wide and relieved. "I’ll meet you here?"
Lex nodded, shouldering his bag. He gave Bruce one last pat. "See you then, Dan." He pushed open the door, the bell jingling, but this time, he paused on the threshold and looked back. His smile deepened, warm and real. Then he was gone.Dan leaned heavily on the counter, letting out a shaky breath. The air still hummed, but differently now. Less with tension, more with possibility. Bruce nudged his hand. Dan looked down at the counter, where Lex’s forgotten cappuccino cup sat, still half-full. He picked it up. It was cool to the touch now. He traced the rim with his thumb, right where Lex’s lips had been. A date. Tonight. The warm glow of Lex’s smile anchored him. The sketchpad may have closed, but the story, Dan felt with a surge of certainty, was just beginning. He had four hours to figure out what the hell to wear
The sketchpad may have closed, but the story, Dan felt with a surge of certainty, was just beginning. He had four hours to figure out what the hell to wear. His usual flannel and jeans suddenly felt hopelessly frumpy. Bruce watched, head tilted, as Dan flung open his closet doors with uncharacteristic drama. "It’s just Thai food, Bruce," he muttered, pushing aside worn hoodies. "Not a royal gala."
He finally settled on dark grey chinos and a deep blue button-down that made his grey eyes look sharper. Simple, but intentional. Nervous energy thrummed under his skin as he locked the shop door early, the usual comforting scents replaced by the metallic taste of anticipation. Seven o'clock felt both an eternity away and frighteningly imminent. "Be cool, Evans," he told his reflection, smoothing his light brown hair for the tenth time. "Just be you."