by A. D. Ellis
South Main and Gentry
Willow Springs Book 1
A. D. Ellis
Declan Rhodes
Copyright © 2021 by A.D. Ellis and Declan Rhodes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Mitch
2. Tanner
3. Mitch
4. Tanner
5. Mitch
6. Tanner
7. Mitch
8. Tanner
9. Mitch
10. Tanner
11. Mitch
12. Tanner
13. Mitch
14. Tanner
15. Mitch
16. Tanner
17. Mitch
18. Tanner
19. Mitch
20. Tanner
21. Mitch
Epilogue - Tanner
Also By A.D. Ellis
Also By Declan Rhodes
About the Authors
1
Mitch
Ravenous, I shoveled in my first bite of the corned beef hash special. It was near perfection, lightly crunchy on the outside from a perfect sear, while the beef remained tender. I watched my buddy, Barry, pick at his plate of dry toast and hard-boiled egg. He was on diet #322, at least. I was the lucky one at breakfast.
“Hot damn! I do know how to pick the best guys to work here. I had ten applicants this last go-round, and I got this—this! Here, taste it. Forget the diet for one bite.” I pushed a forkful of eggs, potatoes, and corned beef across the table.
Barry cringed as he looked at the bite of food. “Seriously, corned beef? That’s dog food, Mitch. At least try and eat bacon and eggs like a civilized man.” A splayed hand with chubby fingers blocked my effort.
I couldn’t stop myself from delivering a perfect eye roll. Barry was my best friend in the world, but he wasn’t the most sophisticated man in Willow Springs. Like me, he was born and raised in this small town with “the cleanest spring water this side of the Rockies,” but he’d traveled less and his education stopped after a two-year degree earned at the local community college. Still, he was my rock in the local gay community.
Maybe “community” was too grand of a term. I could count the total number of gay men in Willow Springs over 21 on two hands. At least, those were the ones we knew about. I suspected another six or seven lived their lives stuffed behind the winter coats in the hall closet.
My index finger curled in a beckoning gesture toward Carol as she brushed past our table. She was the best server at South Main, my downtown diner. As she approached the table, steaming coffee pot in her right hand, she asked, “Do you want something, Mitch?”
“Dan’s handling the kitchen, right?”
“He is, but between you and me, he looks a little like a tiny fawn caught in headlights. Sam was supposed to be in this morning, too, but he called in sick. I took that call and felt sorry for him. He had to hang up the phone when he bolted for the bathroom.”
Barry smirked and chuckled softly.
I sighed. “Ignore him. Barry’d laugh if an old lady fell on the ice and dropped her bag of groceries on the sidewalk in winter. You’d be able to hear his snorts echoing as her oranges rolled into the storm sewer. Anyway, tell Dan he’s putting out phenomenal food. This hash is perfect. I don’t mean, ‘Good job,’ quality. I mean perfect—crisp potatoes, nice crust on the beef, and succulent inside quality.”
Carol beamed. “That’ll be a big help. He’s talking to himself, and I was a little worried that he might slip out the back door. Dan’s a sweetheart. We don’t want to lose him to one intense day in the kitchen.”
As Carol turned toward the next table after preparing her coffee pot for a quick pour, Barry scowled at me. “I wouldn’t laugh at an old person’s tragedy. I should qualify that. If you slipped and fell—hmm. Okay, yeah, I’d probably help after a few chuckles, but only if you were like a turtle on his back who couldn’t get back up.” Barry waved his chubby hands in the air to illustrate his point.
I took another bite of the hash and closed my eyes. It didn’t matter whether it was filet mignon or a humble grilled cheese, excellent food was sublime. Full stop. I opened my eyes again when I heard a familiar voice.
“So are you two going to waste the morning sucking down eggs and drinking coffee? Over half the town’s working already. Breakfast at 9:30? Did you sleep in again?”
I sighed. It was Luke Benson, owner and manager of Willow Springs’ last downtown grocery. Under his leadership, the store evolved into a specialty food shop, and Luke’s business was a survivor. He earned an MBA and returned to the Springs to prove our small town could support a solid storefront. Most of the old businesses on Main Street were long gone while Town Center Foods thrived.
“Can’t vouch for Barry, but I’m closing South Main tonight. I’m behind the grill for the last two hours until 7:00. I deserve a late morning.”
“And I’m—well, Sandy’s there in case we get a flower order before noon. I checked the obits last night, and I don’t think it’s likely,” added Barry. He turned his attention to Luke. “How’d we get lucky enough to have a visit from you?”
Luke flipped a chair around at our round table and sat facing the back. He was tall, lanky, and ran more than twenty miles a week to stay that way. I chose the gym and weights to keep in shape instead of long, lonely punishment for my knees.
“Mitch, I told you that you should have leased that old antique shop at the east end of downtown. It’s almost twice as big as your dining room here, and now you’ve got competition.”
Barry gazed over the rim of his coffee cup. “Competition?”
“Well, surely the two of you spotted Hank Harrison’s contractors while they were working on it this past week. I stopped in to let you know that the new place looks like it’s on the edge of a grand opening. They were stenciling the name on the front door as I drove into town this morning. I’ve got a big order on the way that can only mean they’re gearing up.”
“I did see them working on it, and I heard there was a coffee shop going in, but how’s that competition for me? We’re a full-meal establishment, not just coffee. We don’t have anything fancy in that category, and I can’t see a coffee shop serving perfect corned beef hash. Damn, that was good.”
Luke said, “Sandwiches, soups—that’s what a 21st-century coffee shop handles. A crowd at lunch for sure. I don’t know whether they’ll do breakfast or not. It’s a boost for me. The owner’s name slips my mind for the moment. It’s T-Tom, Terry—nope, lost it. Anyway, he’s knee-deep in organic produce. I get a better profit margin from that.”
Barry cast a mischievous glance in my direction. “Damn, I’d better check it out. Doc would embrace an effort to eat more veggies.”
“Some loyal customer you are.”
Luke suggested, “Maybe you should invest in sprucing the place up, Mitch. You’ve got the cooking chops, but it’s all a little old-fashioned in here. Don’t you think?”
My good mood over the corned beef hash was quickly sliding downward into a petulant slump. “It’s a diner. Old-fashioned is authentic.”
Luke’s eyes opened wide. “I’ve got it. I remember now. It’s Tanner. That’s his name.”
Barry smiled. “Oh, good. Now I’ve got a name to add to the face. I watched him walk down the street past my shop on the way to the hardware store yesterday. He’s a pretty one, and he has that little strut that looks like he knows it.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Pretty
?”
“Well, yeah. That’s my best word for it. He’s a young guy, slim, with a good-looking face. He didn’t purchase his clothes at the farmer’s outlet. If I were only 20-something, I’d suggest sharing a beer.”
“He’s gay?”
Barry frowned. “I don’t discriminate when I choose a drinking partner. Anyway, I didn’t run out to the street and ask if he’s into guys, but I’d be willing to put a little money down on it if someone’s in a betting mood. He knows how to groom himself properly.”
I shook my head. “And they named him Tanner? What kind of name is that? It sounds like a soap opera character. Or maybe he’s a city boy. Where’d you say he’s from?”
“Chicago,” said Luke.
“That’s it. He’s forgiven. You can’t choose where you’re born. And hell, it’s better than being named after a Bee Gee.”
Luke smirked. “Bee Gee? Who’s that.”
Barry weakly raised his right hand. “Honest to God. Mom won’t admit it, but think of the circumstantial evidence. I was born in ‘78, and that’s the year of Saturday Night Fever.” Barry did his best Bee Gees imitation singing a chorus of “Stayin’ Alive.” He sighed. “I mean, who names their child Barry? Unless they’re swooning over head Bee Gee Barry Gibb?”
“So that’s what happened,” whispered Luke. “Honestly, that’s all a little before my time. I didn’t come along until over five years later.”
“Well, guys, I’d like to hang out and chat the whole rest of the morning while we bring back disco nostalgia, but Luke pointed out so helpfully that I should get to work.” I shoved one more bite of the hash into my mouth and patted Barry on the shoulder as I headed to the kitchen.
My new short-order guy, Dan, was hard at work. When I pushed through the swinging doors, he glanced in my direction. “Hey, Boss! Good to see you. This is one hell of a way to jump into the pool. You know how to throw the guys into the deep end. Is sink or swim your method of training?”
“That was unintentional. Sam’s a solid cook, and he’s dependable. If he called in this morning, I’d guarantee that he’s feeling under the weather. By the way, that hash was awesome. Where’d you learn that? Your resume was Italian, pizza, and pasta. You’ve got great old-school breakfast skills.”
“It’s from Grandma. I learned to cook when I tugged on her apron enough times while I begged for her to give me the wooden spoon.”
“Seriously? Wow. I’d love to eat at your Grandma’s house then. Do your grandparents live over in Marshland, too?”
“Sadly, no, and it’s no longer possible to cook with Grandma. She passed away two years back. I miss her. She was my mentor.”
It was a minor miracle to have the good fortune to hire a cook with Dan’s skills in such a small town. He commuted from Marshland, fifteen miles away. Apparently, my reputation spread beyond the boundaries of Willow Springs. Dan told me in his interview that he’d heard a lot of positive comments about me.
Dan’s dark brown eyes had a natural sparkle when he talked about South Main. I don’t think it was an attempt at empty flattery. I knew that I needed to keep Dan happy.
“I can stay back here and help out at lunch hour if that’s what you need.”
Dan reached up and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “I’m caught up for now. Carol says the morning rush is long over. Are you going to be here for lunch?”
“I’ll spend the whole day here. Yeah, if you need me, yell. Otherwise, I’ll be back in the office looking over the books and placing a few orders.”
“Hey, you two, can you pull yourselves away from the gossip factory?”
We both turned toward the order window. Carol’s face filled the opening. I asked, “Gossip? Do you see Barry back here? We’re discussing business.”
“Oh, pardon me. Anyway, Jenny Jenkins is out here, Mitch. I tried to tell her that you’re busy, but you know how she is. I can’t tell her anything, and there’s a guy with her. I don’t know who he is. It looks like you’d better take care of this. Jenny has a mouth, and it’s not pretty when she gets a bee in her bonnet.”
Giving Dan a healthy slap on the shoulder, I said, “I’ll try to be back in a few. It’s hard to know what Jenny’s up to. She can be a talker, and I’m sure Barry has already escaped, so he won’t keep her busy.”
As I stepped back into the front dining room, I spotted Jenny near the door. She wore a floral sundress, and a young man, fidgeting with his hands behind his back, appeared uncomfortable at her side. She saw me almost the same moment I saw her and called across the diner. “Mitch! I’ve got a young man you need to meet! He’s new in town.”
Jenny was known as the town busybody. She was a widow. Her husband, Creel, perished in a fishing accident on Willow Lake. The authorities searched for three days before finally recovering the body. A coroner’s investigation was inconclusive, and rumors buzzed around town for months. None of that appeared to disturb Jenny. She plowed onward with her life as a single woman and spread stories left and right without any apparent concern for fact-based reporting.
I stepped forward and reached a hand out to shake. The young man in question was a picture-perfect version of young-guy-next-door. As I gripped his hand firmly, a fleeting thought planted itself in my mind. He would have been my type if I were about twenty years younger. I’d always looked for someone like him when I was his age. Unfortunately, I was a burly former high-school football player approaching middle age. I quickly dropped any thoughts about intimate contact.
I said, “Pleased to meet you. I didn’t catch your name. I’m Mitch Aiken—sort of a fixture here in Willow Springs.”
I didn’t expect it, but his smile made my knees feel weak. The grin was cheerful and slightly mischievous. My initial impression was a young man of intelligence. “I’m Tanner Gentry. My new coffee shop down the street is approaching opening day. Jenny insisted that I stop by and meet you.”
2
Tanner
“Jenny is nothing if not insistent.” Mitch winked, and to my surprise, my heart flip-flopped in my chest.
“She’s quite persuasive,” I agreed, gripping Mitch’s hand a little longer than was necessary. He was scrumptious—the stuff of pleasant dreams. Big, buff, brawny—three excellent words that did not describe my build. Mitch stood a smidge shorter than me, but he’d likely snap me in two like a twig given a good reason.
My cheeks flushed hotly as I finally took my hand back from his grip. Mitch’s dark eyes flashed. Was that amusement I saw? Who knew dark, wiry, salt and pepper hair was such a turn-on? And when did I find older men so attractive?
Get it together, Gentry. You’re in town for business only, no pleasure. Plus, you have no idea whether he’s even gay.
“A perfect match—as friends. I just knew you two needed to meet.” Jenny smiled broadly, obviously proud of herself. “We don’t have many homosexuals in town, so when I met Tanner here, I knew you boys would be ideal for each other.”
Jenny’s gossip answered the gay question.
Mitch started to snort, but he covered it well with a perfectly-timed cough.
“It’s always nice to meet a fellow adherent of the Gay Agenda,” I stated dryly, and I fought the eye roll I so desperately wanted to offer Mitch. “I need to update my membership card now that I’m residing in Willow Springs.”
“I’m sure if you contact the society, they’ll fix you right up,” Mitch smirked. “Of course, you could always just wait until the annual convention.”
I smacked my head. “That’s right. Where are we meeting this year? I sure hope it’s large enough to accommodate all of us? Do you remember two years ago when they tried to squeeze the entire society plus our agenda into that under-sized conference center?”
“Yes! Such a tight fit. It was hard getting in, and then so full. I hope the preparation for the world-wide conference allows more room for stretching.” Mitch bit his lip, and his nostrils flared as he fought to keep a straight face.
Completely unaware
of the snark, Jenny clapped her hands. “Oh, I just knew you two would hit it off right away. Already fellow society members. Wonderful.” She patted us both on the arm. “I’ll be heading out. You two take your time and get to know each other. I’m sure you have so much to talk about.”
Once Jenny and her floral sundress flounced out of the diner, Mitch and I both busted out laughing.
“So much to talk about,” Mitch repeated.
“I mean, we probably should take notes for our next meeting. We have to get the whole gay agenda fleshed out if we’re going to push it on people.” I shook my head. Chicago hadn’t been quite so bad, but Jenny wasn’t the first well-intentioned-but-ignorant busybody I’d encountered in my twenty-five years.
“She means well.” Mitch shrugged. “I’d be more bothered if she were only in my business, but she’s an equal-opportunity nosey parker.”
I didn’t even try to stop my brows from rising high. “Nosey parker? Wow, I haven’t heard that term since my grandmother used it.”
“Are you saying I’m your grandmother’s age?”
“If the antiquated term fits,” I teased with a shrug and laughed at Mitch’s frown. “Nah, you’re closer to my dad’s age.” My gut clenched. I told myself that I wasn’t looking, wasn’t interested, wasn’t into older guys. Maybe Mitch wasn’t as old as my father. Perhaps I couldn’t use the “D” word to describe him. I feared that I was going crazy as the attraction put my entire body on edge. The skin on the back of my neck prickled.
Mitch deftly changed the subject. “What brings you to Willow Springs, Tanner Gentry?”