Page 13 of Finding Michael

Chapter Four

Michael stared at Tristan. He’d asked something too personal. He hadn’t thought chatting about Tristan’s writing was off limits, but now? He wished he could take the question back. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

Tristan smiled. “Just a couple of novels.”

“Oh.” Novels?Holy shit.A couple of three-hundred-page books were nothing?Jesus. He glanced down at Tristan’s hand. He should put space between them, but couldn’t. He liked the way Tristan touched him. The simple gesture offered a bit of comfort, but from what? He wasn’t sure. “When do you meet with the lawyer?” He didn’t know what else to ask and fumbled for the question. “I know you said, but I forgot.”

“Tomorrow at ten. We’re going to go over the will and his estate. Sounds like it’s pretty cut and dry. Just show up, listen and sign stuff. He’ll give me the keys to my uncle’s house and I’ll be expected to go through it.” Tristan paused. “If there are any books, would you be interested in adding them to the library’s collection?”

“I’ll do my best to get them added, yes.” Michael nodded. Donations were always welcome. Knowing they were from Al’s collection was more significant to Michael. He’d both liked and respected the man. He’d be honored to have the volumes.

“I’m assuming I’ll have to sell off some of the stuff. Think you might want to help me? I don’t know the zoning about having a garage sale or whatnot, donation centers and anywhere else to dispose of the items.”

Michael’s stomach growled.Where’s the server?He suppressed a groan. Tristan would have to get rid of some of Al’s things, but the very thought saddened him.Someone’s whole life reduced to a garage sale?

“But I’m not entirely sure what I’m up against, so any help is welcome,” Tristan said. “Oh, looks like the server is coming.”

Michael welcomed the interruption. Thinking about Al’s things and how to deal with them shouldn’t be so depressing. He’d known the man, but not all that well. Now he knew Tristan—kind of. He knew part of the story, but not much of it. He placed his order, then pulled his hand away and twiddled with his phone.

“Fuck,” Tristan murmured.

“What?” He glanced up from his phone. “Something wrong? Lawyer busy?”

“No.” Tristan swiped his fingers across his tablet screen and growled. “I don’t know what I ever did to this person, but I swear this creepiness can stop.” He turned the device around. “See this?”

Michael read through the words on the screen. Whoever had written the email wasn’t happy. “Do you get these often?”

“Fan mail? Yes. This? No.” Tristan closed out of the email and shoved his tablet into his bag. “I understand where reading is an escape. It’s allowing someone else into a world you’ve created, but Jesus. This person seems to think they own me or at least have a say in what I write.”

“Do you often ask for reader input?” Michael asked. He’d never received fan mail or sent it, so he had no idea what the author of the email was thinking.

“I don’t. I release nothing until I have a firm idea of the story and have the contract in hand. No one knows anything until I do.” His face brightened as the server approached. Tristan rattled off his order as if he’d eaten at the diner a hundred times.

Michael fumbled through his order, then once the server left, he folded his hands and considered Tristan. He thought about questioning Tristan again. “So, have you always wanted to write?”

“Since I was a kid.” Tristan grinned. “I used to love to fill notebooks. My mother would buy all these notebooks with pretty pictures on the front or comic book heroes and give them to me to write whatever I wanted. The early stuff made no sense, I’m sure. I never found the old notebooks, but I remember some of what I wrote. I’d jot down all kinds of things. I think it made her happy to see me doing something that wasn’t destructive. What about you? Have you always wanted to be a librarian?”

Michael chuckled. “Well…not really. I love books and learning. I want to know things and make discoveries. I love the smell of the ink and paper, the sound of the pages turning and to be surrounded by books.” The tips of his ears burned. He wasn’t embarrassed by his love of the written word. Hell, he owned his desire. But did Tristan care?

“You speak so lyrically about it.” Tristan toyed with his napkin.

Michael considered saying more, but their order arrived along with their drinks. Instead of conversation, he busied himself with eating. One thing that drove him nuts was when people spoke while they ate. One or the other, he liked to say. Never both. Plus, he rather liked the silence between them. He and Tristan seemed to have developed a rapport. They understood each other.

Michael finished his sandwich and green beans, then polished off his glass of water. He sat back in his seat. “That was fantastic.”

“It was.” Tristan blotted his mouth. “Best grilled cheese I’ve had in forever.” When the server brought the check, Tristan grabbed the piece of paper first. “My treat.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He hated to sound inconsiderate. “You didn’t have to.”

“I asked you out. I should pay.” Tristan folded the receipt. “Next time you’re welcome to get the check.”

“Deal.” Michael placed a five-dollar bill on the table, then followed Tristan to the register. He didn’t stay with Tristan and instead went out to the sidewalk. He needed a minute to breathe. He’d learned a little, but not enough about Tristan.Christ, what is happening to me?A couple of days, he felt comfortable with the man? He’d lost his mind. Hadn’t he learned from his time with Barry that trust was earned, not given? Damn. He glanced over his shoulder. Besides, he couldn’t help feeling hurt. Tristan had kissed Barry. Didn’t the kiss mean anything? And if he kissed Tristan, would that be a hollow gesture, too?

Tristan emerged from the diner. “I thought you left.”

“Nah. Just needed to be outside. It’s a beautiful day.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks again for lunch—er, supper? Lupper?” He laughed at his confusion. “Whatever it was, I enjoyed it.”

“My pleasure.”

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