BY THE TIME Sunday rolled around, things were back to normal, and by normal that meant they’d spent Saturday lounging around the condo catching up on the shows Logan had missed over the past few weeks and doing not much else. And today they were making the sixteen-mile commute from downtown Chicago to the northwest suburbs, just as they did every Sunday.

“Wait a minute,” Logan said, glancing at Tate out the corner of his eye. “You’re telling me that I should just demand Robbie tell me what’s going on with him?”

About halfway to Skokie, Logan had remembered the reason he’d wanted to talk to Tate on Friday before the shitstorm had broken out. And after explaining the weird vibe he’d gotten during his meeting with Robbie, Tate had suggested he use his biggest weapon—himself—when it came to the ex-barista.

“Yeah. The Robbie I knew could barely remember his own name when you were around,” Tate said.

“And your answer is for me to charm him?”

“No. No,” Tate said, around a chuckle. “You don’t get it. Let me see if I can explain this better for you.”

“Plain English usually works. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

“I know. But you have no idea the effect you have on people.” Logan frowned as Tate squeezed his thigh. “You’re fucking hot.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”

Tate started laughing loudly. “I am. It’s that simple. You, Logan Mitchell, are sexy. I used to always think of you as sex on legs.”

“Used to?” Logan asked, only mildly offended.

“Still do,” Tate said, flashing him a grin. “But when we met, I was so damn confused by you. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t get you out of my head. Then I’d get so angry when you’d constantly show up. And even when I wanted you to go away… God, I loved looking at you. You’re…” Tate’s words lingered as he let his eyes rove all over Logan.

“Hard as hell now,” Logan said, shifting in the driver’s seat.

“Well, I’m just trying to explain that you have a very commanding presence,” Tate said. “It’s one that Robbie used to trip all over himself to get close to. The next time you see him, sit him down, and make him listen to you. I guarantee the second your attention is focused on him and you’re asking him questions, he’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Logan thought about that and shook his head. “I think you’re a little biased.”

“Logan?”

“Yes?”

“Trust me on this. I thought about you even before you touched me, and considering I was adamantly straight, I’d say that’s one hell of a presence.”

Logan eyed him as he exited the highway and licked his lips. “Tate?”

“Hmm?”

“Stop talking now. We’re about to be in the company of minors, and I’d rather do that without a raging hard-on.”

“Okay,” Tate said. “But the next time you see Robbie, treat him the way you used to, not carefully or differently. See how he responds.”

Logan nodded, and decided that tomorrow, when he saw Robbie, he’d see how he was going to play it out. He reached down and placed his hand over Tate’s in a familiar move, and when Tate interlaced their fingers and brought them to his mouth to kiss his bruised knuckles, Logan looked over and said, “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure which part he was thanking him for—maybe both the advice and the kiss—but when Tate grinned and said, “Anytime,” Logan sighed and looked back out at the road, thinking he had to be just about the luckiest man on the planet.

As he took several turns and drove past the Welcome to Skokie sign, Logan looked at the familiar homes lining the streets.

A couple of years ago, when Cole and Rachel had found out they were expecting their second child, they’d made the decision to move out of the city and head for the suburbs. A decision that Logan took great delight in busting Cole’s balls over to this day. He still couldn’t believe his brother had gone from Mr. Cool and Controlled to this warm, domesticated father-of-the-year type. But hell if that role didn’t suit him. He’d never seen Cole happier than when he was around his wife, son, and daughter, and as Logan finally pulled into the driveway of the Madison’s two-story colonial home, evidence of the family who lived inside was littered all over the front lawn.

As he and Tate shoved open the car doors and got out, Logan spotted a blue bike with training wheels lying on its side on the perfectly cut grass and smiled. Beside it was a soccer ball, and over by the garden that lined the path to the front door was a small pink bucket with a shovel beside it. It looked like the Madisons had been out enjoying the warm August day.

Logan headed around to the trunk and took several of the grocery bags Tate handed him, and couldn’t help stealing a kiss from the man whose eyes were hidden behind his Aviators.

“What was that for?” Tate asked with a grin as he reached up to shut the trunk.

“Do I need a reason?”

“Not ever.”

“Glad to hear it,” Logan said as he ran his eyes over the cargo shorts and white shirt that Tate wore. His hair was a stylish mess that somehow suited him, and the stubble lining his jaw was a little thicker today, and made Tate look casual and sexy in an effortless way.

“You ready to head inside out of this heat?” Tate asked.

“Sure am. After you,” Logan said, and stepped aside, but Tate flashed him a crooked grin and said, “Oh no. After you. I’d rather come from behind today, if that’s okay with you.”

Logan lowered his sunglasses down his nose. “You did not just say that to me when I finally have myself back in a somewhat decent state. You do realize we have to spend the afternoon in a house with a two-and-a-half-year-old and four-year-old.”

Tate chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I do. And I did. I would say I’m sorry, but you’re looking really hot in those tailored shorts and shirt all tucked in and proper.”

“Proper?” Logan looked down at his white Bermuda shorts and navy-blue polo. “There’s not one proper thought currently in my head.”

“I know,” Tate said. “That’s what makes you even hotter. Now get inside, Uncle Logan. I can already see someone waiting for you.”

Logan turned around and looked at the glass front door that was obviously locked, and Tate was right. There, waving so hard his little arm just might fall off, was Thomas Madison.

As the two of them headed up the paved walkway, Logan took in the fair-haired boy with hazel eyes who was the spitting image of Cole, and marveled, as he always did, that he was getting a glimpse of what his brother must’ve looked like when he was the same age.

When they got to the two steps leading up to the front door, he could hear Thomas shouting excitedly through the glass. “Uncle Logan! Uncle Tate!” And then Rachel appeared, a yellow sundress swishing around her as she hurried down the hallway to unlock the door.

As it swung wide, Thomas charged outside, like a horse from a starting gate, and launched himself at Logan. His arms wrapped around Logan’s legs as he hugged him tight and beamed up with a bright smile, his eyes twinkling.

“Hey there, big guy,” Logan said, as Rachel reached for the bags he was holding. Once his hands were free, Logan picked Thomas up and gave him a big bear hug. Thomas growled and squeezed him back as Logan kissed him on the cheek. “Are you bigger than you were last week?”

“Nooo,” Thomas said, and shook his head. “You say that every week.”

“Because it’s true,” Logan said as he stepped inside and kissed Rachel’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, Mom?”

Rachel smiled at him as she pushed her black hair with purple highlights behind her ears. “Sure is. See, Thomas, if you keep eating your vegetables, soon you’ll be taller than Logan.”

Thomas scrunched his nose up, looking doubtful. “Will I be as tall as Daddy?”

“If you eat your veggies, you just might be,” Logan said, and put Thomas on his feet. “Between you and me, I think he’s shrinking.” As he ran a hand over the back of Thomas’s head, Logan moved aside so Tate could greet Rachel with a kiss.

“Hey there, Rach,” Tate said, as Rachel wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into his side.

“Hey yourself. You’re just in time. Cole was finishing up feeding Lila, then he’ll be ready to head out the back and fire up the grill.”

Thomas took hold of Logan’s hand and tugged on it, leading him up the hallway, which was lined with photo after photo of the Madison clan and their extended family.

As they passed by, Logan saw the image of Rachel with her brother, Mason, when they were kids, and right beside it the one of them just last Christmas. Both of them were laughing, their heads tipped back, and they looked the very picture of happy siblings. Above that image was one of Rachel and Cole, arms wrapped around one another, lips touching, and again she was all smiles, even as Cole’s lips were barely tipped up in a smirk. Knowing Cole, he’d probably said something he shouldn’t have—something his wife clearly appreciated.

Under that one was Thomas as a baby, and directly beside it Miss Lila, and then farther up was the entire Madison clan for last year’s Christmas card. Logan remembered receiving it in the mail and thinking how perfectly cheerful they all were.

Cole and Rachel sitting on the bricks surrounding their fireplace with Thomas on Cole’s knee and Lila in her mother’s lap. Pure joy shone from their eyes. It was enough to make even his heart swell.

Then, just as they reached the end of the hall, he spotted the gift that he and Tate had given Rachel last month for her birthday. Tate had thought of it, of course, and Logan remembered the tears in her eyes when she’d unwrapped the framed photo of them that had been taken at their friend’s wedding back in May.

Both in suits, the two of them looked sharp. But it was the moment they’d been captured in that Rachel claimed made the image so powerful. Tate was standing behind Logan with his arms wrapped around his waist, and Logan was looking at him over his shoulder—he remembered it perfectly. He’d been bitching about having one of the grooms’ bow ties flung into his drink, and Tate had kissed his ear and said, “Cheer up. I promise to blindfold you later with my tie. Not throw it in your drink.” And the resulting look between them was a scorching expression from Logan, and a hell of a wicked smile from Tate as they stared each other down.

That night had brought up some interesting emotions for him when Tate and Ace, one of the grooms, had joked about how they’d pair their names if they were to ever get married. But Tate had quickly squashed any discussion on that, insisting it was all a joke. So it wasn’t that shocking some of the telltale signs of all that love and matrimony was evident in the photograph.

You can practically feel the love between you two here, Rachel had said when she first looked at it. And she was right about one thing: that night, when they’d gone back to their hotel room, love had definitely been felt.

“Logan? Tate,” Cole said, and Logan tore his eyes, and thoughts, off the photograph. “You’re here.”

Thomas had released his hand and run through the living room to the kitchen where Cole was sitting at a table in the breakfast nook, and beside him in her high chair was the little miss—Lila.

With her thick ebony hair in pigtails, her chubby pink cheeks were made to be kissed as she raised her hand and waved. Logan stared at the picture the three of them made gathered around the kitchen table. Cole at the head, Lila to his left, and Thomas tapping Cole on the shoulder.

So cozy. So homey. And when Cole looked down at Thomas and laughed at something his son said, Logan thought, So happy.

He took Tate’s hand in his, and they walked over to where the three sat as Rachel headed into the kitchen. As they got closer, Lila, who’d been watching her brother and father, looked up and spotted Tate.

Her blue eyes widened and she immediately raised her arms, saying, “Unca Tate. Unca Tate.” Basically, her little heart melted—much the same way Logan’s did whenever he saw Tate.

Awesome, Logan thought, I pretty much have the exact same crush a two-and-a-half-year-old girl has.

“There’s my girl,” Tate said, and let go of Logan’s hand to head around the table to where Lila was now practically bouncing in her highchair. Logan laughed as he walked into the kitchen, stopping behind the island.

“Is she all done here?” Tate asked Cole, who had a small plate in front of him with a half-eaten triangular sandwich on it.

“Yeah, she’s done. And honestly”—Cole chuckled at his daughter, who was wriggling in her chair—“I’d almost be scared to deny her what she so clearly wants.”

“Unca Tate,” she said again, and when Tate reached for her, she giggled. “Lift!”

And just like everyone else in that room who’d met Tate, Lila immediately welcomed him with open arms.