Indeed, Zechariah had given his real name. Why would he give any other? Reputation was everything, and part of reputation was signing his own name on every inch of paper he could.

When he saw Elijah approaching, his eyes immediately raked over him. It was a suit. Every man could don a suit. He was more interested in what was underneath it all.

… His mind. Yes, his mind. Friends.

“So do you,” he huffed, for was it not a given that they were both handsome men?

And … an excuse? Elijah had not seemed all that, well, interested in him – in either letter or person, aside from a coy remark after some drinking. Everyone looked better with a few drinks.

Did he think of him? Did he want him? God, this was ridiculous.

“… How was work?”

Yes. Work. That was safe what friends talked about.