Page 15 of Finding Michael

Tristan spent the night tossing and turning. He kept thinking about Michael and the kisses. Instead of pushing Michael away with his boldness, he’d created a bizarre connection between them. Michael hadn’t come home with him, but he’d certainly considered it. He could’ve had Michael in his bed. Michael.

But as much as he thought about the sexy librarian, the emails came to mind. The fan wasn’t quitting.

Tristan was the first to admit he lived his life on the edge. He chased crazy leads for his books and didn’t settle—except with men. So why did the latest email and Michael both have him out of sorts? Because the fan hadn’t given up and Michael was different from Tristan’s type. He forced Tristan to behave and use his manners. Michael expected Tristan to be the real man, not the full-of-shit author persona. That had to count for something, right?

He wasn’t sure.

Then there was the fan. Who had such a deep desire to have their book written? Who would keep contacting him? Did other authors have this problem? Were they pestered until they wrote for the fans, not for the characters? Or did they ignore the outside influences?

Although he could’ve sworn he stayed up all night, he finally fell asleep. The alarm clock buzzed at seven in the morning and roused him. He groaned and stretched. The bed was fine, but the rest sucked. He could use a hearty breakfast and good conversation. He showered, dressed then headed downstairs in search of Molly and food.

Instead of Molly, he located a basket of muffins and two pitchers on the table. A note accompanied the mini feast.

Had to run to the store and dentist. Will be back soon. Enjoy breakfast.

Molly

The dentist at seven in the morning?He glanced down at the time on his phone. Okay, so it was closer to eight, but still. He snatched a muffin from the basket, then poured himself a cup of coffee. If he’d written the note into one of his books, the readers would laugh and claim no one wrote such a thing. Then again, he would’ve followed up with a snarky line from a secondary character.The dentist? Must be a thorough kind of dentist.He snorted. Yeah, he’d have to add her note into his book somehow.

He carried the muffin and coffee back to his room. Once he’d put the food down, he sat at the little writing desk and read through the paper on his tablet app. A new gallery exhibit had opened in the studio near his apartment. The chamber orchestra had a concert scheduled for that weekend and a fellow author was lecturing at three of the local library branches. The baseball teams were both on hot streaks and the football teams were in talks to sign players before the draft.

He leaned back in his seat. For all the stuff going on, there wasn’t much happening. Part of him missed the excitement of the city. He could be at the lecture, opening or concert within an hour and there was always something to do. But he kind of liked the laid-back quality of Sullavan. There were things to do in town, but not the rush. He’d get bored if he stuck around.

Or would he?

Why was he even considering it?

Being in Sullavan would mean fewer interruptions for his writing, and the story of the town captivated him. He’d be able to use many of the pieces in later tales. But was the quiet enough to make him stay? Would Michael want him if he did?

He needed to stop thinking about the what-ifs and live. He had time to write and a place to do it. He checked the clock. Almost nine in the morning. He should finish up his muffin and head down to the lawyer’s office. He read and reread the name on the paperwork. Jamie Meyer, esquire. Was he the only lawyer in Sullavan? If so, then it was no wonder the guy was busy.

He sighed. Uncle Al would give him hell for not settling down or at least being respectable. Was passing down the estate and whatever else was involved his uncle’s way of putting up speed bumps in order to make Tristan smell the roses, so to speak?

Probably.

Tristan abandoned his coffee cup and the paper from the muffin, then tucked his things into his messenger bag and headed down to the front door. He should stop obsessing about what others wanted for him and embrace his life. Obsessing about Michael wasn’t smart, either.

He wandered down the street to the square, then checked the street signs. According to the paperwork, the office was on North Main. He kept going until he found the right building. He stepped into the foyer. A pretty blonde woman sat behind the desk.

“Hi, I’m Tristan Paulson, and I’m here to see Mr. Meyer.” Tristan grasped the handle of his bag. “I have an appointment for nine.”

“I know who you are.” She slid a book across her desk. “I’ve been expecting you. I’m a huge fan. I’ve read all of your books and this is my favorite one.” She paused. “Would you autograph it?”

“Sure. Should I put your name or just my scrawl?”

“Oh. My name. I’m Sallie.” She smiled and fluttered her lashes. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He wrote a quick note thanking her for being a reader, then added one of his quirky smiley faces below his autograph. “Enjoy.”

“I will.” She caressed the cover. “You know, you should write about Sullavan.”

“Oh?” For half a moment, he wondered if Sallie was the emailer.Nah. He’d just met her.

“We’re quirky enough.” She tapped the top of her desk, then caught him watching her. She grinned. “Invisible keyboard.”

“Nice.”High tech…“Well, I’m ready when he is.”

“Jamie will be ready in about ten minutes. He’s dealing with another client. You’re welcome to wait here and have a cup of coffee. We’ve got cream, three kinds of sugar and hot cocoa, if that’s your preference.” She resumed typing on the desk. “Just be a few.”

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