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“Not long,” Tristan said. He let go of Jamie’s hand. “I should go. I need to see the house and Michael.”

“Michael?” Jamie said. He frowned. “The librarian?”

“Yes.” What was wrong with Michael?

“Oh. I didn’t think you knew him.” Jamie shrugged.

Was that a bit of his polish cracking? The careful façade slipping? Tristan bit back a snort. “I do.”

“Well, I look forward to your call.” Jamie rounded his desk and pressed a button on the little panel. “Give me five minutes, Sallie.”

Tristan gathered up his bag and nodded to Jamie. He waved, then left the office. His brain ached. He had too much to think about and even more to do. He needed a plan. Instead of running straight back to the B&B, he stopped at the first bench.

He needed at least a solid twenty-four hours to work on the outline for his book. He had character sheets to finish and the setting to flesh out. If he had forty-eight hours, he could knock the outline out. But would he?

Christ.If he worked at the house in the morning and sorted through his uncle’s stuff, then used the afternoon and night to write, he might be able to meet his deadlines. He still had to sort out the trust money and other parts of the estate. His better judgment stated he’d need at least a week for to settle things. Then there was the LGBT center. He had no idea how to set such a thing up.

He rested his head in his hands. His heart raced and his stomach lurched. Anxiety hit hard. Could he accomplish everything his uncle wantedandget the book done? He wasn’t sure. He gasped for air and sat back in his seat. If he was going to even consider all his tasks, he needed silence and strong coffee.

Tristan left the bench and marched straight to the B&B to drop off the folder and pick up his car. Once he’d made the switch, he headed to the bookstore for the coffee. He could conquer his to-do list with the right amount of help and caffeine. He paid for the tart brew and hustled back to the car.Next stop, Al’s house.But first…he wanted to see Michael.