Too Soon For Love by Kimberly Gardner Page A

wearing that woodsy cologne again, the same stuff that had caused him to go temporarily insane the other night. But there would be none of that tonight. Just dinner and paperwork.
    “I brought the laptop with me.” Alan set it down on the table.
    “Tommy said to tell you to be sure to change the password the first time you sign on. Under no circumstances are you to leave it as password. Or so my brother says anyway. Though if you want to, I’ll never tell.”
    Michael grinned. “Seeing as I’m a rebel and all, I’ll probably do just that.”
    There was a pause, but it didn’t feel awkward.
    “I’m not sure how soon you were planning on dinner, but do you want to get started on the estate stuff?”

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    “It’ll be another half hour or so.” Michael gestured toward the row of filing cabinets. “Everything is in there, somewhere.
    Insurance papers, the will, all that stuff. I also have copies of the death certificate in case we need them. Sorry I can’t be more specific.”
    “Not a problem.” Alan crossed to the filing cabinets. The first drawer opened with a soft whoosh.
    “How about some wine while you’re looking?”
    “That would be great.”
    In the kitchen, Michael checked on dinner then poured the wine. By the time he returned to the study, Alan had moved to the couch.
    “Phillip was incredibly organized,” Alan said, accepting a glass of cabernet from Michael. “He had everything in a file called estate documents which I found in the second drawer I looked in.”
    “Yeah, he was meticulous about stuff like paperwork.” He chuckled then sipped his wine. “Phillip is the only person I ever knew who not only saved the owner’s manuals and instructions for every appliance he ever owned, but knew exactly where they were.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. He used to punch holes in them and put them in a binder. Can you believe that? I used to tease him about it sometimes and he’d say--”
    Michael broke off, struck by a pang of grief so sharp it stole his breath.
    “Are you okay?”
    Michael nodded. “It just sneaks up on me sometimes, you know? The fact that he’s really gone, like really gone, forever.”
    “I don’t really know what that’s like. But it must be awful.”
    Alan touched Michael’s arm. “Come and sit.”
    He sat and sipped his wine.

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    From the living room the music was a distant murmur, the only other sound the occasional turning of a page as Alan went through papers.
    At last Alan said, “If it’s all right, I can start going over some of these documents.”
    They worked until the oven timer beeped. Alan poured more wine while Michael filled plates and brought them to the table.
    They ate in silence for several minutes, but again, Michael found the quiet more comforting than awkward. It was nice having someone to eat with, someone to talk to. It was nice having Alan to talk to.
    “Can I refill your glass?” Alan asked.
    Michael nodded and reached for his napkin. The wine bottle clinked softly against the rim of his wineglass followed by the quiet splash of liquid.
    “I like that painting,” Alan said.
    Michael heard him set down the bottle and pick up his fork.
    “Which painting is that?”
    “The one hanging on the wall behind your chair. It looks like a modern work, all blacks and reds and yellows. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to see something in there, but I like it anyway.”
    Michael smiled into his wineglass. “That was one of Phillip’s favorites. The artist was blind, probably still is for that matter. I don’t think he’s dead.”
    “Really? A blind painter. I never—” Alan stopped.
    “I never either. I think Phillip liked the idea of a blind guy painting more than he liked the actual canvas. Personally, I can’t imagine not being able to see my own work.”
    “It would cut down on that perfectionist tendency that some artists have. I would think anyway, since you’d never be able to judge if it was