Page 15 of Man of His Dreams

“You were hungry and tired and probably footsore, and it was time to take a break. I’m glad we did.”

Flip had concocted that fiction to explain his response to Tony’s revelation. It wasn’t an absolute lie because, in fact, Flip hadn’t yet eaten that day—the note about the piano had disrupted his brunch plans—and they had walked a good bit by that point. But what had caused him to go pale and weak wasn’t a skipped meal; it was learning that everything Scratch had told him about Storyville was true. The implications of that terrified him.

Flip had looked so awful that Tony initially offered to call 911, and then suggested an alternative: calling a taxi to take Flip home. But dammit, Flip had truly been enjoying their time together and didn’t want it to end. So he’d suggested a snack instead, and now he’d pulled himself together enough to continue their tour. He’d process the whole Scratch thing later. Preferably in private.

As they ate, Tony asked questions about California, which he’d never visited, and then they’d swapped notes on some of their favorite books. It felt distinctly date-like, although neither of them acknowledged it. And Flip was too emotionally precarious at the moment to ask for clarity. Better just to let things flow.

After Flip had insisted on paying and they walked outside, Tony asked, “Are you sure you’re still up for more today? I’m really hoping you say yes buuuut I’ve been told I can be overly enthusiastic and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Seriously, if Flip looked up charming in the dictionary, he’d see this man’s picture. “I’m definitely up for it, if I haven’t scared you away with my fit of the vapors.”

Grinning, Tony fluttered his eyelashes and pressed a palm to his chest. Then he spoke in an exaggerated southern accent. “I declare, Mr. Devin, I do believe you’ve underestimated me.”

This time Flip’s near swoon had nothing to do with ghosts. Tony was just so…. God, Flip couldn’t remember ever losing his head so quickly over anyone. Slow down, he reminded himself. Proceed with caution.

They took a streetcar into the Garden District. The car was too crowded for Tony to point out any of the sights they passed, but that was okay because Flip had an excuse to stand very close to him. Close enough that sometimes the ride jostled them together, which Tony didn’t seem to mind either.

After disembarking, they walked a few blocks to Magazine Street, lined as far as Flip could see with shops, restaurants, and other businesses. As best as he could tell, the pedestrians seemed a nice mix of locals and tourists, and chain stores and franchises were sparse.

As Tony had promised, he led them into a resale clothing shop with a large selection and scanned the racks with what seemed like a practiced eye. “A few years ago I went through a phase where I wore a lot of vintage clothing. The kind of stuff I saw people wearing in old family photos. I figured it helped get me in the mood to… do history.”

“You don’t do it anymore?” Flip took in Tony’s jeans, blue-and-white paisley button-up shirt, and black leather jacket. He looked amazing, but not especially retro.

“It was an expensive habit. I still have a couple of old suits, though.”

The two of them had fun selecting items, modeling them, and critiquing each other’s choices. In the end, Tony got a tweed jacket that Flip privately thought made him look like a hot professor—and not at all like Ethan, thankfully. Flip settled on an old pair of Levi’s, a pair of gray pleated trousers that he might never wear but fit him well and made Tony wolf-whistle, and a pale-green polo shirt that Tony said brought out the color of his eyes.

“Will that tide you over until your suitcase arrives?”

“I’ve given up hope that I’ll see it again. But this is fine. I don’t need much stuff.” That wasn’t absolutely true. He still wanted the things he’d lost.

“Ah, a minimalist. I admire that. I collect stuff I don’t have room for.”

Flip suspected that it was highly interesting stuff. “When I was a kid, I bounced around a lot, so I got used to not accumulating. I do have a bunch of books in storage back in Berkeley, though.”

Tony’s eyes sparkled. “Want to visit a bookstore?”

“Always.”

They took a roundabout route so that Flip could goggle at the beautiful houses and Tony could talk about local architecture and some of the elite families who’d lived in this neighborhood. “A lot of authors have lived around here, or at least spent some time,” said Tony.

“Did you have relatives here?”

“Nah. Some of them weren’t white enough, and none of them were rich enough. As near as I can tell, my most recent wealthy ancestors died in the mid-nineteenth century. You’ve already seen their house, though, and it wasn’t here.” He gave a bright smile.

They ended up at the same bookshop Flip had already visited, but he was happy to go again. As he perused the section that showcased local authors, he heard Tony’s triumphant cry, several rows away. A moment later, Tony hurried toward him, holding a book aloft like a prize. “It’s yours!” he announced.

Flip hadn’t previously checked to see whether the store carried any of his titles, and although he tried to look cool, he was secretly thrilled that Tony had found one. “Oh that’s Ball and Chain.” Oh so nonchalant.

Tony examined the cover: a stylized depiction of, well, a ball and chain spread atop a bed. “What’s it about?”

Long ago, Flip had learned that there was no way to answer the question without making a book sound boring and stupid—or hopelessly confusing. But he did his best. “Um, redemption, I guess. The protagonist ends up in a bad marriage that harms him and his wife. And their kids, when they have them. He does some shitty things. So does she. They’re both really angry and hurt. But they gradually grow into better people and try to fix things.”

“Is it any good?” Tony asked teasingly.

“My biggest seller.” Then Flip admitted with slight awkwardness, “Won an award. Got me a three-book deal.”

Tony clutched it to his chest. “I’m buying it. You’ll sign it, right?”

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