by Megan Slayer
He finished adding notes, then stole a glance at Jack. He’d finally gotten the chance to speak to him. Hot damn. He wasn’t sure if Jack was attracted to him, but they’d spoken and he’d tried not to make a fool of himself. His ex-boyfriend would be proud. Tate had always said Henry didn’t know how to be smooth in public. He could narrate a travel video, but conversation was above Henry’s head. Maybe it was.
He wasn’t done talking to Jack, but he doubted Jack wanted him hanging around after the shop closed. He wasn’t hungry, but he needed a reason to talk to Jack. He’d have to order something to go and leave a note for him.
Henry ripped a page from his notebook and scrawled a few lines. His heart beat faster. He’d dated a little, but tended to keep his personal life very low profile. He didn’t want people to question him instead of taking his writing at face value.
Henry ordered a dog and fries combo with a soda to go, then handed Jack the note when he picked up the order.
“Thanks.” He smiled and heat filled his veins. Tension settled in his mind. When Jack grinned at him, he wanted to linger.
Henry forced himself to go, then once he’d walked over to the park in the center of town, he stopped moving. Holy shit. He’d made a move. Henry Lord, the man his friends voted most likely to be single forever, had sent a note and asked a guy to call him. He sat on one of the benches and sunshine warmed his face. Would Jack call? Or would he ignore the note? Was he even gay? Fuck. He hadn’t thought about that. Just because a guy smiled at him didn’t mean the object of his desire was gay…
Damn it.
Henry located another bench and escaped to the shade. He ate his dinner in silence. If he remembered right, there was supposed to be a concert tonight in the park, a quintet from the high school playing show tunes and movie songs. If he was lucky, Jack had seen his note, read it and might end up joining him. Or he’d made an ass of himself.
He finished his meal, then opened his notebook. Ideas for his novel flooded his mind. He’d visited enough places and written plenty of short pieces, but he’d always wanted to write a novel about a small town—an unremarkable place with remarkable characters. But he didn’t want to write just any book. He wanted to pen a mystery with a slice-of-life angle to it.
He’d worked out who some of the characters would be and the chronology of the story—so far he knew he wanted a murder to occur and where. He preferred to feature parts of Cedarwood in the story. He’d never had a hometown and had decided the moment he’d bought his condo that this was where he wanted to call home.
People gathered at the gazebo and conversation filled the air. The twinkle lights strung through the trees came on. Children ran around and someone blew bubbles. A few minutes later, the band assembled on the floor of the gazebo and music filtered over to him.
Henry wrote while he listened to the music. The songs inspired him and he could almost envision the soundtrack to the movie version of his book. Talk about wishful thinking—that his book would be good enough to be made into a movie. A man could dream.
“Hi.” Jack sat beside him. “It’s kind of strange to see you outside of the shop. Mind if I sit here?”
“Don’t mind at all.” He closed the notebook and tucked it into his messenger bag. “I’m glad you showed up. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“I don’t pass up the chance to spend time with someone outside of work. I haven’t been invited to anything—not a date, coffee, to sit at the park, nothing—in over a year.” Jack leaned back in his seat and crossed his ankles. “I almost forgot what it’s like to be outside.”
“Fresh air is nice.” He shifted enough to look at Jack. Of all the things he’d learned while on his travels, it was to look the speaker in the eye. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I.” Jack smiled. “You shocked me with that note. Anna thought you were trying to rob us, but you left and that sort of makes robbing us impossible.”
“Oh my. I just wanted to get together to talk.” He massaged his forehead. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. She’s got an overactive imagination.” Jack rested his arm across the back of the bench. “She’s good people, but she loves to pester me about finding a boyfriend.”
So he is gay? Good. “You’re not with someone? I know you mentioned you hadn’t been on a date in a while, but I thought you were speaking flippantly.”
Jack sighed. “I’m single because my last partner was jealous of the shop. He knew I worked a lot when we met. I came right out at the beginning and said, look, the shop is my livelihood and if I don’t show up—since there are only two employees—the place won’t open.”
“Makes sense.” He respected a man who made his own fortune.
“I thought about getting a dog. I’d like one, but it’s not fair to an animal to be left at home alone so much,” Jack said. “He’d get lonely.”
He nodded. He loved listening to people talk, but Jack had a lyrical quality to his voice. Henry barely heard the music. All he saw and heard was Jack.
“I thought about redecorating my house, too, but I’d have to be there more than to sleep and sometimes eat and exercise.” Jack shook his head and snorted. “Isn’t that terrible? My ex would’ve said the reason I don’t commit to the dog or the decorating is because I hate handing over control. I won’t lie. I do have a specific way of doing things—I mean, my God, I’m forty-five and single. I live alone. Yeah, I do things my way. No one is there to argue with me.” He blushed. “I sound like an asshole, don’t I?”
“No.” Jack intrigued him. He didn’t talk about the people at the shop or the gossip he’d learned. Instead, he’d opened right up about himself. Henry rather liked the candidness.
“I’m doing all the talking.” Jack’s blush deepened. “What about you? What’s your story—besides what you’re always writing in those notebooks?”
“You want to know about me?” Most people wanted to know about where he’d gone, not about his life.
“I do.”
The tone of Jack’s voice rolled over Henry and sent a shiver down his spine. He wondered what Jack sound like during sex. Probably hot as hell.
“Henry? Are you okay?”
He gritted his teeth a moment. Shit. He’d been caught getting stuck in his thoughts. “Sorry. No one ever wants to know about me.”
“Why? Are you wanted in nine states?” Jack laughed. “Seriously?”
“No. As I said, I’m a travel writer. I write about the places I’ve visited and have a blog about what to eat when you’re in a specific place,” Henry said, “so people want to know about the places—not the visitor.”
“That’s harsh.”
“It’s lonely.” He’d never told anyone that, but Jack seemed genuinely interested. “I travel a lot, so relationships are hard. Most of the time, partners get left behind. It’s exciting to see the new places or to visit places I’ve been to and see how they’ve changed. But I’d also love to get a dog one day.”
“We should get a dog together,” Jack said. “It lives with you while I’m working and with me while you’re traveling.”
“Smart, unless you’re working while I’m traveling.”
“True.”
“I suppose I could take the dog with me. It’d probably be easier traveling with a canine than a human.” Henry smoothed the wrinkle in his shorts. “My last boyfriend left because he didn’t get to go on the trips with me. Said it wasn’t fair I could go all over and he had to stay home and work. But I was the one paying the bills.”
“Aren’t guys too much work?”
“Can be, but I still want to find someone.” He paused. “And, since I’m homosexual, I’m going to have to find a guy one of these days.”
“I hear you.” Jack laughed and, when he grabbed the back of the bench, brushed Henry’s shoulder. “We should do this more often.”
Tingles shot from Henry’s shoulder to his heart, then brain. “We should.” He had to answer with something intelligent. He withdrew h
is notebook and wrote his phone number on one of the pages, then tore the page out. “Call me.”
“Visit the shop.” Jack winked. “I need to go. I have to get up early to open in the morning.”
“Sure.”
Jack folded the page. “See you tomorrow?”
“Sure will.” He stood. He wasn’t sure what to do—shake hands? Hug him? Wave? He’d follow Jack’s lead.
Jack waved, then wandered off.
Henry sank onto the bench and blew out a ragged breath. He hadn’t thought he’d manage any one-on-one time with Jack. The man intrigued and excited him. He rather liked Jack’s pushiness. He wanted to see him again.
A hot dog, fries and soda sounded pretty darn good—tomorrow.
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About the Author
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.
Megan loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.pride-publishing.com
