“I should get back to work.” Martin ignored the flash of hurt along his sternum as Seb led Kenneth away, their laughter trailing behind them, leaving Martin alone in the store.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” Seb asked. Kenneth threw a small overnight bag on the couch.
“Happy to see me?”
“That depends on why you’ve appeared in my town with no warning.”
Kenneth almost never came to Seacroft, preferring to have their meetings over the phone or Skype, or coercing Seb to come up to Raleigh to talk about something really important. Everything about Kenneth was urban and stylish, so nothing about Seacroft fit him.
Kenneth flipped through a book on Seb’s table, one of the ones he’d found the week before with Martin. It was another pictorial history, a chronicle of the parties and extravagances of the last century’s Hollywood golden age.
“Oh, I like this,” Kenneth said as he turned the pages.
“Thanks. But, Kenny, what are you doing here?”
“Tell me more about that little darling downstairs. He’s cute. A bit twitchy, but I can help him with that.”
“He’s not on the market.”
“Honey, you’ve been in White Bread Land too long if you think that boy is straight.”
“He’s not straight.”
“Perfect!”
“Kenny.” Seb clenched his jaw to force the words out slowly. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
Kenneth flopped down on the couch and sighed. “Anton left.”
“Who?”
“I told you about him.”
“No, you didn’t.” Not that he could recall, but it didn’t matter, Seb had his answer. Kenneth’s latest boy toy had split, and he was bored.
“Sure I did. Greek. Tattoos. Super flexible?”
“You should have called first. You know I’m working. And I botched a piece last week so I had to start over. Now’s really not a good time.” Seb moved a stack of books off one of the chairs around his work table so he could sit down.
“Are you behind?” Kenneth lifted his head off the back of the couch. “How far?” Leave it to Kenneth to switch from personal angst to business in an instant at the first indication of something going off track. With him, business came first. Flexible, tattooed man candy was second.
“It’s fine. If I work through the weekend,” he leaned on the last word, trying to get Kenneth to take the hint, “and put in a couple more late nights next week, I’ll be mostly back on schedule.”
“Fine. You always say fine. That’s the other reason I’m here. I’m not sure you know what fine is. Let me see what you’ve got.”
Seb pulled the pieces for the Schiller exhibit off the shelf, laying them out on the table for Kenneth’s inspection.
“I’m going to try to get you a reading at the opening,” Kenneth said.
“What? Why?”
No one had paid much attention to his earlier found poetry works in a while. The pictorial pieces were more accessible and gave Seb a greater variety of material to work from. Despite what Martin might say about a writer’s words being sacred, Seb had always seen it as making something of his own. Drawing inspiration from what was around him. No different than painting sunsets or drawing the faces of the people who came into the bookstore. Martin seemed to be coming around to the idea though. Maybe if Seb read one of the carved works to him he’d understand. He might like poetry. His thesis had been about a poet, so that had to be a good sign, right?
“Hello?” Kenneth’s hand waved across Seb’s vision, making him blink.
“Sorry. You were saying?”
