“Thanks,” the boy says. He raises a cup in a toast, then walks off.
Felix winces, swiping the wet trails off his cheeks. “Damn it.”
“I’m here if you wanna talk,” Kade says, watching him solemnly.
“Okay.” Felix swallows, turning back to the painting, mixing water with bright lemon yellow.
To the side, Kade leans back in his chair, tipping his face to the sky. “I haven’t heard from Chris and Sam in a couple years.”
Felix glances at him. “You haven’t? But they’re your brothers.”
Kade shrugs. “They left after Dad died. I think they were trying to cope in their own way. They’ve been helping with the house payment, though. There’s checks in the mail sometimes.”
“That’s nice,” Felix says. He ducks his head, hiding his wince. He should have helped, too, but he’d been away in Highton, trying to secure buyers and art shows. “I should have been here.”
He feels the prickle of Kade’s gaze again, but Kade doesn’t speak. So Felix paints, adding first the pastel greens and pinks, then the burnished hues of red roof tiles, and the spreading wings of fluttering birds.
While he layers finer details into the houses, he thinks about Kade’s father, about Kade’s loss, about all the things that could have gone right between them, but didn’t. Neighbors and passers-by drive up to their lemonade stand, a steady trickle of people that walk up with smiles, and then head off with colorful cups of lemonade.
“It’s doing better than I expected,” Felix says when they’re down to twenty plastic cups. The watercolor is done, a quick painting of this street, and he clips it to the back of the easel to dry. “I mean... I thought we’d just have five customers.”
“We’re gonna need another batch,” Kade says, nodding at the almost-empty jug. “And some sunblock too. You’re turning pink.”
“I am?” Felix rubs his cheeks, frowning. Now that he’s paying attention to himself, he feels the prickle of sunburn on his face. “Oops.”
Kade sighs, glancing up at the sun. “It’s just past three. Do you wanna go back and make another jug? And get a hat or something if you don’t have sunblock.”
“I have a hat,” Felix says. “Do you need one too?” Kade shrugs, so Felix rests a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Kade lets his hand stay. “Right. I’ll be back with more lemonade.”
Kade nods. Felix jogs home, thinking about the painting he left out to dry. Maybe he should have left a price on that with Kade, but in this neighborhood, he doesn’t know if anyone would be interested in a painting. People had been more willing to pay for art back in Highton. He sighs, stumbling into his home, and heads for the kitchen.
The sun glares when he steps out ten minutes later, with a full jug of lemonade and hats under his arm. He hurries back to the lemonade stand, thinking they’ll still have twenty plastic cups, maybe nineteen. Kade will be staring at the cars driving past, bored.
What he doesn’t expect to find is an old man in a baggy T-shirt and trousers, peering at the painting through his glasses. He smells like fresh-cut grass.
“He’s the one who painted it,” Kade says, nodding when Felix steps closer. To Felix, he says, “This guy wants to buy your painting.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” the man says, his rheumy eyes magnified by his glasses. He looks up at Felix, smiling brightly. “My husband and I have been living on this street for thirty years. I think he’ll love this painting.”
Felix smiles, his heart leaping. “That’s really sweet. I’m very touched that you like it.”
“How much do you want for it?” the man asks.
Felix hesitates. He doesn’t want to price the painting too high, because it’ll feel like he’s cheating the old man of his money. Not everyone in this neighborhood can afford things like that. So he begins to say Thirty, but Kade cuts in. “Fifty.”
Felix stares at his bondmate, eyes wide. Fifty?
Kade raises an eyebrow. Are you gonna say no?
“Fifty is a good price,” the old beta says. Felix gapes at him. The man pulls out his wallet, thumbing through the bills inside. Felix sets the jug of lemonade down so he won’t drop it. It’s very generous of the man. He accepts the notes when the man hands it over, unclipping the painting from his easel. “You haven’t signed it yet.”
“I guess I haven’t.” He’d forgotten about that, too, while he’d been busy thinking about the lemonade. Both Kade and the old man watch as he scrawls his signature at the bottom of the painting, before handing it over with a flourish. “I hope you and your husband enjoy this painting! If you’d like to reach me, my phone number and email address are here.”
The man accepts his postcards. Felix watches as he strolls back down the street, disappearing behind a wall of bougainvillea bushes.
“I feel bad about the price,” Felix says, sinking into the seat next to Kade. He stares at the notes in his hand—some crisp, some ragged—and rubs his thumb over them.
“He agreed to pay for it,” Kade says. “People value things they sink money into.”
He looks back at the money, thinking about the old man and his husband, about Kade and valuable things. “What if you didn’t pay for something? Would you still value them?” You didn’t pay for me.
Kade studies him quietly, as though he sees through Felix’s question. Felix gulps. “Some things we don’t pay for with cash,” Kade murmurs, “but with everything else.”
He doesn’t know what Kade means by that, so he looks at his hands, folding the notes up. “Here, the fifty dollars for the website.”
Kade’s lips pull into a smile. “Keep it. I said I’m taking the profits from this, remember?”
“Well, I’d rather pay you back,” Felix says, extending the stack of notes to
