Found at the Library (2 page)

But Mac wasn’t ready to give in that easily. “What? Dinner is always a good idea. We can eat, drink, and talk books, my personal favorite subject.”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I don’t think that would work. Thanks, though. I appreciate all the help getting them loaded.”

“No problem.” Mac really didn’t understand the issue here. He’d been turned down for dates before, although it admittedly had been a while, but never had he experienced such a one-eighty in a conversation before. He decided to give it one more try. “With this many books, you should have plenty of reading to keep you warm for the coming winter. Unless, you have someone at home for that job.” Maybe that’s what the issue was...he had a boyfriend.

“No, no one at home and I don’t read.”

Relief swamped Mac. Okay, the guy wasn’t taken so he still had a chance here. But then the rest of what he said registered. “Wait, what?” Mac sputtered. “You don’t read? How is that even possible? Why would you buy all these books then?”

Tommy’s eyes flashed with hurt and then anger. “I repurpose them into art.”

“You destroy books?” Mac whispered as the horror of what this man said sunk in. He wanted to yank those van doors open and pull all those precious pages away from this man. How could he have been attracted to him?

“No, I don’t destroy them. I give them new life. I gotta go.” Tommy climbed into the old derelict van, while Mac’s brain spun with outrage.

***

Tommy Garrett opened the old paned French door that led into the front of his store and studio space to load the boxes of books inside. His stomach still roiled with embarrassment and anger from the scene at the book sale. He’d been so happy to find such a successful haul and to have a good-looking guy flirt with him afterward had been the icing on the cake.

Then the conversation had turned ugly. And now he felt dirty and stupid. A sick feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. He’d sworn years ago he would never give someone else the power to make him feel that way ever again. He strode back to his truck, frustration dogging his heels.

He pulled open the double back doors of Maude. Yes, he’d named his truck Maude, and he felt somewhat vindicated that he’d never shared that with the pompous ass that had helped him load the boxes. That jerk sure as hell didn’t deserve to know.

He examined the books as he placed them on the wall of bookshelves in his old warehouse studio. He may not read them, but when he looked at that brick wall of custom bookshelves that ran two stories high, they made him happy. Each of those books would be lovingly treasured and repurposed into something beautiful. No, it may not be their original purpose, but he liked to think he respected the books by taking the old worn out pieces and preserving their beauty in a different way.

While in the process of emptying the third box and removing dust jackets, he saw it. On the back flap of the dust jacket, the photo of the author mocked him. The face of the same man who had stared at him in such horror this morning. His name was Robert McIntyre.

Tommy flipped the book over and examined it more closely. This hardcover was a nice specimen. Under the dust jacket the hardback was embossed with some sort of futuristic symbol. The binding was stitch bound and the publisher used a really high quality paper. They only did these things with their best selling novelists. He looked at the cover again.

He’d heard of this series, but hadn’t listened to it yet. No, he may not read books, but he did devour audiobooks. He stood and carried the book over to his worktable. He didn’t know why he singled out the book. The author had turned out to be a judgmental prick. But before he’d shown his true nature, Tommy had been intrigued. The question though...Was his writing good enough to qualify him as judge and jury?

Robert McIntyre wrote sci fi, not a genre that Tommy normally enjoyed, so this would be a true test to see if the author could convert him.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of his cell phone in his jeans pocket. He fumbled for it and didn’t recognize the number, so he answered using his professional script. “You’ve reached Typecast. This is Tommy. How can I help you?”

“Thomas Garrett?”

“Speaking.”

“Hello, this is Lola Barnes. I’m calling on behalf of the Minton Galleries.”

“Um, hi.” His heart sped up at the mention of the premiere art gallery in Denver.

“As you may be aware, Stig Minton is the proprietor of the Minton galleries.  Recently, he saw some of your work. I’m calling to see if we can set up an appointment to discuss a possible showing for our galleries for the upcoming Christmas season.”

Tommy sucked in a breath. Fuck a duck. Christmas was just over two months away. Tommy did a frantic calculation in his head of what he had ready to show and how quickly he could pull together a portfolio. This could be just what he needed to send him to the next level of his art. “Yes, I would love to meet with Mr. Minton. Tell me when, and I’ll make sure it happens.”

That probably made him sound needy and desperate, but when Stig Minton called to set up a meeting, any artist who knew anything didn’t play hard to get. This was a once in a lifetime chance, and he planned to do whatever he could to make it work.

Chapter Two

The written word brings people together. Whether young or old, rich or poor, when two people read a book, it gives them a common point of interest.

-Observations from Mac

Seven weeks later...

Mac walked down the sidewalk with Emily, his best friend and agent. Snow threatened, but parking was always horrendous at the popular downtown gallery.  They’d walked from his house several blocks away even though Emily wore sky-high heels. The woman could wear those conduits of torture like other people wore athletic shoes. That was Emily...blonde, tall, gorgeous, and always impeccably put together.

“Okay,” Emily said sternly as she eyed Mac cautiously. “I want to know what’s going on with you. You’re starting to scare me. I haven’t seen you in over seven weeks. No one else has seen you in that time, either. Normally, when you’re in the middle of writing one of your epic novels, I can’t get you to shut up about it. But this time...nothing.

“What’s happened, Mac? Do you have writer’s block? A new boy toy you don’t want to share? Or is it something more serious?” She stopped dead on the sidewalk and clutched at his arm. “Oh God, you’re not dying are you? You’ve lost weight and look like the insomnia is back.” Her eyes widened. “That’s it, isn’t it? Oh my God. What can I do to help?”

Mac rolled his eyes at her theatrics. “You really should have been the writer instead of me. Your imagination knows no bounds. No, I’m not dying...or any of those ludicrous things you mentioned. I’ve just been working on a new book.”

He hedged. He didn’t know how to explain this new project with her. Emily Hodges was his best friend, but she also worked as his literary agent and manager. They’d lived through her three divorces and twelve years of his climbing to the top of all the bestseller charts. If he swung that way, they’d make the perfect couple, because they spent most of their time together. Well, at least they did until seven weeks ago when his entire world tilted on its axis.

All because of a chance meeting at the library book sale.

“So,” she continued. “Tell me about it. I’m assuming since you haven’t mentioned it, this isn’t the book you’re contracted to be writing. You do know that deadline is coming fast, right?”

He nodded hesitantly, thinking about this project that was so unlike his normal writing.

“But I’ll need to start shopping this new title around,” she said, not noticing his reticence. “Is it almost done?”

“Yes and no. Most of it’s written, but I’m stuck on the climax and ending.” Which is why he’d finally given in and agreed to go out with her tonight. Three days ago, he’d hit the crucial point in the book where everything came to a head. He simply didn’t know what to write anymore.

Normally, he plotted his stories. His epic science fiction novels were so complex he had to. But this project had been different from the very start. He didn’t have any plans for it and the two main characters. They simply flowed out of his head through his fingertips and onto his laptop screen. But at this point in the story, he didn’t know how to make it right for Rex and Thomas. Every way he thought the story line should go meant they’d end the book separate. He couldn’t do that to them.

They needed their happily ever after, even if he didn’t believe those really existed.

And that was the kicker. He’d been writing for seventeen years, and this was the first time ever that his story had turned out to be a romance novel. A male/male gay romance novel at that. Emily would not understand this change.

Hell, he didn’t understand it, and his fucking muse wrote it. Well, it may be his muse, but the inspiration had been the curly haired guy at the library sale. Tommy. The guy he’d offended in some way. And now he didn’t know how to let the idea of him go.

He didn’t even know the guy’s full name. All he knew was Tommy. He’d tried to find more information at the library sale, but none of the ladies knew him, and he’d paid in cash, so there was no way to trace the man. And Mac really wanted to find him.

“Mac!” Emily waved a hand in front of his face and he refocused on her. “Where did you go?”

He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “This is why I haven’t wanted to go out with you for the last seven weeks. I can’t get them out of my head to the detriment of everything else around me.”

“Who?” she asked gently. “Your characters?”

He nodded.

“Tell me about them and the story.”

He stopped on the sidewalk, glanced up into the snowy, cold, dark, night sky. Pedestrians skirted around them with annoyed frowns, so he pulled her into the covered stoop of a closed business. “Em, this is something totally different. My characters names are Rex and Thomas, and this book is a contemporary gay romance.” He took a deep breath and waited for the explosion.

The look of complete shock on Emily’s face would have been humorous if it hadn’t made Mac’s stomach churn. It took a moment for her stunned stupor to wear off.

“O...kay. Well, yeah. That is different for you. Should I bring up the point that you refused to add a romance story into
The Outlanders’ Voyage
because romance was...and I quote you here...
tripe
? What the fuck, Mac?”

“I know, I know. Believe me, I know. No one is more shocked about this than me, but I can’t get their story out of my head. This is the only way, but now I’m stuck and one of them is going to end up dead. That can’t happen, Emily.” Adrenaline and panic surged again. He couldn’t let that happen to them. He wouldn’t. He had to find a solution to the story.

“Okay, slow down, Mac. We’ll figure it out.” She checked her watch. “But in the meantime, we’re going to be late. Let’s walk while we talk.” She glanced at him sideways. “I have to ask this. This is your literary agent speaking, not your friend. Have you worked on book six at all? That deadline is January first. That’s barely over a month away.”

He winced. Every day when he sat down at his desk, he planned to write at least some on the other project, but this new one had taken over. He’d never meant for that to happen. Thinking he could quickly write it and get the story out of his system, he’d finally given in and started putting words down on the page. But then he couldn’t stop...until he had gotten stuck. Now it felt like he was violating his characters if he abandoned them at this crucial point in their relationship.

But Emily didn’t need to know how desperate he’d become over this book. “Don’t worry. I’ve never missed a deadline. I’ll make it. I just may not leave the house over the holidays.”

“Oh fuck, Mac. Haven’t you written anything? Celeste will never feed me again if you miss Christmas with your family.”

“I like how you’re more concerned about missing out on my mom’s cooking rather than me missing my deadline.”

She waved a hand at him. “I know you. You’re right. You’ve never missed a deadline. There’s no reason to expect that to change now. But missing out on Celeste’s pies? No, my life would never survive that tragedy. And I don’t want to hear a thing about my hips or what Ralph would say.”

Mac snorted. Ralph was her hot, sexy, entirely-too-buff-to-be-human trainer, and Emily had a huge crush on him.

“He won’t hear a thing from me.” Mainly because every time Mac got within a hundred yards of the guy, it was like a homing beacon. And for some reason, Ralph had decided to home in on Mac’s cock and ass. Mac hadn’t had the heart to break it to Emily that her fantasy boy-toy wasn’t into anything she had to offer.

Time to change the subject.

“So, tell me again. You know I hate going to the Minton Gallery, so why am I going to have to suffer through a night with Stig? What’s so special about this show?”

Once upon a time, he and Stig had dated, but their combined egos had made them too volatile to work long term. Mac had seen the reality first, so he’d been the one to break it off. Stig had never quite forgiven him for that. Theirs had not been an amicable split, so they studiously tried to avoid each other within the small arts scene of Denver.

“I saw this artist a few months ago and fell in love with his work,” Emily said. “I think this is first time his art has been the main focus of a show. But I want to see your first impression without bias, so let’s just go and enjoy. I’ll run interference between you and Stig, so you don’t have to worry about him.”

And now he was even more intrigued. Stig always had an incredibly discerning eye when it came to new artists on the scene, but Emily wasn’t usually such an aficionado.

She linked her arm through his. “Trust me, and really look at the art before you make a snap judgment.”

He frowned at her. What the hell did she mean by that? He loved examining art. He always looked at the details before...

The gallery windows came into sight. He stopped walking and looked down at Emily in horror, before glaring back at the desecration.