Change of Address by Jordan S. Brock

Author:Jordan S. Brock [Brock, Jordan S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2016-07-24T04:00:00+00:00

The restaurant was almost exactly as Michael remembered it, a sprawling building with a patio overlooking the Piscataqua River. Growing up, it had been a family favorite; they’d eaten here at least twice a week whenever they came down to Hartsbridge Island for the summer. It had its share of good memories and bad, but Michael had always liked the food, and hopefully he and Josh could make some new good memories together.

Which was an incredibly sappy thought—one he didn’t voice as he let go of Josh’s hand and pulled into the only open handicap parking spot near the curving walkway up to the front doors. Josh was staring out the windshield, brows drawn together. “You’re sure this is casual?”

Michael nodded. “I double-checked on the website, but yeah, it’s always been casual.” He shrugged and turned off the engine. “They’ve got great seafood. And other stuff—steaks and burgers—but what you really want is the fish. Or the shellfish, I guess. It’s all fresh off the boats.”

“Okay . . .” Josh unlatched his seatbelt and opened his door. “Sounds good.”

It wasn’t until Michael was letting Kaylee out of the SUV that he realized Josh might be worried about the cost of dinner. Even at the Maine–New Hampshire border, lobster wasn’t exactly cheap.

He adjusted his bag over one shoulder, then led Kaylee around the front of the SUV and caught up with Josh. “And this is my treat,” Michael offered. “It was my choice to come all the way here. And after the other night, it’s—”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Josh interrupted, stepping close, though he didn’t reach for Michael’s hand. Was he wary of being caught in public with another guy? Or was he thinking Michael was? Before Michael could figure out how to ask, Josh looked down at himself and took out his wallet, saying, “Oh. Hey. That reminds me . . .” He flipped open the wallet and took out a stack of bills, at least one of them a hundred. To Michael’s utter confusion, Josh offered all the cash to him.

“What . . .” Michael frowned, trying to figure out why Josh was paying him outside a restaurant that was, yes, a little on the expensive side, but nothing extraordinary. Had he misunderstood Josh’s words, or was this some new symptom of lingering brain trauma?

“You left this at the diner, when”—Josh hesitated—“when Kaylee led you out. You didn’t even count it, but it was way, way too much.”

Oh. Michael took the cash, feeling heat rise in his neck and cheeks. “Thanks. I . . . Yeah.” He shook his head, trying to remember if he’d even given the money a second thought. He’d stopped at an ATM before going grocery shopping, and then again tonight before picking up Josh, but that was nothing unusual. Neither Michael nor Amanda used cards unless absolutely necessary, a habit since their teen years—all part of the wonderful paranoia that came from growing up in a political environment that left no room for privacy.

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