Why Is He Back?

Mae

“You are not average,” Tyson said.

“Thanks. So, what did you major in?”

“Archeological Science and Business Administration,” he answered.

“Wow. Those seem to be on very opposite ends of the spectrum.”

He chuckled. “I suppose they are, but it has worked well for me.”

“Are you an archeologist?” I questioned.

He shook his head. “No. I own a few museums.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You own museums? Aren’t museums generally publicly funded?”

He shrugged one of his beefy shoulders. The movement lifted the sleeve on his right arm just a touch, giving me a glimpse of a tattoo on his other arm as well. Tyson. Tattooed. That was different. And hot. “There are quite a few that are public. Mine are for profit.”

He didn’t sound ashamed of the fact at all. “What kind of museums?” I asked with genuine curiosity. “I mean, what do you display?”

“I have a few different ones that specialize in different cultures. Egyptian, European, and I even have one down south that focuses on early America.”

I was impressed. “Wow. If you are not publicly funded, where do you get all your stuff?”

“I buy it.”

I knew what we paid for the things we bought and sold. “Wow. Do you buy your displays out of your own pocket?”

He nodded. “Most of the time. I do have some items that are on loan and some things that people own and want to show off. They get a little placard with their name on it and they get the attention they are looking for.”

“That is crazy. I never realized there was such a thing. How did you get into that?”

He smiled before taking a sip of his latte. “You know I have always loved history. Do you think it was by chance I befriended Patrick?”

We both laughed. “Because of my parents’ business?”

“Yes, although I’m kidding. I didn’t know what they did when Patrick and I first started hanging out. I have always loved history. It fascinates me. I love to see tangible evidence of ancient civilizations. I take the objects I get my hands on and find some story to pair with them. It makes it all more real.”

He was passionate about what he did. His eyes lit up and he had a tenseness in his shoulders that revealed just how excited he was about the subject. “Where do you get the stories?” I asked.

He shrugged. “We scour the history books and talk to locals. There are plenty of cultures where history and tradition are kept alive. They repeat the same stories over and over. Sadly, America isn’t really like that, we’ve found. It is so much harder to get a juicy story.”

“Because we’re new,” I said with a laugh. “We were just born.”

“Our culture, yes. I wish I could talk to the people that lived here before us.”

I smiled, just fascinated by the man. He was this big, burly guy with tattoos, and yet, he was an academic under it all. He was beauty and brains. I picked up my cup and very casually looked at his left hand, checking for a ring. I didn’t see one, nor did I see a tan line. The man had a very deep tan. If there had been a ring at any time, there would have been a mark.

“Interesting,” I commented when I realized I had been staring a little too long.

“What about you?” he asked, turning that blue gaze on me.

I gulped the warm liquid. “I went to NYU.”

He smiled. “You always said you were going to. What did you finally settle on? If I remember, you were between interior design, nursing, or something in fashion.”

I laughed, thinking back to my teen years. “None of those. I have a degree in public relations.”

“You are the one who talks to the public and tells a company what they should and shouldn’t do.”

I nodded. “Basically.”

“Where do you work?”

“For Patrick. The company.”

His eyes widened. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“Family business,” I said with a shy smile.

There was some more very generic small talk, keeping everything right at the surface. Neither of us seemed all that interested to delve into anything too personal. There were a million things I wanted to ask him but didn’t dare. For all intents and purposes, he was a stranger. I wouldn’t ask a complete stranger if he was single.

“I should probably let you go,” he said. “I’m sure you are busy.”

I wanted to tell him I had nothing more important than talking to him, but that would appear needy. “I am,” I lied. “I’ve got a meeting.”

“I would like to see Patrick,” he said. “I’ll come by again.”

“I’ll be there,” I blurted out before I had a chance to think about it. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll be there. I work there.”

He nodded, that sexy smile on his face. He got up and I followed him out before realizing he didn’t necessarily say he was giving me a ride back to the office. I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I started to walk away when he reached out and grabbed my hand. An electric shock raced down my spine. I turned to look at him, our eyes locking, and for one brief second, the world stood still.

“I’ll take you back,” he said before dropping my hand like he had been burned.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” I murmured.

I was still recovering from the touch. I climbed into the car and tried to act cool. I was sure I was failing miserably. When the car pulled to a stop in front of the office, I damn near bailed out.

“I’ll be back,” he called.

I watched the car pull away. It was only after he was gone that I stopped to think about the very unexpected visit. Obviously, he had something he wanted to talk to Patrick about and wasn’t comfortable telling me. I should have pressed him.

I should have asked him why he had appeared in our lives after all these years.