Page 21 of Finding Michael

Michael cringed and hoped Tristan didn’t notice. He had nothing against Jamie Meyers other than the guy was sexy and had money. He’d be more compatible with Tristan. Plus, Tristan wouldn’t want to be with the man who’d once been with his uncle. It wasn’t right.

“I lied to my publisher and said I had an idea.” Tristan shrugged. “When I got here, I went right to the B&B. I saw this photo on the wall and my imagination went berserk. The characters started talking to me and I got part of the outline jotted down that night.”

“Good job.” Michael nodded. “We turn here. There are three banks in Sullavan. First National, First County and Bank of Sullavan. Each one is owned by a different board of trustees. They’re pretty much interchangeable except for the buildings. I love the architecture. All columns and marble façades. Here’s our bank. First County.” He opened the door for Tristan. “The ironwork around the teller windows is original. The marble is, too. County’s the oldest bank in town.” He approached the available teller and, within fifteen minutes, the check was deposited and the deal sealed. The manager said he would call the financial officer for the library. At least the check wasn’t in the open. Walking around with a hundred grand, even just written down, seemed impossible to Michael.

Tristan remained beside Michael and left the bank. “That was simple.” He laughed. “I thought donations were difficult. You smiled, I signed stuff and we’re done.”

“I never helped handle a donation that big.” Other than second-hand clothes, old textbooks and Christmas donations, he’d never done anything so expensive.

Tristan didn’t say anything until he and Michael were in front of the library. “I should ask you to lunch since I used your lunch hour.”

“It’s fine.” He had stuff he could eat on the go. Besides, he spent more lunch hours working than he spent them relaxing. “I won’t have time anyway. Cilla leaves at two, then Dicey at six. Lauren will be in at three, but still. I don’t like leaving the place understaffed.”

“Understandable. When areyoudone?”

“At eight. We close on Wednesdays and Saturdays at one. We’re closed on Sunday and the rest of the week we’re open until eight. I’m the only full-time librarian, so I have to be here when most everyone else isn’t.”

Tristan pulled a pen from his bag. He grabbed Michael’s hand and wrote numbers on Michael’s skin. “Call me. I want to get together and not just for the books.”

“You haven’t seen them.” He pressed his hand against his thigh and hoped the ink wouldn’t smear.

“No.”

“Give yourself time to go through the books and Al’s things. Wander down memory lane. He’d want you to.” Michael sighed. “Then worry about me.”

“Why don’t you call me anyway?” Tristan wriggled his eyebrows. “Please?”

“I will.” He should’ve kept his distance, but Tristan was too tempting.

Tristan started away, then strode back to Michael. Instead of speaking, he kissed Michael hard on the mouth. A rough, claiming kiss …and it worked. Michael moaned into the kiss. Anyone could see him and Tristan. Did he care? Part of him did, but the rest didn’t.

Tristan rested his forehead on Michael’s. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.” He couldn’t if he’d tried. He watched Tristan climb behind the wheel of his car and drive off. Dicey’s words came back to him in a flood. She wanted him to be careful. But Tristan was so enticing. He wanted to dip his toe into the dating pool once more, even if it meant a fling with a guy he’d never see again. He touched his lips. The tingle was still there. He shouldn’t have been attracted to Tristan, but whatever.I could live a little, right?

Christ. He needed aspirin. His headache wasn’t going away and he had the feeling it wouldn’t until Tristan Paulson left town.

Tristan drove away from the library, his heart hammering. Seeing Michael was a good jolt to his system. Michael reenergized him. He liked the way Michael felt in his arms, too. But then there was Jamie. Okay, so the lawyer hadn’t come on to him, but the vibe was there. Was he callous enough to think he could juggle two men in one small town? Then have the balls to leave them both high and dry?

Instead of stopping at the B&B for food, he drove straight to his uncle’s home. He should’ve grabbed something to eat, but the desire to get the hell away from his problems overruled his hunger pangs. He motored to the edge of town, then turned onto the gravel drive leading to his uncle’s farmhouse. Technically, the property was in the village limits, but to the outside observer the place looked like a farm. He parked by the house and turned the car off. The silence enveloped him and he appreciated the calm.

He breathed in the fresh air. For a split second, he could see himself living here. Would the silence be deafening to his writing career? Or just what he needed to stay on task? He left the vehicle and wandered around the front yard. Despite some overgrowth, the flower beds were still lush with vibrant color. He could only imagine the number of hours his uncle had spent out here. He’d forgotten just how picturesque the property was and how much he enjoyed being there.

Tristan fished in his pocket for his keys, then made his way to the front of the house. He glanced down at the ring. Five keys and no labels.Drat.He tried each one in the lock until the mechanism opened. He’d have to put a mark on that key to remind him that it went in the front door. Once he stepped into the house, memories rushed back to him. He’d spent four summers on this property. Each time he’d arrived, he’d pretended not to be a child of wealth, but a regular kid. He’d learned how to fish, camp, start fires, shoot and cook so he could take care of himself. He’d never used any of the outdoors experience in his current life, but he still remembered what was important.Crazy.Why had he buried all those memories? Because once he went home, his parents had demanded he play a part in their spoiled situation. He’d acted like a playboy brat, but no one had corrected him—except his uncle. At one time, he’d hated his uncle for requiring more from him. Now he wished he’d had more opportunities to get to know his mother’s brother.

Now that Tristan was back in Sullavan, the real man—not the asshole—had come out. The muted version, the one with sentimentality and heart, showed up. Which side did he like better? The quieter one. He strode into the kitchen. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He should’ve spent more time with his uncle. He’d forgotten Al’s love of art and books. He spotted the library. His heart lodged in his throat.

Tristan ventured into the dark room and flicked the switch. The walls were lined with shelves and every available space featured books. He leaned against the Queen Anne chair and sighed. So many books…What in the hell?Panic set in. His heart hammered again and he wiped his clammy hands on his pant legs. The sheer volume of stuff in the house overwhelmed him. He had so much to clean out and not enough time. Then there was the book he should’ve been working on. His legs trembled and he swayed. He needed to sit down.

He collapsed on the chair and sucked in a ragged breath. No amount of panic would help. He had to meet this challenge head-on. No matter how much he didn’t want to face his problems, they wouldn’t be gone because he flipped out. He willed himself to calm down. He had a few contacts for help and could get through this.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, then paused.I’ll call Michael. Wait, no he wouldn’t. He didn’t have Michael’s number.Shit.He sighed, then turned the ringer on in case Michael happened to call him. He grinned. Yeah, he’d grown fond of the librarian.

Tristan glanced around the room again and gripped the arms of the chair. He’d have to treat his next few weeks as an adventure. Writing at night and working during the day. The longer he stared at the books, the more the characters spoke to him. Calm settled around him and he nodded. The library was his redemption. The characters needed the books to spur his imagination and he had to hang on for the ride…maybe bring Michael along.

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