My entire body felt like it was on fire.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation like this. I couldn’t remember when I’d last had feelings like this, for God’s sake. It certainly wasn’t typical for me.

But somehow Patrick had drawn every last vulnerability out of me, and now here I was, laid bare, feeling like a turtle without its shell.

I didn’t know whether I wanted to run from the office—run far away, possibly leave Rose Falls or the entire United States, for the rest of my life—or whether I wanted to sink against Patrick, holding his body close to mine. I’d said a horrible thing about his bar in the newspaper, and now here he was, still sympathetic and kind toward me.

It was remarkable. He was remarkable.

“People in Rose Falls do want a bar like Cobalt,” Patrick said. “No matter how many people you’ve heard talking about my bar this week, I’ve probably heard double talking about yours. But… that’s not the only reason I was upset about the quote.”

“Why, then?” I asked, keeping my voice soft.

“Because the other night, I really felt like we made a connection. As friends. I enjoyed spending time with you. And then you didn’t show up at Brew for You all week, and then the quote in the paper….”

I took a deep breath. “I wanted to come in every day,” I said. “I thought about it every day. But… it felt like I couldn’t.”

Patrick cocked his head to one side.

“God, I’m so not used to acting like this,” I said, letting out a nervous laugh. “I don’t act like this around anyone, except maybe Madeline.”

“Why not?” he said.

I met his eyes. “Because I learned a long time ago that I shouldn’t be too vulnerable. It only leads to bad things.”

“You definitely should be more vulnerable,” Patrick said.

“Why?”

“Because this is the most real you’ve seemed to me since I met you,” he said. “I’m sure that’s all those two men at the bar meant, too. Sure, the slick persona is fun and attention-grabbing, but the real you is all anyone really wants. And the same goes for the bar, for God’s sake. People just want a good drink. Your cocktails are amazing. They speak for themselves. You don’t have to stir up local news gossip and controversy to get people coming into your bar.”

“Maybe not,” I said. I suddenly felt supremely drained, all the fight gone from me.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Patrick said. “I’ll… forget all about the paper if you promise me to be real from now on. With me, with customers, newspaper reporters, anyone. I don’t care what you do when you’re back in D.C., but while you’re here, can you do that for me?”

I pulled in a long breath. “I can try. Sometimes… sometimes I feel like ‘the real me’ in D.C. might be different from the one here in Rose Falls, you know?”

“Maybe so,” he said. “But whoever the real you is, that’s the one I want to know. Okay?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Somewhere along the way, Patrick and I had seamlessly morphed from arguing into comforting each other. It was like magic. I realized that I owed him for this, owed him whatever I could give in exchange for him being so understanding.

I knew I didn’t deserve it. But still, Patrick was here. Looking at me with his knowing, caring eyes—like pools of calm, centering me. And Jesus, the whiplash of the night made me want a stiff drink.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked me, his voice calm.

“Um,” I said, “Well, that all this talk about Cobalt’s amazing cocktails really makes me want one.” I smiled lightly.

Patrick let out a soft laugh. “Really?” he said. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

I hitched one shoulder up into a shrug. “One of many things, I guess,” I said. “Come out to the bar with me, and I’ll make us both something. I’m sure most of the bartenders have long since gone home while I was back here being… vulnerable.” I curled my lips around the last word like it was a curse.

“Yes,” Patrick said. “And being vulnerable made me feel about ten times better being around you. It’s a good thing, Taran. It looks good on you. You should do it more.”

“Oh God, now I really need a drink.”

I led Patrick back out to the front of the bar. I was right—all but a couple of the bartenders had gone home, and the rest were packing up their stuff to leave. I talked briefly with my general manager Christa and one of the bartenders, Rowland, before they all headed out. It was just Patrick and me in the bar now, and he sat down in the same seat he’d taken on opening night.

“So you never told me why,” Patrick said.

“Why what?” I asked, preparing amaretto sours for both of us.

“Why you never stopped by my café this week,” he said. “I really did want you to come by. I may have even let you get a premium coffee for free.”

“Wow, premium? I must really be special,” I joked. There was a lull in the conversation as I finished our drinks, and after setting them on the bar top, I crossed over and sat down on the barstool next to Patrick.

“Well…” I started to say, then trailed off as I took a sip of my drink.

“Tell me the real reason why,” Patrick said. “Not the Taran Vallas polished answer for public consumption. Be vulnerable.”

“Ugh, ew,” I said. “Stop saying that word.”

“Then just do it,” he said, smiling.

“Fine,” I said. “I was avoiding the café because of… you.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and took a huge swig of his drink. “Oh come on, Taran. You’ve got to quit with this. I understand now why you might have been a little intimidated by Brew for You, but you couldn’t possibly be intimidated by me. I’m not exactly known for being scary.”

I shook my head, taking another big sip of my drink. “No, no,” I said. “Okay. Here goes. Total honesty.”

“Yes,” Patrick said, raising his hands up as if in praise.

“Well,” I said, “to put it bluntly, I am… attracted to you. And I know you’re not interested in someone like me. So I was trying to limit my exposure to you. You know that my default personality is basically just a total flirt, and I didn’t want to subject you to that if you don’t enjoy it.”

Patrick paused, his eyes wider than I’d ever seen them. “I’m sorry… what?” he said. “You actually… want me?”

I barked out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I said. “Come on, Patrick. I’m only human. Of course I want you.”

He paused for a while, looking down at his drink, then back at me, then back to the drink again. He took a long sip, nearly draining the glass. “Well, yeah, I guess that does make sense. Like you said, you’re the flirt of the century. I’m sure you want almost everyone you meet in Rose Falls.”

I shook my head. “You’d be surprised, actually,” I said. “As long as we’re keeping with the whole ‘honesty’ thing… I haven’t really found many people I want in Rose Falls at all.”

“Seriously? Are they just not as model-hot as the people in the big city?”

I shook my head. “No. A lot of people are actually much more attractive here, in my opinion. It isn’t that. It’s … I haven’t found myself wanting to hook up quite as much. Feels like there’s something wrong with me, almost.”

Patrick was silent for a while before finally finishing his drink. “Okay,” he said after a pause. “Make us both another. And do you have any plastic cups here?”

“I think I could probably find some in the back, I mean, we’re not really that kind of bar, but… Patrick, why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “Because we’re going on a little field trip.”

I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over my face. I had absolutely no idea what Patrick had in mind, but I liked it. Something had shifted in him—he seemed much more playful than he ever had before, like he was the one who felt freer after I’d been open and honest with him.

Or maybe he finally felt comfortable around me. It was a beautiful thing, seeing his eyes start to sparkle, a grin playing on his lips.

I went and rustled up some plastic cups in the back and then came out front to make our drinks.

“Make ‘em double strength,” he said, watching as I made us another round of amaretto sours. “I don’t know exactly how long this is going to take.”

“Yikes,” I said. “Is where we’re going even within Rose Falls?”

“It is,” he said. “Don’t worry. It just isn’t exactly the most populated area of town.”

“Patrick, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’ve got to say, I like it.”

He grinned wider at me, leaning over the bar. “Well, good,” he said simply, “because I like you.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, double-strength amaretto sours in hand, Patrick was leading me down a meandering dirt path. We’d headed downhill past the mini-mart, traveling many blocks down to an area of Rose Falls I’d never seen before.

He told me about his week—about how his brother Owen had started working at the shop, and how he was proud that Owen was finally doing something good. I remembered that he’d mentioned Owen before—I’d thought maybe Owen was Patrick’s husband, but now I knew that he was his younger brother.

I loved hearing more about Patrick’s life. I wanted to know all that I could about him, and the clearer the picture of him in my head was, the more I ended up liking him.

I also just liked listening to the sound of his voice.

It was late enough that the only sounds on the residential streets were those of crickets and the occasional frog, and as we walked further, more and more trees lined the streets, and the houses got further apart.

And now, it looked as though we were headed… nowhere. The dirt path was surrounded on both sides by trees, still growing in their new spring leaves.

“Patrick,” I said as we continued down the sloping path that was lit only every once in a while with a lamp post. “I know we just had a good, bonding conversation back there, but I have to ask… you’re not leading me out to an abandoned field to kill me, right?”

He snorted. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. Don’t worry. We’re getting close.”

“Okay. Because right now, this kind of looks like… nothing.”

“The first time I came here, I thought the same thing,” Patrick said, his footsteps crunching on the dirt in front of me. “But I promise, the walk is worth it.”

“This is nothing like the field trips I took as a kid.”

“I’d sure hope not. It wouldn’t exactly be good to give kids strong liquor and lead them down dirt paths past midnight.”

I laughed. “But it’s perfectly fine to do that to new friends who accidentally dumped all their emotional worries on you earlier that night, right?”

“Of course!” he said. “And I like it when my friends share their emotional worries with me. So really, the field trip is a reward.”

“I feel special.”

“You should. You’re really special, Taran.”

I laughed, knowing Patrick was being silly, but the words actually did mean something to me. It didn’t matter how many people had admired me for my business work ethic or my flashy cars and clothes—hearing Patrick say that about me, after a night like tonight, warmed me like an ember from the inside.

We kept walking for another couple minutes before Patrick turned down a fork in the path which led us down another sloping hill.

And then something amazing happened: the trees on either side of the path parted and gave way to a small lake—really a pond—that shimmered white in the moonlight. Surrounding the pond were benches, trees, more lam posts. But what caught my eye were the few shaded gazebos, slightly set back from the pond, each of them surrounded by patches of wild flowers. The frogs were even louder here than they’d been along our walk.

“Holy shit,” I said, taking everything in. I realized I’d been silent for a few moments, and Patrick was standing there smiling at me.

“Worth it?” Patrick said, taking a sip of his drink as he gazed out at the pond.

“Completely worth it,” I said. “Is this some sort of… secret garden, or something?”

He laughed as we continued on walking under the low light, the water rippling just slightly in the breeze. “It’s not really as secret as it might seem. In the daytime, this is a prime spot where people come to feed ducks, walk their dogs, yadda yadda. But somewhere along the way, I decided that this place is kind of magical at night.”

“It really is,” I said. “I’m not usually even a nature kind of person, whatever that means… but this is blowing me away. It’s simple, but it’s picture perfect.”

“This is Hazelwood Park. If you want to know what small-town life is nowadays, look no further. Sometimes in college, my friends and I would smuggle beers in here. I guess we’re kind of doing the fancy, grown-up version of that now.”

I laughed. “Amaretto sours out of plastic cups—that’s the height of fanciness.”

“Next time we’ll have to make it champagne served out of a big plastic boot.”

“Naturally,” I said.

We wandered slightly further. I picked a small yellow wild flower from an overgrown patch and stuck it behind my ear, shooting Patrick a silly grin. He rolled his eyes.

“What?” I said, quickly picking another and sliding it behind his ear. “You thought you could take me on this little nature walk and not expect me to go full hippie flower-child?”

“I never knew you had it in you, Taran.”

“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of surprises up my sleeve,” I said. “Next thing you know I’m going to go full punk-rock. I’ll come visit Brew for You wearing studded clothes and with a lip ring.”

Patrick shrugged. “Sounds fine to me. You should do whatever your heart desires.”

Finally we sat down at one of the nearby benches overlooking the pond.

“So people would just come here in college to drink?” I asked, turning toward Patrick on the bench.

He nodded. “Yes. Well… the main activity actually ended up being Truth or Dare, most of the time.”

I laughed. “Wait, really? Are you sure you’re not talking about elementary school here?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Nope. College. But the thing is… playing that dumb game was responsible for some of the most fun I ever had in school. It seems stupid, but I had my first kiss with a guy because we were playing Truth or Dare in this park.”

“Wait—you didn’t have your first kiss until college?” I asked.

“First kiss with a guy, at least. My friend Chris. He and I were both in the closet about being gay. Somebody dared us to kiss, and it was pretty clear that both of us enjoyed it more than we’d expected to. After that night, we ended up meeting in secret here all the time—kissing more, pretending we were just doing it because we were drunk.”

“People never do anything ‘just because they’re drunk.’ There’s always some truth to any drunken desires,” I said.

“Cheers to that,” Patrick said, touching his cup to mine and taking another swig.

“Gradually things got more physical between me and Chris, and then after a few months, we sort of admitted it to each other one night: we were both gay.”

“Wow,” I said watching Patrick’s face in the dim light. “That’s amazing. Usually first-time-with-a-guy stories end on a much sadder note. One guy still in the closet, repressed, or worse.”

“I know,” Patrick said. “I got really, really lucky. Chris was a sweet guy. We definitely helped each other through acceptance. We broke up at the end of the school year because he was older—he graduated and moved to San Francisco. But I still remember him fondly.”

“I never really had any experiences like that,” I said. “I always just knew I was bisexual. Since early high school. I don’t ever remember it even being a conscious thought back then.”

“You must have had a hell of a lot of fun back then, huh? You were probably all suave, getting all the girls and the guys….”

I looked out at the pond, pausing for a while. Patrick had no clue that bringing up my high school love life was actually a ticking time bomb of emotional turmoil for me. Because the whole time period of high school, and then beyond, all the way until I was twenty-one, only reminded me of Leanne.

Every few seconds a small ripple occurred in the water at the same place, a fish out looking for his midnight food. The conversation with Patrick had completely stalled at this point, and I thought I probably looked far more somber than the situation called for.

I knew I should be honest with Patrick. But my time with Leanne was something that I never really talked about with anyone. It was something that I didn’t really even like thinking about myself.

“Well,” I finally said. “I didn’t have as much fun back then as you might have thought. Not the kind that you’re thinking of, anyway.”

Patrick raised one eyebrow. My brain hadn’t really thought far enough ahead when I’d started talking again—of course, I owed Patrick an explanation; of course, he’d want to know why I’d suddenly started acting like this.

I swallowed roughly. “It’s kind of a long story, but I guess I should probably tell you about my… my high school love.”

“Sure,” Patrick said softly, turning toward me on the bench. “I’ve got nowhere to be but here.”

I nodded. “Well. Her name was Leanne. I had known her forever, but as soon as we hit puberty, we were inseparable. There was never any weird period where we transferred from being friends to being a couple—it always just felt natural, it made sense, everything was right.” I paused, then puffed out a small laugh. “I actually realized I liked both girls and guys because of Leanne. We always had crushes on the same celebrities. Most notably Johnny Depp.”

Patrick nodded knowingly. “Hard not to love him,” he said with a small smile.

“After four years together in high school, which is an eternity at that age, we were certain we were going to get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. But after we graduated, she started to… change. She started drinking a ton. Being more distant. And eventually she broke down and admitted to me that she’d cheated on me with four different guys. Two of them back in high school, and then two more just in the few months since graduation.”

“Holy shit,” Patrick said. “Ouch.”

I nodded. “And you know what I did? I forgave her. I stayed with her. She promised me she’d learned her lesson, that things would be different going forward. For a while, things seemed better, but a year later, it was like I was stuck in some sort of time loop. Everything happened again. She was drinking dangerous amounts, and not even trying to hide her cheating anymore. For God’s sake, I came back to our apartment once, and she was naked with someone else on our couch.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry,” Patrick said.

I waved a hand. “I know this is all so long ago, and we were just kids,” I said. “I try not to dwell on it anymore. But… my experience with Leanne has colored my whole fucking life.”

“Don’t minimize it just because you were young,” Patrick said. He paused for a moment before reaching out and resting a hand on my thigh. “That is a terrible thing to experience, and maybe even worse when you’re with your first true love.”

My only true love, I thought, but of course, I wasn’t going to say that to him.

“I finally broke up with her when I was twenty-one, moved to D.C., and met Madeline. I really mean it when I say I owe her my life, Patrick. I felt like my life was over when things with Leanne went so badly. People had told me to break up with her for so long, and I knew I should have sooner, but… I loved her. I loved her more than anything. She felt like family to me.”

Patrick didn’t break my gaze. “I know what you mean, Taran,” he said. “I don’t blame you at all for staying with her as long as you did. She… she was your love. You cared about her, even if it was hurting you.”

I nodded, pulling in a deep breath. “I’m mostly fine now, and I don’t think about her that much—it was almost fifteen years ago now. After a couple years of mourning our relationship, I finally entered my flirty, slutty phase and… well, I guess that pretty much takes me to today, really.”

“Wow,” he said, watching me.

I laughed softly. “I’m sure the gears are finally turning in your head now, aren’t they?” I asked him. “The playboy who actually has a wounded heart… I’m a cliché.” I felt like I was being swallowed up, like I had said too much, and now Patrick would realize I wasn’t who I pretended to be.

It felt strange, but somewhere inside, it also felt so totally freeing.

Patrick shook his head and squeezed his hand tighter against my thigh. “Your past is yours alone, Taran. It’s no cliché. I empathize with you. Though I will say thank you—thank you so much for being honest with me again. I know it’s not the easiest thing.”

“It is the fucking least easy thing on the planet,” I said smiling and letting out a long sigh. “While I was telling you all that, I practically felt like I was going to need to go dig a hole over there near the pond and bury my head in it until a few weeks from now.”

Patrick smiled. “Thank you. I mean it.”

I took another deep breath, letting it out slowly, my anxiety finally beginning to fade. I looked over at Patrick, who still seemed in just as good a mood as he had been at the beginning of the night.

My emotional story didn’t put him in a funk, didn’t close him off, didn’t make him run away. He was still right there, as sweet as ever, that silly flannel shirt draped over his shoulder like a farmhand.

The sexiest farmhand I ever saw, at least.

And shockingly, another emotion washed over me at that moment, completely replacing the guilt, shame, and anxiety of moments before. Suddenly, I felt a deep, warming sense of comfort—like I was safe, here with this person, in this place. It was a feeling unlike anything I’d had in recent memory. And it kind of fucking blew my mind.

“God,” I said, with a small shake of my head. I took a long sip of my drink, which I’d been ignoring.

“Hm?” Patrick replied. The flower on his ear had fallen slightly, and unconsciously I reached over and tilted it back to its proper place.

“I… I feel really good spending time with you,” I said.

Patrick’s eyes widened for just a moment, almost imperceptibly.

“Really fucking good,” I said.

A small grin appeared on his face, and within an instant, I felt one forming on mine, too.

“What?” I said as he started to laugh—equally infectious.

“You really don’t do anything half-assed, do you, Taran?” Patrick said, sitting up straight again, beaming at me.

“I mean, no, I don’t,” I said, “but what do you mean?”

“I mean you’re taking this honesty thing to a whole new level. Hell, we didn’t even have to play Truth or Dare, and you’re still going all out with being honest with me. It’s a revelation. You’re a whole new man. Is this even the real you? Have you been replaced with a clone?”

Patrick started to do a stupid impression of me with a robotic voice. I was laughing again so much that I was afraid I was going to spill my drink. “Fine,” I said. “Fine. Let’s do it then. Let’s play Truth or fucking Dare.”

“Oh yeah? What happened to all your ‘oh, that’s so elementary school, blah blah blah, I’m Taran Vallas, and I’m too cool for anything….’”

Patrick laughed, and I gave him a playful shove on the bench before pulling him back and squeezing him on his shoulder.

“I’ll do anything with you, Patrick,” I said, looking in his eyes. “So let’s play some damn Truth or Dare.”

He watched me for a moment, saying nothing. Something about the way he looked then kind of knocked me off my feet—I hadn’t felt quite this way in so long, and it was almost disorienting. I wasn’t used to the feeling of being vulnerable around someone. I wasn’t even used to the feeling of caring about anything other than work. But since I’d come to Rose Falls, something inside me had shifted. Work was still a top priority, of course, but the less busy schedule freed up room for my brain to breathe.

And now I was feeling things that I’d been numb to for years. I had only known Patrick for a week, but I had connected with him more than some people that I’d known in D.C. for months.

What was it about him? Was he different than the others? Or was it all something changing in me?

All these thoughts swimming around in my mind in rapid succession, combined with Patrick’s unfathomably beautiful eyes, nearly made me feel dizzy. I didn’t know why I was so affected by him, but I had to distract myself. I had to act on autopilot, to pretend everything was normal.

“So, which is it? Truth or dare?” I asked as if it meant nothing to me. As if I wasn’t squirming inside under Patrick’s gaze.

“Dare, I guess,” Patrick said, not breaking his eyes from mine.

“I dare you… to do something that scares you,” I said, not quite sure where the idea came from. I figured maybe he would jump in the pond, or climb a tree, or maybe sing a song.

But instead, Patrick leaned over on the bench, scooting closer toward me—so close that I could feel the side of his thigh pressed up against mine. His hand closed around the front of my shirt, gripping the fabric into his fist gently. He was so close to me, closer than he’d ever been. I felt like lightning was fizzling in my veins.

Then, with no hesitation, he closed the space between us and pressed his lips to mine.

And nothing could have been scarier than that. Because although Patrick kissing me was by far the best thing I’d felt since I’d come to Rose Falls—maybe for even longer than that—it was terrifying. Because it confirmed something I’d suspected but didn’t understand: I wanted Patrick. Badly. And unlike most hookups I had, Patrick already knew me so much better than most people.

Yet he still wanted me. There was so much danger there: danger of falling for him and ultimately disappointing him, danger of hurt, of pain, of complication. But at that moment, with his lips on mine and his hand tight against my chest, I couldn’t help but ignore everything that I was afraid of.

I let go.