"Yeah, but that's fifty-fifty."
"She's also a good weather barometer."
Alec mimed typing on a keyboard. "Internet."
Tyler grinned, mussing Alec's hair. "You don'twantto believe her."
Alec didn't have a response. He just sighed and offered a slight smile, relishing the roughness of Tyler's fingers combing through his hair. Tyler moved in, turning and leaning against the couch. He pulled Alec into a spooning position in front of him. They sat there watching the fire, Tyler's chin on Alec's shoulder.
"I don't know what I want," Alec said.
"There's the anxiety. I've missed you old friend."
"I mean it. I've always known exactly what I was doing, where I was going. Now, everything is like walking on eggshells."
Tyler squeezed him. "So, you're not writing the Great American Music book. Big deal."
"It's not just that. It's everything. This place. You. Nothing remotely resembles my life before."
"Do you miss it?"
"Yes and no. I miss the sounds of traffic."
"Really?"
"I know. It's stupid… but it calms me. It helps me concentrate when my mind's a flutter."
"I get that." He pointed. "That fire crackling does the same for me."
Alec relaxed deeper into Tyler's arms.
"So," Tyler said. "This book that's got you so worked up. What's it about."
"It's a romance… agayromance." He rolled his eyes—speaking it aloud seemed to validate his insecurities.
"Is it good?"
Alec hesitated. "I think so."
"Do you enjoy writing it?"
"Yeah. It's a breeze."
"That's how I feel when I take one of Brett's favorite songs and countrify it. It's like I have him with me all over again. It's easy…natural."
Alec nodded. And though the men couldn't see each other there was a certain trust inherent in
their embrace—genuine, absolute.
Tyler spoke again: "Does it intimidate you when I talk about Brett?"
Alec sat up, turning so that they were facing. He shook his head. "No. Not at all. I think it's sweet."
"I'll never be able to put him behind me completely. You know that?"
"I would never ask you to."
"Thank you."
