Because of a deathbed promise to his father, Elijah Peck reluctantly left his friends and successful career in Bridgeport to return to Willowby, Connecticut, the small town of his upbringing, in order to run the antique shop that had been in his family for generations. Now, in just the span of two years, Eli has morphed into a social recluse, isolated in what he believes is a stuffy, suffocating nowheresville. With no thriving gay community at his disposal, and with his entire existence wrapped around the store he never really wanted, Eli's devoted little time to his personal needs. As a result, instead of acting like a man in his mid-thirties, living out his own dreams, maybe even finding love with the right guy, he often feels like just another item in his shop -- a dusty, moldy antique that has seen better days.<br><br>But all that starts to change when a stranger moves to Willowby.<br><br>One night outside his shop, Eli has a chance encounter with Neville "Gray" Grayson, a wickedly handsome musician who's purposely left the bustle of New York City in favor of quiet country living. Eli is instantly drawn to Gray, and the flirtatious jazzman stirs dormant feelings inside Eli, reinvigorating his hopes for a brighter future. Not only does Gray make Eli feel attractive for the first time in years, but also makes him appreciate small-town life in a way he never has before. And Eli can't help but wonder if Gray's presence also offers the promise of finding much-needed companionship, sexual fulfillment, and perhaps even love ...

When the Jazzman Sings

So what if I had forgotten to exchange phone numbers with the man? I never thought I’d thank Willowby for anything, but one major advantage of a small town was, when searching for someone, there were few places for them to hide. One couldn’t blend into one’s surroundings very well when most everyone knew everyone else; they became the personification of my jock strap trying to hide among my T-shirts at the Laundromat. Plus, Gray had given me more than enough information to track him down. He’d just moved into a place on Maple Street—in total, a whopping five short blocks of residences—and one of his jobs was playing piano several nights at Logan’s Hideaway over in Chandler’s Grove.


If he hadn’t been interested in me, he wouldn’t have flirted up a storm, right? He wouldn’t have divulged tidbits about his residence and place of employment, right? He wouldn’t have instigated the hot and heavy kiss to cap off the evening, right?


Chapter 11