Declan Groves is a CPA in New York City. His adult life is dictated by routine and monotony. The need to express himself, in ways his career and crippling shyness have never allowed, leads Declan to becoming an amateur stop-motion filmmaker. The problem with this—Declan is now in love with the Wandering Artist Studios receptionist, Shota Watanabe. Shota has always had a smile and engaging comment ready for Declan, but even if it’s more than casual politeness, Declan hasn’t been able to get out more than a tongue-tied sentence at a time. And a man like Shota surely has no intention of waiting forever.
So when an unexpected change to Declan’s daily schedule during Christmastime throws the two together outside of the studio, it might be the catalyst needed to explore what’s been unspoken between them. But if they’re to have a future, Declan needs to find a way to tell Shota how he feels before the magic of the holidays is behind them.
Being incredibly shy my whole life I completely understand Declan's fears of beginning a conversation with Shota. Once I'm comfortable with someone you can't get me to shut up but taking those first few steps and words to getting to know someone is horrific for me, so I fell in love with Declan instantly. So nice to see a character like that without huge bags of angst weighing him down, just pure honest fear-inducing shyness. Shota desperately wanting to find that one question or statement that will get Declan talking is sweet, cute, heartwarming and put a smile on my face. Together they are a perfect fit if Declan takes that first step.
Love in 24 Frames is a wonderfully sweet, romantic, heart-filled short that will get you in the holiday mood and tick all your #ChristmasReads boxes. CS Poe's holiday tale may be short on quantity but its jam-packed in the quality department.
There he was.
The evening front-desk receptionist of Wandering Artist Studios and man I was madly in love with.
Shota W.
He was the most perfect human east of the Hudson River, with deep brown eyes, matching hair, and thick, expressive brows. He had a brilliant smile too, and the most kissable lips, beautifully shaped by a peaked cupid’s bow. The angel had no idea he moonlighted as my muse.
Shota W.….
The front door clanged shut behind me, and Shota raised his head. “Good evening, Mr. Groves,” he said over the low hum of Scrooged playing on the flat-screen television mounted to the far wall.
“H-hello.”
I’d been renting a shared studio at the company’s Lower East Side location for the last six months. And for six months, I’d been wondering what the W stood for on Shota’s name tag. But I’d never been able to work up the nerve to ask. Now the window of opportunity had long since passed, so it was going to have to resign itself to being one of life’s great mysteries. I did not possess the social graces required to bring up the topic six months later without making it supremely awkward.
I was also considerably older than most of the clients who utilized the art space. When one thinks of a “New York City artist,” they don’t envision a forty-eight-year-old man in a three-piece suit, strolling through the door at seven o’clock after a long day of being an accountant. Yes, Shota W. was maybe in his forties too, but I still didn’t want to be the graying old guy he had to report to management for being a total creep.
As my niece would say.
“How are you?” Shota asked, his voice a pleasant tenor.
Of course, my social graces were about on par with that of a screaming opossum, so I think I came off strange no matter what I did to prevent it. There was a reason I pursued book balancing for a living. Numerical equations were much easier to handle than the human condition.
I nodded in response. “Yes. You?” I winced.
Yes. You?
But Shota smiled. “I’m okay.” He stood and raised a tangled strand of twinkling Christmas lights. “I’ve been trying to deck the halls, but this is how the decorations were put away last year.” He was still grinning as he lowered the mess onto the desktop. “Some people’s children.”
Against better judgment, Shota appeared to be waiting for my next response. A sweat broke out under my arms, and I hastily unbuttoned my wool coat with my free hand. I needed to say something. Something smart. Something witty. I’d even be okay with lukewarm funny. I needed something, because, oh God, he was staring at me and I was staring back and neither of us were talking and this was so painful.
“I—”
The phone on the desk rang. Shota broke eye contact and looked down. He frowned a smidgen and picked up the receiver. “Wandering Artist Studios, this is Shota.” He took a seat. “Yes, we do have a dance studio. It’s rented by the hour.”
So much for that.
I walked to the elevator, jabbed the button with my thumb, and entered as the doors slid open. I chose the fourth floor and looked toward the front desk one more time.
Shota was still talking on the phone. He glanced up, met my eyes, and the doors closed.
Hell.
I just couldn’t talk to him.
C.S. Poe is a Lambda Literary and two-time EPIC award finalist, and a FAPA award-winning author of gay mystery, romance, and speculative fiction.
She resides in New York City, but has also called Key West and Ibaraki, Japan, home in the past. She has an affinity for all things cute and colorful and a major weakness for toys. C.S. is an avid fan of coffee, reading, and cats. She’s rescued two cats—Milo and Kasper do their best to distract her from work on a daily basis.
C.S. is an alumna of the School of Visual Arts.
Her debut novel, The Mystery of Nevermore, was published 2016.
EMAIL: contact@cspoe.com
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