Page 18 of Finding Michael

Chapter Five

Michael rifled through the box of books one more time, then leaned back on the stool. His muscles ached from sitting in the same position. He’d never finish sorting the books in the shed if he didn’t keep pushing forward. Half of the contents of the box could go into the library’s permanent collection and the other half would be great for the system-wide bookmobile. He’d have to weed out some of the older, worn titles from the library’s inventory, but maybe if he re-shelved, he could save as many books as possible from being removed.

One of the books caught his attention. The romance bore a simple title.Tristan.He snorted. No matter where he turned, he kept being reminded of the man who seemed to take up his thoughts. Tristan, despite his pushiness, was a nice guy. He was handsome and his kisses warmed Michael’s blood. His lips still tingled. But what was he doing? Tristan would leave.

He sagged in his chair. Would a short affair do him that much damage? No. He’d survive. He might even have a nice time. Something simple, hot and unforgettable. A quickie relationship with Tristan could be just the thing he needed. A good time with no regrets.

He picked up the last book in the box. The name caught his attention.Another Tristan book?Heflipped the novel over and his breath lodged in his throat.Tristan Paulson.Other people in the world could have the same name. Just because Tristan said he was a writer didn’t mean he was published. He hadn’t crowed about having books in circulation.

Michael spied the photo. His friend stared back at him from the professional image.Holy shit.The moment he saw the picture, he knew. Tristan. How’d he miss this? Yes, he’d been told Tristan was a writer, but he hadn’t been given a rundown of Tristan’s work. Most writers he’d met wanted to give him their entire backlist and biography. Tristan claimed he was in Sullavan doing research. Why hadn’t Michael done research on him? He should’ve put the facts together and realized he had an actual published novelist in his midst.

Well, fuck.Had he been too dazzled by Tristan? Stunned? No. He hadn’t used his damn head to learn more about the new guy in town.

Michael flipped through the novel. Although he’d once heard of Tristan’s work, he’d never read any of it. He shuffled the pages, but saw nothing. He shook his head and closed the book. He didn’t need to read Tristan. What he wanted was answers. If Tristan wasn’t talking about his life, then what was holding him back? Didn’t he trust Michael? And why did that possible lack of trust bother Michael to his core?

Dicey appeared at the door. “Hey. Have you gotten anywhere?”

“I did.” He tossed Tristan’s book into the box meant for the collection. “I’m almost done.”

“Good, but don’t toss books.” She grinned. “You have a visitor.” She drummed her fingers on the doorframe. “For a guy who isn’t planning on being here long, Tristan keeps showing up.”

Michael paused. Dicey liked everyone, but her tone wasn’t upbeat. If she saw something in Tristan she didn’t like, she needed to tell him. What had she noticed that wasn’t right? “You don’t like him.”

“I never said that,” she said and blushed. “Now…”

“Now what?” He leveled his gaze at her. “Tell me.”

She shrugged. “He shows up a lot.”

“And?” Lots of people visited the library on a daily basis. Most came to read the papers or use the computers. Tristan being there wasn’t out of the ordinary—except he wasn’t from Sullavan.

“I don’t know,” she said. She wouldn’t look at him. “I’m concerned.”

“About? Tell me so, if I’m needed inside, I can get going or steel myself for what I might see.” He hadn’t wanted to vocalize that last bit.Damn.

Dicey toyed with the peeling paint on the wooden frame. “I’m concerned. He shows up and he’s nice, but he knows he’s going. Since he’s started coming around, you’ve been happier than I thought was possible. I don’t want to see you get hurt. I know you’re careful, but you’re like a son to me. Family anyway. I’m protective of you. I don’t mind him visiting, but his sweet act is almost just that…an act.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Yes, Tristan seemed too good to be true and Michael had decided to err on the side of caution, but…he liked Tristan—not just as a boyfriend but as a friend, too. Was his radar off? Normally he could spot fakers. Not with Tristan. Or was he seeing only what he wanted because he was lonely?

“Just be careful.” She patted Michael’s arm. “If you think he’s good people, then do what you see fit. If you’re even a little concerned, then use your common sense.”

“Thanks, Dicey.” He abandoned the box. He could sort books later. He followed her out of the shed, then locked up and headed into the main building. Tristan sat at the middle study table. He had his head down and was scrawling something in a notebook.

Michael hesitated. He didn’t want to look too eager, since he didn’t know what to think about Tristan at the moment.

Tristan glanced up and stopped writing. His face brightened. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled. He couldn’t ignore the sizzle in the pit of his stomach or the rush of heat below his belt. “How’d it go with the lawyer?”

“Good. I’ve got lots of new information, keys and checks. Jamie was thorough. I swear, I learned too much. My brain will explode.” Tristan stood. “I didn’t know my uncle well in the last few years, but I’m glad you were tight with him.”

Michael tensed. He’d have to open up about how well he knew Al sooner rather than later. But not now. “He came in for books. I got the westerns in that he liked and he borrowed them.” Better than telling the whole truth.

“Yeah, I remember you saying so.” Tristan pulled a piece of paper from his bag. “My uncle bequeathed all of his books to the library. I bet you didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t.” Michael’s knees buckled. If he’d thought he had too many hardbacks to deal with in the shed, he could only imagine how many Tristan would be donating. Al had been a voracious reader and at Michael’s last count, Al had over three hundred books. Where in the hell would he put all the new additions? He didn’t have much room.

“Well, he did. I’ll need you to help me box and move them here.” Tristan opened the folded page. “This is for you.”

---