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

“Hey, jazzman…” I yanked him to a halt. “First, I’d love to hear you play something.”


“Now? Really?” Turning, he drew a sip from his beer while his forehead creased in query. “On the brink of another fuck-fest?”


“What can I say? I’m fickle and easily distracted.” I smirked. “Seriously, I want to hear what you can do. Plus, seeing you naked at the piano is certain to be a real turn-on.”


“Ha! What would you like me to play?”


He smirked back at me. “You want me to rattle off my entire repertoire? We’ll be here for weeks. Besides, what do I look like, a jukebox?”


“Actually you look more like a slot machine, considering that semi-hard crank sticking up between your legs.”


“So instead of yanking that crank in the hopes of hitting the jackpot, you want me to tickle the ivories?”


“I already hit the jackpot once today, and I know that revved up machine of yours will pay out again.”


“You do, huh? You’re that sure of my abilities in the bedroom?”


Chapter 26