Page 12 of Finding Michael

The characters spoke to him. One of them wanted to keep a struggling business going. One that was started by the father of the lawyer, but was now that he was ready for retirement. Tristan nodded. He’d have to jot that notation down once they got to the diner.

“Are you okay?” Michael stopped. “Tristan?”

Hearing his name on Michael’s lips shouldn’t have turned him on, but it did. His nerve endings sizzled and his heartbeat sped up. He longed to touch Michael again. The stolen moments back at the park weren’t enough. He’d gotten an erection just from sitting beside him.

“Well?” Michael frowned. “What’s up?”

“I had a piece of the story fall into place and am trying to remember it.” He hurried up to Michael and fell back into step with him. “I’ll write it down when we get a table.”

“Well, you won’t have to wait long. We’re here.” Michael pointed to a building laden with shiny metal and lots of glass.

Tristan stepped back and admired the diner. If he’d chosen anywhere to house a diner, this wouldn’t have been it. The façade reminded him more of a factory than an eatery. “This is it?”

“Yeah.” Michael held the door for him. “Carl and Jenny bought the office space from the steelworks and turned it into a diner.”

He strode into the foyer, then stopped. The inside wasn’t anything like he’d expected, either. A long counter stretched most of the length of one side of the room. Shiny chrome stools lined the front of the counter. Booths comprised the rest of the room, but those featured chrome tubing and reminded him more of bus seats than regular booths.

“They upcycled and recycled pieces from the steelworks as well as the bus depot that used to stand beside the building.” Michael led him to one of the booths. “Make yourself at home. One of the servers will be by. Here’s the menu.” He offered up a single laminated sheet. “There isn’t much variety, but the food Carl and Jenny make is awesome.”

“Nice.” He pulled his notebook from his bag and scrawled his notes into it. He’d worry about the characters later, but the name Jenny sparked his imagination. He added that to the list, then tucked the notebook away.

Michael said nothing and toyed with the menu. He tapped one side with his fingers.

Tristan stilled Michael’s hands—to stop the nervous gesture and to hold Michael’s hand. He understood what Michael wanted out of the pairing. He needed to know he wouldn’t be used and he had good reasons for it. Tristan wouldn’t be in town long and getting involved wasn’t smart. But that didn’t stop him from wondering. Michael was sweet, sexy in a geeky way and everything Tristan didn’t look for in a man.

He scanned the menu and decided on his lunch, then focused on Michael again. “Why’d you come to Sullavan? What was the draw?”

“A job.” Michael sat back in his seat, but didn’t pull away from Tristan. “I was fresh out of college and needed a source of income to pay back my student loans. I applied at over two dozen libraries. Sullavan was the only one to call me back and that was through the parent Black River Library system. They seemed to like me and I got the job. Thirteen years later and I’m still here. I made learning about Sullavan my personal goal because I thought it was important. If someone comes to town, then they’ll start here. We have people come back often for genealogical searches.”

“Neat.” He rubbed the top of Michael’s hand. “I can’t say I’m that important. I’m not vital to much.”

“I’m sure you are. Al thought a lot of you. He spoke about you once or twice.”

“He did?” He hadn’t thought about his uncle much in the last year. “So, you know me?”

“I know of you. He said he had a nephew who wrote books and was in New York. I assumed the state and that you did what he claimed, but I never asked your name.” Michael shrugged. “Al was quiet, but he’d speak to me. I think he felt lonely and coming to the library was a comfort.”

The more Michael spoke, the more Tristan saw his uncle in a different light. He’d barely thought about the man, but knowing Al had been proud of him enough to mention him… That was big.

“Then what do you do? Write books?” Michael’s eyes flashed. “Anything good? I heard you say something to Dicey about being an author. We’re always looking for anyone who’s written a book and is willing to impart information to the writers’ group. They can use the guidance. I’m no help. I have no desire to pen anything but the daily logs.”

He’d have to tell his story. He owed Michael that much. But he wanted to keep his secret a little while longer.

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