...This particular stranger seemed different somehow. With sunglasses shielding his eyes from the fading sunlight, he strode along Main Street without browsing the windows of the closed shops. He acted more like a “local,” a man who had already seen it all before, completely unlike the relic hunters with whom I had grown accustomed to viewing this time of year.

But it couldn’t be possible, could it? Living in a town with a population of less than 2,000 residents, I thought I knew all the males hereabouts and I would have certainly remembered someone who looked like him. Delicious, utterly delicious, the type of guy I’d been hungrily seeking to meet, and a sight for my jaded eyes. Once again, I had the impulse to sink to the ground and sing Hosannas to the gods for sending me this eye-candy to whet my appetite.

Yet I didn’t want to get my hopes up. After all, even though he ambled down the sidewalk in my direction, what were the chances he would strike up a conversation? And even if he did, what were the odds he would have any interest in me, let alone—?

“Excuse me,” he said, his broad, white smile reflecting the rays of the sinking sun. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I wonder if you have a moment.”

“Ah, yeah, sure.” Anything for you, buddy boy. Anything at all. “If you want something in particular inside”—I gestured to the door, then scrounged in the back pocket of my jeans for the keys—“let me know and I’ll be happy to reopen—”

He glanced at the windows of the store, then shook his head. “Oh, no, nothing like that. At least not at the moment.”

“Then what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering...” He slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his slim nose, revealing the most soulful hazel eyes I had ever seen. They twinkled almost as much as the twin diamond studs in his right earlobe. And his gaze looked me over, from head to toe. Meanwhile, a cockeyed smile cut a dimple into his right cheek.

I’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before—quite a lot, actually—prior to moving back to Willowby nearly two years ago. The dude was checking me out, actually cruising me right here in front of my shop like the guys used to do in front of a gay bar in Bridgeport I’d often frequented. Would wonders never cease?

“Everything around here appears closed,” he said, then released a disappointed sigh.

“Yeah,” I answered, giving him a humorless grin. “They pretty much roll up the sidewalks around here when the sun sets.”

“Do you happen to know of anywhere in town where I can still get a bite to eat and an ice-cold beer?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On the type of mood you’re in. Do you want lively, fast, and furious”—fond recollections of cruising for cock in Bridgeport came flooding back to mind—“or laid-back, leisurely...and oh, so gentle?”

I’d uttered that last question in almost a growl while giving him a languid once-over myself, and not hiding the fact either. What the hell, I thought, it was worth a shot. If I’d judged properly, his approximate weight as well as his six-foot-two stature matched mine. I would also bet, if compared side by side, my arm and chest muscles had a bit more bulk. So if I’d misread the signals he’d tossed out and he ended up being a homophobe scouting for trouble, I knew I could defend myself. I had on a few occasions many years ago, which was why no one in this town, especially those with a good memory, had messed with me since my return.

To my thrill, his smile widened even more, while one dark eyebrow quirked upward. The sudden twinkle in his eyes conveyed a ribald sense of humor, a clear indication that he’d caught my subtle double entendre, and of greater importance, that he liked it.

“The latter, most definitely,” he said. “Languid...gentle...oh, yeah, I prefer taking my time when it comes to...entertainment.”

“Then you’ve certainly come to the right place, considering the general dreariness of this town.”

“Dreary? Definitely not from where I’m standing.” Another smile enlivened his face as his gaze crawled over my chest and upper arms. For work, I had donned a simple black T-shirt, one tight enough to display the evidence of my daily appointment with the bench press in my apartment. The fact that he obviously approved of my efforts to keep in shape had my blood racing even more. “I want a place to just kick back with a frosty beer, with soft lighting and low music, somewhere I can converse without having to shout over the din. And if I’m lucky enough, maybe I can persuade a sexy stranger into being my dinner companion.”