Top Shelf: A Seacroft Novel Read online

  Martin frowned, but the comment made Seb laugh.

  “Kenny’s mostly harmless. He tends to go for quantity over quality in his conversations.”

  Martin gave them both a tight smile, trying to get his footing. This man was Seb’s friend, and Seb was, he hoped, Martin’s friend, so he should at least try.

  “Seb says you’re his agent?”

  “Among other things. Sebastian’s endeavors only keep me so busy. I represent a few other creative individuals in the region, and dabble in real estate on the side.”

  “Kenny flips houses.”

  “Not me, personally.” Kenneth put a hand to his throat. “I’ve never been handy. But I know a good investment when I see one, and a crew of strong men with tools is always fun to have around, don’t you think?”

  Seb laughed. The history between them was obvious. The extent of their togetherness wasn’t clear, but their schtick was born of years of familiarity. Martin tried to ignore the growing feeling of being the third wheel.

  “How long have you known each other?” he asked.

  Kenneth smirked again and glanced at Seb. “Too long. We were in college together until Seb dropped out. He was the best wingman a guy could ask for, though, so I felt I should return the favor and keep his artistic ass out of debt and obscurity once I graduated.”

  “You dropped out of college?” Martin asked.

  Seb squinted at him, then at Kenneth, but he shrugged. “They weren’t teaching me anything I didn’t already know.”

  “A man of the people, our Sebastian.” Kenneth smiled. “Who needs a diploma from the elitist college system when you can scrape together a living using a utility knife and glue?”

  “I don’t hear you complaining when your commission check rolls in.”

  Kenneth inclined his head. “And what about yourself?” he asked Martin. “Sebastian says you’re illuminating the world on the works of lost poets and gay icons.”

  Martin gripped his mug a little tighter. They had talked about him. Seb had told Kenneth about his research. Fear pinged in his chest over what else Seb might have said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Martin said. “Bergmann was a man who stood up for what he believed in while facing incredible evil. He wasn’t trying to be an icon.”

  “Real icons never are.” Kenneth quirked an eyebrow.

  “You said he was an activist, though?” Seb sounded interested, whereas Kenneth sounded like he was looking for an opportunity to make a joke. Martin focused his attention on Seb and was rewarded with a smile that made his heart skip.

  “Bergmann was part of a group of poets and artists who met regularly and produced work with queer themes. Most people don’t know that Germany was pretty socially liberal in the years between the wars. Bergmann lived with another man, Oscar Strauss, and it’s thought that they were lovers.”

  Kenneth opened his mouth to speak, but Seb jumped in first. “You said they only found out about Bergmann’s works in the last thirty years or so?”

  Martin nodded. He admired Bergmann’s story and enjoyed telling it, despite the tragedy of its ending.

  “There were a few poems known beforehand that have been attributed to him in the last decade, but until they found the box of his drafts, there just wasn’t enough evidence to prove that they had all been written by one poet. Strauss fled to Belgium as the political climate changed, but Bergmann stayed. In his letters to Strauss, he talks about how the Nazis were looking for collaborators, members of their inner circle who would turn on the others in return for protection. As far as we can tell, Bergmann refused, and they shipped him to a concentration camp.”

  “Tragic,” Kenneth said. “So, Dr. Lindsey. What brings you from the ivory towers to this charming little backwater? Sebastian says it must be witness protection, but I think it has to be something more nefarious.”

  Martin’s next breath got caught in his throat. Even Seb’s smile tightened in the corners.

  “Kenny, come on.” Seb nudged him gently in the ribs. “That’s not what I said.”

  “What did you say?” The happy little buzz under Martin’s skin at the chance to talk about his work died.

  Seb was looking downright uncomfortable now. “Nothing. I told him a bit about your research, and that you worked at Mount Garner. That’s all.”

  The server appeared with their food, announcing each dish cheerily, while Martin glared across the table.

  “Sebastian’s father has a long association with the academic world, did he tell you that?” Kenneth asked as he cut into his omelet.

  Martin poked at his yogurt. “He said he used to teach.”

  “Used to teach? You make it sound like he led story time and gym class.” Kenneth laughed. “Philip Stevenson was a giant in his field, wasn’t he?”

  Seb grunted.

  “Your father is Philip Stevenson?” Cold rushed through Martin. If Seb told Kenneth about Mount Garner, had he told other people? His family?

  Seb glanced up from his breakfast with flat eyes. “You’ve heard of him, I suppose.”

  “He was the AHI Chair on European Literature. Of course I know who he is.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve never crossed paths,” Kenneth said.

  They had. Sort of. Martin had gone to enough conferences in his career to have seen Philip Stevenson a few times. To say their paths crossed was generous. It was more like playing six degrees of Kevin Bacon, the university edition. Martin stuck close to his supervisors and immediate colleagues, while Philip Stevenson glided through the room on a cloud of impressive dignity and publication credits.

  “You didn’t tell me.” Martin said again. He picked at his yogurt, but the flavor was sour.

  “I know!” Kenneth’s eyes went wide. “You can’t stay locked away in witness protection forever. Sebastian, you should introduce Dr. Lindsey here to your father!”

  9

  Kenneth was the worst kind of shit disturber, and Seb was going to kill him as soon as he came up with somewhere convenient to hide the body. He’d been caught up in the banter that he and Kenneth had developed over years and had stumbled blindly right into trouble as Kenneth led the conversation to Seb’s father.

  Kenneth leered at him, like he was still waiting for the “Who’s there?” to a terrible knock-knock joke. Martin’s face was clouded with a mix of hurt and anger that Seb didn’t understand.

  “What time are you heading back to the city?” he asked Kenneth.

  Kenneth frowned. “It’s only Saturday. I thought I might—”

  “I have to get some work done. Big show coming up, remember? Can’t tell the Schiller people that I’m late on the delivery because my agent distracted me, can I?”

  Kenneth’s lips thinned. “Of course not.”

  The rest of their meal was awkward. Martin spoke when spoken to, and Kenneth’s teasing turned half-hearted, which left Seb with the task of trying to keep conversation going. Mostly, they ate in silence. Seb snuck glances at Martin and tried to understand what part had upset him so much. Was he angry that Seb hadn’t told him who his father was?

  Back at the bookstore, Seb hustled Kenneth up to the apartment before he had the chance to say anything else to Martin.

  “I don’t know what game you came up here to play, but you can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that, right?”

  “Of course!” Kenneth’s smile was unrepentant. “Although in fairness, I didn’t come up here with a game plan. I wanted to check in on you. But then I saw that beautiful man downstairs, and—”

  “You can’t fuck with him like that! There was no reason for you to be such an ass!”

  “I beg to differ.” Kenneth collected his overnight bag and stuffed his scarf into it. “Watching the way you lurched to protect him at every opportunity has been all the payoff I need.”

  “What?” Confusion blended with Seb’s irritation.

  “You’re such a sucker for outcasts and lost causes. How could you not be attracted to him?”
r />   “I’m not!” He sounded petulant, even to his own ears.

  “Of course you aren’t, honey.” Kenneth rested a palm on his cheek. “It’s understandable. Those hangdog eyes follow you everywhere. It has to be good for your already considerable ego. And he has an amazing ass. You’ve noticed, right? Good thing he’s so calorie conscious.”

  Seb ground his teeth and tried not picture Martin’s ass. “Please call the next time you want to make the trip out here, okay? I’ll make sure to be out of town.”

  Kenneth snorted as he zipped his bag shut.

  “I think twenty-four hours in this tourist trap will last me for at least a decade.” He reached out and pulled Seb into a quick hug. Seb held himself stiff for a second before he relaxed enough to pat Kenneth’s shoulder. Seb knew exactly who his friend was. Kenneth would always have his back, even if it was to stick the occasional knife into it.

  * * *

  Seb waited until just before six o’clock to go back down to the shop. Martin and Cass were huddled around her laptop.

  “It’s still stupid.” She slumped back in her seat.

  Martin glanced over the top of the laptop screen to meet Seb’s eyes, but as Seb went to wave a silent greeting, Martin quickly looked away again. He squinted and chewed on his lower lip.

  “What’s the first piece of art you remember making that you were really proud of?” he asked. Cass shrugged, and Martin’s face went pinched. “Okay, go home and ask your parents what they remember.”

  Cass snorted. “They’re going to say something stupid like the time I thought I’d fingerprinted a whole galaxy on craft paper.”

  Seb smiled. He’d had some of those. He’d shown them proudly to his grandmother, so enthralled with the way the colors swirled and splattered together. The whole universe on a piece of smooth white paper.

  “Ask them.” Martin put his hands on his hips and snuck another look at Seb. “Make a list. I have an idea, but you need the list first.”

  “Okay.” Cass shrugged into her coat and slipped the backpack over her shoulders. “I’ll see you later.” She let herself out. Martin followed her and locked the door with a click. When he turned, his gaze was on his shoes, and he made as if to walk past Seb, so Seb reached out and caught him by the wrist.

  “Kenneth went back to the city.”

  “I saw that. He blew me a kiss as he walked out.”

  Seb smothered a laugh. Even after he’d told Kenneth not to be an ass, he couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m sorry if he—He was a jerk at lunch. I’m sorry about that.”

  “You’re sorry?” Martin pushed his chin forward. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened before I left my job so you could turn around and tell your friends. I’d hoped I could trust you more than that.”

  “I didn’t—I mean you can—” Seb floundered, while Martin’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “He knew an awful lot about me.” His voice was low. “Where I worked, what I studied. I guess he got all that from you.”

  Seb pursed his lips. “I only gave him the basics.”

  “Witness protection?”

  Okay. Maybe a little more than the basics.

  “Did you tell him why I lost my job, or did you let him assume I was sleeping with my students like you did?”

  Seb’s pulse picked up at the hurt on Martin’s face. The witness protection joke seemed harmless enough in his apartment, but Martin was clearly upset. “I just said you’d left. But I’m sorry.” He meant it. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  Martin crossed his arms over his chest. Instead of his usual plaid shirts, today he wore a dark henley. It stretched tight over his shoulders, proving once and for all there was some muscle on his lean frame. The worst part was Kenneth might be right. Seb seemed incapable of ever saying the correct thing around Martin, but, mixed up in his desire to take care of him, Seb also felt more than a passing attraction to the nervous professor.

  “Is your father really Philip Stevenson?” Martin asked, and Seb’s musings cut off abruptly.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Unfortunately? He must be—”

  “A pompous jerk who is only interested in spending time with the people he deems worthy of his interest and presence? Basically, yes. I haven’t made the cut for years.”

  Martin frowned, probably as he tried to reconcile the legendary Dr. Stevenson and his entourage of tweedy admirers with Seb’s words.

  “It’s fine.” He clapped Martin’s shoulder, relieved when Martin didn’t move away or brush him off. Maybe he’d earn some forgiveness after all. “He’d like you. He just doesn’t like me.”

  “I saw him speak at a conference. He talked about representations of nature in post-World War II Italian literature. I thought it was interesting.”

  “No doubt. How long ago was that?”

  “About three years ago?”

  “Then you’ve seen him more recently than I have. I haven’t spoken to or seen my parents in over four years.”

  “Why not?”

  Seb sighed, brushing his hand down Martin’s shoulder. “We had a difference of opinion. About everything.”

  “That must have been hard.” Martin’s eyes, dark with his anger a minute earlier, went soft, and Seb had to focus to keep himself from bristling. He didn’t want Martin’s pity, but he would take Martin’s forgiveness.

  “I’m sorry. About Kenneth.”

  “It’s fine.” Martin shrugged and went back to the cash register. Seb followed after him, because it wasn’t fine.

  And also, now he was thinking about it—thanks again, Kenny—with Martin walking in front of him, the professor really might have a nice ass. His baggy khakis made it hard to be sure, but there was just enough shape to catch Seb’s attention. His pulse fluttered as Martin bent behind the counter—and, yes, most definitely, definition appeared under the fabric as the pants shifted and stretched tight with his movement.

  Martin stood up again, and Seb had to clear his throat and tug at the collar of his T-shirt to collect himself. Now was not the time to be propositioning the professor, as much fun as it sounded.

  “I found something.” Martin held out a cream-colored book.

  “Alice in Wonderland?” Seb’s eyes went wide. He’d had the same edition as a kid.

  Martin’s smile was shy, like always, but now it felt like a temptation.

  Martin didn’t need that from him.

  Seb shook himself and accepted the book.

  “I found it on the top shelf,” Martin said. “That means it’s fair game, right?”

  “Fair game?” Seb flipped through the pages.

  “For you to do something with?”

  “You’d be okay with that?” Seb raised an eyebrow. The single action made Martin flush, which in turn made Seb’s mouth go dry. Now that Kenneth had awoken the idea in Seb’s brain, it was stuck there.

  It got worse when Martin said, “I don’t think Lewis Carroll was big on dick jokes. So you’ll have to behave yourself.”

  Seb muttered a hasty thanks and fled before he did anything else requiring another apology in the morning.

  * * *

  Cassidy didn’t work at the store on Monday, but she appeared at quarter to six with a box. She hefted it onto the counter, and something inside rattled.

  “This is your fault.” She scowled. “I asked my mom about my old art projects like you told me to, and she took me to the attic and showed me this.”

  Martin lifted the lid, pulling out the bottom half of an egg carton. Fuzzy green pipe cleaners, bent at odd angles, stuck out from one end.

  “Caterpillar?” He held it up to inspect it.

  Cassidy moaned and bumped her head off the counter a few times. “No college wants to hear about my preschool crafts.”

  “Now hang on.” Martin pulled a few more things out. A ceramic disk with a tiny hand print pressed into the center had the word “Cassidy” scrawled in messy block letters on the bottom. A construction paper sil
houette of a child’s head. Little Cassidy’s curls had obviously been a challenge for whoever had traced it out because the result was an irregular shaped blob with the tip of a nose on one side. Cassidy moaned again when he held it up. He laughed and dug through more, pulling out a square canvas stretched over a frame. Cassidy’s eyes widened when she saw it.

  “My mom kept that?” Her finger traced the edge of the canvas. In the center was a painted red rose with a twisted black stem.

  “What is it?”

  “They sent me to summer camp when I was eleven. I hated it. I suck at sports and the food was so bad. But there was an art class in the afternoons. Everyone else wanted to go swimming, so there were like six of us at the class.” She smiled. “I worked every day for two weeks on this. I was so proud when I came home. I wanted my mom to frame it and put it up where everyone could see.”

  “And did she?”

  “No.” Cassidy’s mouth twisted. “It’s okay, though. It sucks. I can see that now.”

  The painting wasn’t a masterpiece, but it was better than anything Martin could do.

  “I think it’s pretty good.”

  “No.” She ran a finger around the outside curve of the rose. “The shadows are all wrong. See here? The light’s coming from a different place than it is on the rest of the flower. I didn’t know much then.”

  “But you were proud of it?”

  “Well, yeah.” Despite the fact that she was disparaging the work now, Cassidy rushed to defend her younger self. “I worked hard on it.”

  “And you wanted other people to see it.”

  “I guess.” She shrugged, but Martin persisted.

  “You made something that you wanted other people to see and appreciate. You wanted them to see you and what you could do.”

  “They taught us about mixing colors. It was really the first time I’d ever heard of color theory. It’s a red rose, but there’s so much blue here, see?” She pointed at the base of the rose. “And yellow up near the top, where the light is coming from a different angle. It was so cool. I’d never been very good in school, but I got colors. I wanted my mom to hang it up so I could tell other people about it and prove that I didn’t suck at everything.”