Shepherd’s sweater. “It’s different, though. You met him at the signing and you’ve seen him around the shop, but this… I can tell him no if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Shepherd squeezed him lightly. “I’m fine with it.”
“And tonight?”
“I’ll be at your apartment at ten.”
Mark grinned and kissed him again, keeping it quick. With regret, he slid from Shepherd’s lap. “Later, then. I’m going to send Angie home.”
“Later.”
****
That night, they snuggled up on Mark’s couch to marathon the first season of BBC One’s Sherlock , which Mark had been meaning to watch for ages. Before they started, he made a new post on the NaNoWriMo forum announcing that Shepherd Knight would be attending the kickoff party as the guest of honor. By the time they’d finished an episode, the thread had exploded with activity.
Head resting in Shepherd’s lap, Mark smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
Shepherd pulled Mark’s glasses free and leaned down to kiss him.
“Does your family live around here?” Mark asked once the kisses had slowed. Sherlock and Watson were temporarily forgotten.
“They have a house up north, near the border of Wisconsin, but they only spend half a year there. My father retired a few years ago. They stay in South Carolina for fall and winter.”
“Are you close to them?”
Shepherd shrugged. “We’re okay. We see each other once a month when they’re here. I’m closer to Ava, my sister. We’re only two years apart.”
That reminded Mark. None of the biographies in Shepherd’s books had ever listed his age, and he’d always been curious. “How old are you exactly?”
“Thirty-five.” Shepherd gave him a considering look. “And you’re… twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”
“Close. I’m twenty-eight.”
“Good. I’m not robbing the cradle, then.”
Mark chuckled. “Not even remotely. So does Ava live here too?”
Shepherd shook his head. “She’s living in Nebraska right now. Her husband’s in the army. But we talk a couple of times a week. I’ll introduce you next time she comes for a visit.” He tugged lightly at Mark’s short hair. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No. It’s just me and my dad.”
“What about your mom?”
“She left when I was a kid.”
Shepherd’s forehead creased. He curled his fingers against Mark’s scalp, massaging gently. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Mark tried to keep his voice casual. “I guess not everyone’s meant to be a parent, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it changed me, and there were times I resented her, but as I got older I realized she might’ve done us a favor by leaving. All she and my father did was fight.”
“Do you ever hear from her?”
“Once in a while I get a birthday card. We’ve spoken a few times since she left. But I’m nearly thirty now, and it’s been just me and Dad for so long. I don’t miss her. My father gave me a good life. A great life.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He is, as you’ll find out tomorrow.” Mark grinned. “Anyway, subject change. Is it true that you fell into a well when you were a kid? Is that really what got you into writing? I’ve always wondered if that was just a story.”
Shepherd’s mouth tipped up on one side. “Yeah, it’s true. When I was eight, we lived on this old farm. We knew there was a well on the property, but we’d been told it was sealed. One day I went exploring with my dog, Jet, and he slipped his collar and took off. He disappeared, and I heard a yelp. Like a dumb kid, I didn’t think. I just reacted and ran toward the noise. He’d fallen in through some rotted boards, and I went down right after him. Broke my leg and lay there for almost thirteen hours before they found me. I think I dreamed or hallucinated from the pain for most of that time.”
“And that’s how the idea for Jack Drake came for you?”
“Yep. That scene in the mine shaft in book two? That was inspired by the well
Shepherd squeezed him lightly. “I’m fine with it.”
“And tonight?”
“I’ll be at your apartment at ten.”
Mark grinned and kissed him again, keeping it quick. With regret, he slid from Shepherd’s lap. “Later, then. I’m going to send Angie home.”
“Later.”
****
That night, they snuggled up on Mark’s couch to marathon the first season of BBC One’s Sherlock , which Mark had been meaning to watch for ages. Before they started, he made a new post on the NaNoWriMo forum announcing that Shepherd Knight would be attending the kickoff party as the guest of honor. By the time they’d finished an episode, the thread had exploded with activity.
Head resting in Shepherd’s lap, Mark smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
Shepherd pulled Mark’s glasses free and leaned down to kiss him.
“Does your family live around here?” Mark asked once the kisses had slowed. Sherlock and Watson were temporarily forgotten.
“They have a house up north, near the border of Wisconsin, but they only spend half a year there. My father retired a few years ago. They stay in South Carolina for fall and winter.”
“Are you close to them?”
Shepherd shrugged. “We’re okay. We see each other once a month when they’re here. I’m closer to Ava, my sister. We’re only two years apart.”
That reminded Mark. None of the biographies in Shepherd’s books had ever listed his age, and he’d always been curious. “How old are you exactly?”
“Thirty-five.” Shepherd gave him a considering look. “And you’re… twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”
“Close. I’m twenty-eight.”
“Good. I’m not robbing the cradle, then.”
Mark chuckled. “Not even remotely. So does Ava live here too?”
Shepherd shook his head. “She’s living in Nebraska right now. Her husband’s in the army. But we talk a couple of times a week. I’ll introduce you next time she comes for a visit.” He tugged lightly at Mark’s short hair. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No. It’s just me and my dad.”
“What about your mom?”
“She left when I was a kid.”
Shepherd’s forehead creased. He curled his fingers against Mark’s scalp, massaging gently. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Mark tried to keep his voice casual. “I guess not everyone’s meant to be a parent, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it changed me, and there were times I resented her, but as I got older I realized she might’ve done us a favor by leaving. All she and my father did was fight.”
“Do you ever hear from her?”
“Once in a while I get a birthday card. We’ve spoken a few times since she left. But I’m nearly thirty now, and it’s been just me and Dad for so long. I don’t miss her. My father gave me a good life. A great life.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He is, as you’ll find out tomorrow.” Mark grinned. “Anyway, subject change. Is it true that you fell into a well when you were a kid? Is that really what got you into writing? I’ve always wondered if that was just a story.”
Shepherd’s mouth tipped up on one side. “Yeah, it’s true. When I was eight, we lived on this old farm. We knew there was a well on the property, but we’d been told it was sealed. One day I went exploring with my dog, Jet, and he slipped his collar and took off. He disappeared, and I heard a yelp. Like a dumb kid, I didn’t think. I just reacted and ran toward the noise. He’d fallen in through some rotted boards, and I went down right after him. Broke my leg and lay there for almost thirteen hours before they found me. I think I dreamed or hallucinated from the pain for most of that time.”
“And that’s how the idea for Jack Drake came for you?”
“Yep. That scene in the mine shaft in book two? That was inspired by the well
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