I was going to kill Madeline.

She was right, of course—she was right about everything—but at that moment, with Patrick in my arms, held close to me, there was nothing more I wanted than to call the whole friends thing off and get him naked as soon as I possibly could.

But… restraint.

Madeline had been watching earlier as Patrick got his mysterious phone call in the bar and left before I could even ask for his number.

“He’s clearly not interested,” she told me minutes later, occupying the barstool where he’d been sitting.

“Well, he sure seemed interested before he got that phone call,” I told her, taking a sip of the scotch I’d poured. “I think it was some sort of emergency.”

“Yeah, right,” she said. “Probably an emergency like he didn’t feel like an anonymous hookup. Christ, for all I know, the guy might be married.”

“He isn’t married,” I said, shaking my head. “I… I don’t think he is.”

“See?” she said, shrugging. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t even know half the people I have sex with, and it isn’t usually a problem,” I said. “Maddy, there’s nothing wrong with casual sex as long as both people want it.”

She gazed at me with sympathy. “I don’t actually think he wanted it, Taran,” she said softly. “I know you’re not used to that, but it can happen.”

A lurching feeling filled me. If Patrick really had reacted negatively to my flirting, there was nothing else in the world that could make me feel worse. I loved hookups so much because they were fun, because they could make someone feel wanted and adored without any of the expectations of a long-term relationship.

But the minute someone felt bad about it, I wanted to crawl into a hole forever. I had vowed years and years ago to never lie to anyone I was with—being lied to so consistently by Leanne had been the worst part of my adult life, and I wasn’t going to do it to anyone. So I was open and honest about only wanting hookups. Of course, it backfired when I met someone like Patrick: someone who I really thought I would like, but who probably wanted nothing to do with someone like me.

“I’ll go apologize to him,” I told her after a minute. “As soon as the bar closes. If he isn’t there, I’ll… I don’t know. I’ll leave a note or something.”

“Good idea,” Madeline said with a firm nod.

And now here I was, a few hours later, with Patrick in my arms after I’d done it. I’d apologized; I had exercised restraint. And based on how clearly tense and stressed out Patrick had looked when I’d showed up, I knew I had done the right thing.

But I still wanted him badly. I just knew I couldn’t go forward unless he wanted me as much. And unless I got that signal from him, we would only be friends.

I knew that “friends” was probably all we’d ever be.

Patrick leaned back and, to my utter surprise, let out a laugh. It looked like he was releasing all the tension that had somehow been there all night long—just more confirmation that I’d done the right thing.

“God,” he said, leaning his head back and looking up at the night sky. “I need to drink more often.”

I turned my head to one side. “Well, that’s certainly not what I was expecting you to say right now,” I said.

He shook his head, looking back at me. “It’s not as fun as it sounds, I promise,” he said. “I only say that because I took three shots of whiskey ten minutes ago, and I’m feeling those shots so strongly that I don’t even think I can drive home for a little bit.”

“Oh,” I said, a slow smile coming to my face. “I also had whiskey before I left the bar tonight. But my tolerance must be a little bit higher than yours.”

“Must be,” Patrick said, grinning at me.

“Well, if you need to walk it off, I’m happy to wander around with you for a little while. I need to walk home anyway.”

“Really?” Patrick asked, incredulous, as if I’d just suggested we run a marathon or something.

“Of course,” I replied.

“But… what about that crazy car you pulled up to Cobalt in? I remember a lot of revving sounds….”

“That was a rental I had brought up from D.C. I… I like to make an entrance. But I really prefer to walk when it’s a short distance.”

“Wow, a rich guy who secretly doesn’t like cars,” Patrick said, smirking.

“Oh, I love cars,” I said, holding up a hand. “Don’t get me started on how much I like them. But even I can’t deny how refreshed a walk makes me feel. Especially one with good company.”

He met my eyes for a moment, saying nothing before he finally nodded once. “Okay. Let’s take a walk. What direction is your place?”

“I live a few blocks up the hill, in that downtown area. What do they call it again? The paradise? The… boardwalk?”

He snorted. “You’re talking about the Promenade,” he said. “You’ve got one of those brand-new fancy apartments up there, don’t you?”

I hitched up one shoulder in a shrug. “Guilty as charged. Rented it on a month-to-month basis since I’m only going to be in town for a little while. Expensive as all hell, but it certainly does the job.”

“Sure. Let’s walk up there. Then hopefully by the time I make it back here to my car, I’ll be sober.”

“Perfect. To the Promenade, then.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

We started up the hill, the sound of our shoes against the pavement, the tall trees looming over us as we ambled along the street. I realized slowly that this was a uniquely strange situation—I spent plenty of time with strangers and certainly considered myself outgoing, but normally it was for business purposes or hookups, not casual past-midnight walks with people I just met.

It almost felt like we should be holding hands, which was the silliest instinct I could imagine. I was supposed to be “just friends” with Patrick, but the night air and the deserted small-town streets made everything feel stupidly beautiful. Like we were in a springtime snowglobe where all the snow had been replaced with flower petals. It was romantic.

And I was not a romantic person.

“So do you live nearby?” I asked, speaking up just to fill the silence.

He shook his head. “About a ten-minute drive from the bar. I’ve got a tiny little one-bedroom house. Nice lawn, at least. A little ways out from town.”

“Sounds nice,” I said.

He waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Nah. I really can’t afford much else. You’d probably laugh if you saw it.”

I glanced at him as we walked. He didn’t look ashamed, but clearly he was under the impression that I had always been as wealthy as I was now. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t laugh,” I said. “Unless I came over and found out you had a secret Furby collection or something.”

He grinned, kicking a rock down the sidewalk. “I’ll be sure to hide all my precious collectibles under the bed before you visit,” he said. “But no. It’s too small, nothing otherwise ‘bad’ about it. I can’t open the fridge and the oven at the same time because the doors will hit each other.”

I laughed softly. “I know how that is. When I was a kid, my parents had this tiny studio apartment in Albany for years. I slept on a futon. It’s amazing my spine still even works, really.”

“Wow,” Patrick said as we turned the corner.

“Wow what?” I replied. The lights of the Promenade were up ahead, gleaming in the distance, Rose Falls’ quaintest answer to a downtown. There were hardly any people on the street at this time, even in the busiest part of town.

“I guess… I just figured you must have always lived this lavish lifestyle. You certainly seem used to it. You wear it well.”

I chuckled, looking down at my suit and leather shoes. I didn’t even know how many hundreds or thousands of dollars my outfit had cost. “I admit that I am used to it by now, but I’ll still always just be… me. I grew up with next to no money.”

“So you made all this money from your bars?”

“From my bars, and from a few investments, and a fuck-ton of sheer luck. I owe it all to my best friend Madeline—you saw her earlier at Cobalt? The one in the red dress?”

“The stunning woman who looked like a movie star? Yes, I recognized her. She’s been in Brew for You a couple times recently.”

“That’s Maddy. She’s like the best big sister I never had. She got me my first job when I moved to D.C. years and years ago. I was a prep cook at this tiny gastropub. But one job led to another, and then eventually Madeline became my business partner… and the rest is history. I’m lucky as hell.”

“Wow. So you really did build everything from the ground up.”

I grinned, slapping Patrick lightly on his upper arm. “You know what?”

“What?”

“You still didn’t read my article in the paper, did you?”

He sighed, laughing once. “I didn’t. It’s been… a hectic night, to say the least.”

I wanted to ask what had happened earlier, why he fled the bar in such a rush, but I knew it was none of my business. If Patrick wanted to tell me, he would have told me already.

“Well, if you read the article, you’ll see a slightly more detailed version of my career story there. It’s not that exciting, but… it’s everything I’ve got. And I dare say I’m kind of proud of it.”

“You should be,” Patrick said.

I slowed down. We’d reached the outside of my apartment building, a five-story new construction that was the most modern-looking thing on the block.

“Still drunk?” I asked.

He snorted. “I was never drunk, I just—”

“Wanna come up and see my ridiculous apartment?” I said.

He stopped short for a second, hitching up his eyebrow.

“I meant what I said earlier, Patrick,” I said, “I just want to be friends. And I’m not inviting you up for a hookup. I thought you might want to kill a few more minutes before you head back, and I’ve got great coffee upstairs.”

He nodded. “I’d love to see your ridiculous apartment, Taran,” he said. It struck me that he looked beautiful under the glow of the streetlamp, his cheekbones chiseled with the slightest rosy glow from our brisk walk. His flannel blew open slightly in the breeze, revealing the tightly fitted t-shirt he had on underneath.

He’d seemed so out of place wearing that in Cobalt, but now all I could think was that he looked perfect.

“C’mon,” I said, leading him past the threshold into the building.

* * *

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick said as we walked into the loft.

“I know,” I said. “This place is actually even bigger than my place back in D.C.”

“I didn’t even know something like this existed in Rose Falls,” Patrick said, looking around wide-eyed. “I feel like I’m being let in on some kind of secret. Seeing how the other half lives.”

The loft really was nice; I couldn’t deny it. It had a completely open floor plan for the kitchen and living room, open space giving way to huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the sparse twinkling lights of Rose Falls. There was a hall that led down to the three bedrooms, bathrooms, and a cozy office.

Patrick walked over to the windows and stood there for a while, gazing out at the view of the rolling hills, trees, and the town below. I paused for a moment, letting him take in the view before going to flip on a few lamps. I noticed the two empty condom wrappers that I’d tossed away the night before and quickly swept them up and into the trash can.

“I’m still getting used to where everything is in this apartment,” I said. “The other day I hired a few guys to help me unpack the stuff I ordered, so… all of this is still very new.”

I remembered the movers who’d been here a couple days back, and how I’d slept with one of them later that night. He’d been great, and it had been fun, but by now I could barely remember what he’d looked like.

Patrick laughed, turning to me and shaking his head. “You wanna know something?”

“I absolutely do,” I said, heading back to the kitchen.

“I probably could have afforded this place if I’d stayed at my old accounting job.”

“Accounting? What?” I asked. He may as well have just told me he’d been an alien in a previous life.

He nodded. “Yep. It was a lifeless, soul-sucking job where I made great money, and I hope I never have to go back again.”

“God. You as an accountant… I know I don’t know you that well yet, but I can’t see you doing that at all.”

“Really?”

I shook my head. “No way. I thought you were a farmer at first. I can see now that you’re not exactly the farm type, but… I just can’t picture you in an office.”

He nodded, coming to join me in the kitchen. He sat down at one of the tall stools at my breakfast bar, his eyes still scanning the room in disbelief.

“I’m certainly not a farmer. I’ve had the bar for two years now. But it’s a huge compliment that you don’t see me as an accountant. For years, I thought that was the only thing I could ever be, and I felt so… lifeless. It was a fantastic job, and for a lot of people it would be perfect, but I wanted to work somewhere that wasn’t an office.”

“Trust me, I understand that,” I said, pulling out a bag of fresh coffee beans.

“I’m glad you don’t see me as a cubicle type,” Patrick said.

“Oh, you’re anything but boring,” I said. “I could tell you weren’t like everyone else when you bumped into me earlier.”

“What?” Patrick said, furrowing his brow. “All I did was act like an idiot after smacking right into you.”

“Yeah, but there was… something else about the way you were acting. Like, you were clearly sorry, but there was something more in your eyes. You’ve got confidence, Patrick, even if you don’t always care to use it.”

“Pretty sure that was just sheer embarrassment that you saw,” he said, laughing softly. “Hey, are those Tantalamino coffee beans?” He asked the question quickly as if he didn’t want to be talking about himself any longer.

“They are indeed,” I said, holding up the bag. “I get them imported.”

“Yeah—they’re all I buy for my café. They’re a little more expensive, but there’s nothing like ‘em. Customers go nuts for it, too.”

“You serve these at Brew for You?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wow,” I said, pouring them into the grinder. “I really do need to stop by sometime. You get the good stuff. Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“You definitely should,” he said.

I set to work grinding the beans and making Patrick a pour-over cup of coffee. He got up and wandered around the loft, stopping to inspect the exposed beams running along the ceiling and the copper light fixtures along the walls. I brought out the cup of coffee to the living room a few minutes later, where Patrick was leaning back on the new couch.

“This thing is amazing,” he said, his eyes half-lidded. “I don’t think I’ve ever even been on a bed as comfortable as this couch is.”

I set the coffee down on the table in front of us. Patrick looked supremely drowsy, like he hadn’t stopped to take a moment to relax all day long. I knew he likely hadn’t. I recognized the look from when I used to work ‘round the clock after opening my first bar, and it flooded me with a nostalgic empathy. I tried to refrain from reaching over to brush my hand against his cheek and doing something silly like telling him everything would be alright.

“What time do you wake up to head over to Brew for You in the mornings?” I asked softly.

He sighed. “Well, my friend Emmett is always there to open up in the mornings, so I don’t technically have to be there at opening. But I usually end up doing it anyway. I kind of hate being away from the place.”

I nodded, sliding over a little closer to him on the couch. “I was like that for the first three years after opening my first bar.”

“Yeah?” Patrick asked, turning toward me. “Everyone says I’m crazy. I never get enough sleep, I never do anything other than work. But anytime I’m not there, I feel like I’m away from my own child. It’s terrible.”

“It’s not terrible,” I said. “You’re passionate about it. That’s what makes a good entrepreneur.”

He shrugged lazily. He was now blinking heavily, some combination of alcohol and exhaustion. “I guess you’re right. But Owen needs me, and my parents really need me, and….”

I paused for a moment, watching as Patrick lay peacefully, his eyes closed. I had no idea who Owen was, but for a moment I was afraid to ask. Was Patrick actually married? Could Owen be his partner?

There was no use wondering about those things, though.

“You know the other thing that makes a good entrepreneur, though?” I said.

“Mmm?” Patrick hummed, clearly only half-awake. His eyes shot open, surprised, as if he was trying to prove he hadn’t accidentally been dozing.

“Learning how to delegate,” I said quietly. “If your morning people have the opening covered, there really is no need to be there. You need to take care of yourself as much as you take care of the bar.”

He nodded slowly. “I know. I know that is true, and yet I haven’t been able to do it yet. It’s just… it’s so hard, you know?”

“I do know.”

His eyes were closing again, and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore how adorable he was. Why did the first person I was truly attracted to in this town have to be the no-casual-sex type?

I reached out and grabbed the mug of coffee, taking a sip of it myself. I knew Patrick wouldn’t be having any tonight. I slid off the couch and made my way to the linen closet, which so far only had a few items inside. There was a blanket, though, a fuzzy, cozy one that I’d specifically had shipped from D.C. because it was Madeline’s favorite to use whenever she slept in my guest room.

Tonight, though, it could be for Patrick.

I draped it over him, and he barely moved, already fast asleep. I watched him for a brief moment before turning out the lights and heading back down the hall to my own room. It was strange, having to be quiet in my own house—I was so used to living alone, doing whatever I wanted, but now I was finding myself tiptoeing and hoping my electric toothbrush wasn’t too loud.

It was nice, but also bizarre. Typically, if anyone was sleeping over at my house, it was either because we’d just had sex or because it was Madeline. There was really no in-between option.

And, deeper down, even the slightest inkling of affection I felt toward Patrick made me wary. I stayed unattached to people as a rule. Too much affection or romance just reminded me of what I had with Leanne. I had never felt quite the same way about anyone since Leanne, and part of that was by design.

She had been everything to me, and I was certain that we would end up married. It felt strange to give so much of myself to someone only to have it ripped away when she cheated and then left me. It took years before I was able to stop wishing I could be with her again, and more years before I really started to forget the pain of that time in my life.

There was no point in getting involved with someone that seriously again. My lifestyle no longer supported it. It had been a mistake to think that I could ever get married—I was far too focused on work to give proper attention to a serious partner. Maybe one day that would change, but for now, I was still young. I needed freedom, no matter what the cost was.

So there was no point to even entertaining my stray affectionate feelings for Patrick. I’d just met him, and I certainly wasn’t going to be in Rose Falls for long, so it was better to nip it in the bud.

The feelings would go away eventually. They always did.

As I settled into my bed, though, I couldn’t stop picturing him lying there on my couch. He was gorgeous, nearly angelic as he fell asleep. I could envision him lying down next to me here, on my bed; I could imagine wrapping my arms around his body as he fell asleep in my embrace.

Before I knew it, my cock was responding to that image: Patrick, in my arms, under my covers.

And that was something that I felt more than comfortable dealing with. I could jerk off thinking about Patrick—of course I could. He was hot, and he’d never have to know I did it.

I reached down, pushing the covers away and then quickly pulling off my sleep shorts and tossing them to the side. I was hard—really hard—already, and as soon as my hand found its way to my cock, I knew I wasn’t going to last long.

And this had been building up inside me all night. From the minute Patrick had bumped into me, I’d wanted him.

And if he was here in my bed, in some ideal world where he was available and interested in me… I would absolutely lavish him with attention. I wanted to know what he looked like with that shirt off, to find out if his body underneath looked just as good as it did under the layers of material. I was certain that it would.

I stroked myself as I pictured what Patrick might look like underneath his jeans, too—what his eyes might look like if I pulled off his underwear and kissed the tip of his cock. Would he shudder? Moan? Patrick seemed like a relatively quiet person, but I had the sense that he might be louder in bed.

And God, what would he sound like when I made him come? Going down on people turned me on more than almost anything else, and I wanted to do it to Patrick. He so clearly needed it. He was overworked—I remembered the first couple years after opening my first bar, and even I had slowed way down on hookups at the time.

Patrick was probably so pent up, so in need of release.

Almost as much as I was in need of it now.

I stroked myself faster, picturing him writhing in bed as I took him closer to orgasm, and finally brought him right up to the edge.

I wanted to hear him beg me to let him come. I wanted to feel his thighs trembling under me as my mouth pumped faster around his cock. And I wanted to feel his hands grip around my head as he finally let go, coming and coming inside my mouth as I swallowed around him.

And I hoped to God that he would call out my name.

The thought of that was enough to take me to the edge, too—I pictured Patrick saying my name, over and over, as I pumped my fist along my cock.

“You’re so good, Taran,” Patrick would say. “God, I need you like this all the fucking time.”

I groaned softly as I felt myself crashing toward orgasm, gripping tight against my cock.

“God,” I whispered as I came hard on my stomach and chest, the image of Patrick naked in my head the whole time. Now it was his name that was on repeat in my mind—Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. He was all I saw as I rode through, breathing deep and finally opening my eyes again, the soft glow of the town filtering through my windows.

Could he want me like that? Did I have any chance of sleeping with him before my time in Rose Falls was done?

It seemed more than unlikely. And it was stupid for me to even entertain the idea because I certainly didn’t want to sleep with him unless he wanted me back.

And he didn’t.

But I couldn’t remember when I’d last come that hard before. Logically, I knew it was probably because Patrick was unavailable—I wanted what I couldn’t have. It was classic.

But another part of me thought that it was more than just wanting something forbidden. Patrick really did seem like an amazing person, and there was still so much about him I didn’t know. I felt like all I was seeing was the surface of a lake, not knowing how deep the waters went.

There was more to him. And for the first time in so long, I desperately wanted to know what it was.

I picked up my phone from my bedside table, quickly searching online for what time Brew for You opened in the mornings. I set my alarm for thirty minutes beforehand. I had no idea if Patrick would be up in time, or if he’d even want to be, but I figured I would get up to wake him, just in case.

But the next morning, when I sauntered out into the living room, he had already left. The blanket was neatly folded on the edge of the couch, but all other signs of Patrick were gone.