Love Is Always Write Volume 4

figured out as much but he had to ask. "Live in?"
    "No way. He's a student."
    "He's also very clearly..."
    Stefan rolled his eyes. "Responsible? Reliable? Good with Emily? Watch yourself, Greg, or I'll tell Mellady on you. She knows Pete from school. Come on, I won't bite. You're still on the doorsill. Want some coffee?"
    "Thanks. Sure."
    He hated not feeling in charge, not having the upper hand, feeling like an unsophisticated moron. But he'd have to either suck it up and behave or forget the chance to make a friend who was sort of like him. The rest of it. He hitched his shoulders back thinking of the possibilities.
    "So Pete said you're working?"
    "Yup. I'm drawing up the plans for a kitchen remodel and when the numbers in that get too horrible, I'm working on another cookbook."
    "That's right. I read a couple." He'd Googled Stefan and found the list of his books.
    Stefan's face lit as if Greg had given him a gift. "Really? I shouldn't ask. But I will. Did you like them?"
    "Yeah. I did. No chance I'll cook anything from them."
    Stefan laughed. "Then why'd you bother?"
    Greg shrugged. "Curious. And you don't just have recipes."
    Stefan actually clapped his hands. "Holy crap, you really did look at them."
    "I told you I did." Greg tried to be indignant but Stefan's delight amused him--just like the books that were a combination of recipes and reminiscences about food. He wouldn't have bothered with them—cookbooks weren't part of his library--but Stefan's voice entertained him.
    They'd entertained other people too. From a couple of articles, he'd seen that the publisher had sent Stefan out on the road for a book tour. That meant something these days. What would he do with Emily if he went on another tour? Greg would ask later.
    They walked to the kitchen that was clean now, orderly. Greg settled on a bow-backed kitchen chair and looked around. A few toys were scattered in the corner on top of a quilt.
    Stefan grabbed a chair and sat near him. "The quilt is Emily's favorite spot. Once she starts crawling, all bets are off. And I keep the floor really clean so she won't be sucking up too much dirt. Although some dirt is okay as it turns out. And I only use environmentally friendly cleanser that--"
    "Hey, I know. You're a good dad. I already know that."
    The tension in Stefan's shoulders relaxed. "You do? So what are you doing here?"
    "I had the day off. No particular plans. And I thought I'd like to see you...and Emily."
    "Wait. Are you telling me that maaaybe Pete's assumptions aren't so far off?" Stefan leaned forward grinning, resting his elbows on his thighs. His knees were almost touching Greg's, so his hands were so close too, which made Greg inexplicably nervous.
    "Have you heard from Phillip ?"
    Stefan sat back, scowling, but apparently at a memory and not Greg. "He didn't even have the courage to come here to get his stuff. He sent his brother and a friend. Can you believe it? They had a list of what he'd left behind. They said they'd known for a month that he was going to take off. He told them, but didn't tell me. And his brother said that he wasn't interested in hearing from me or Emily. They came armed with a Taser. Like he thought I was going to attack them."
    "That's dickish."
    "Yup. That's the word. But they were cursing him as they carried out the pool table. And it's for the best. I'm glad Phillip's shown his true colors now rather than later on, when Emily's old enough to figure out something's wrong."
    "I suppose. But your life can't be easy."
    "My life is great," Stefan said firmly. "I hadn't realized how much energy I put into trying to keep Phillip from complaining. He whined more than the baby." He got up, signaling the topic was over. He walked to the counter and messed with the coffee maker. Greg watched, wondering when the deft handling of a coffee grinder had turned a seductive act.
    Greg cleared his throat. "Thanks for the other day."
    "The other day?"
    "The christening."
    "That was almost a month ago."
    "Yeah. It was."
    "You want cream or sugar?"
    "Black."
    He really didn't know how to do this. The other times he'd gone after guys it had been about the sex and nothing else.
    Man, he liked and missed that clear and easy communication. When his friends talked about all the tiptoeing they had to do with women, he'd felt smug satisfaction. He could have a good time and not have to pay with any kind of dishonest or emotional nonsense.
    Plain conversation didn't count as emotional crap, did