Glitter rained down from over the door, and Mal took a startled step back. The paranoia that came with his heat hit him in full force, and no matter how he tried to tell himself that it was just glitter, and that he was in no danger at all, his mind wasn’t interested in listening.

Loud. Unexpected.

It made Mal want to hide until the excitement died down. The less riled people were, the less likely they were to do something impulsive.

Something like corner an omega in heat.

The blockers had taken effect, but Mal swore he could still smell his fertility on the air. Was it from his cum? He’d done the best he could to wipe it up, but there was still a damp spot. If he could smell his heat, others had to be able to smell it, too. All it would take was one alpha who decided he wanted a little fun, and…

Mal didn’t want to think about it. That wasn’t his life anymore.

Unable to remain in the crowd, Mal hurried for the back end of the banquet hall, where sliding glass doors overlooked a patio blanketed in snow. In the summer, the landscape beyond those doors had to be spectacular, but now there was almost nothing to see. The rounded green tops of the topiaries were hidden beneath accumulation, and the sprawling grounds and accompanying gardens were lost beneath inches of white. The sun had already started to set, casting the world outside the brightly lit banquet hall in dreary, stretching shadows. It was the last day of January, and the month took the sun down with it.

Mal slid the door open a crack and stepped out to join the gloom. The frost in the air nipped at his nose and froze the back of his throat, but it was better than staying where he might be discovered. Out here, far from the crowd, he was safe. No one would scent him from across the room and decide they wanted a piece, and no eyes would linger on him as they tried to figure out what, exactly, he was so flustered about.

The soles of Mal’s shoes crunched the snow underfoot. A wooden overhang protected the patio area from the worst of the accumulation, allowing only drifting snow to coat the stonework. Each crisp impact was satisfying—it distracted Mal from the unjustified fear that kept his chest clenched and his heart racing. He spent a while walking in slow, steady circles just to hear the noise his steps made, then went to settle on a stone bench to the side of the patio. A thin layer of snow had settled on it, which Mal brushed away with the back of his hand. When it was swept clean, Mal sat. The coldness of the stone seeped through his pants and into the backs of his thighs, so cold it burned. He winced and tried to shift his weight, but found no relief. Finally, he stood and brushed the backs of his pants off, regretting his decision.

It looked like slow pacing was his only option.

Mal wandered the patio, timing each crunch of his footfalls to the metronome of his mind. If he cooled off, would he be able to go back inside? The part of him that wasn’t irrationally terrified longed to make connections—it had been a long time since he’d been to a wedding, and he ached to see if maybe, this time around, he’d run into someone special. Over the years, he’d watched as one by one, his friends from The White Lotus had paired off. His best friend, Seth, had been the first, then Elijah, and Lucian… even Gabriel, who had been mentally warped in ways Mal thought he’d never be able to overcome, had found someone to love. They’d had children, now grown. Those children, the ones Mal had doted on as babies, were grown and having babies of their own. Alex, one of Gabriel’s distant relatives by marriage and one of the children Mal had babysat once upon a time, was the one getting married today. He had a daughter and a husband—the kind of life Mal used to dream would be his own.

But Mal was a few weeks away from turning fifty, and he’d accepted that some dreams didn’t come true.

Not that it wouldn’t be nice to find someone to care for—someone like Vincent.

Heat crept through Mal’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. He came to a stop and looked across the grounds, lost in his own thoughts. Dr. Vincent Wasserman, MD, as his card had stated, hadn’t made Mal feel panicked or self-conscious. He’d asked all the right questions, politely asked for permission, and apart from one indulgent thrust, had been focused on Mal’s pleasure alone. He hadn’t asked for reciprocation, and when Mal had become tongue-tied, he’d smoothed the situation over and prevented it from getting awkward.

He’d given Mal his card, just in case Mal wanted to call.

The heat across Mal’s cheeks crept down his neck. He was grown, too old to harbor silly crushes, but there was an honest quality about Vincent he struggled to forget. In the end, despite his feelings, it didn’t matter. Vincent was much younger than he was—he had to be. He didn’t look much older than thirty. Regardless of the charming things he’d said, there were better partners out there for him—men or women closer to his age than Mal.

It was better to leave him be. Besides, he hadn’t sent Mal a text—

Mal’s phone buzzed, interrupting him mid-thought. It had to be a coincidence. Maybe Gage was looking for him—he, Aaron, and Bo were at the reception, and it wouldn’t surprise Mal if they needed him to look after Bo for just a few minutes.

It wasn’t Gage.

Hey :) This is Vincent, in case you didn’t figure that out from the business card.

Hey! Mal hesitated, unsure of what to say. It had been a shamefully long time since he’d been engaged in conversation with someone he liked—and who might like him back. Um, sorry about before. Really.

What are you apologizing for?

There was nothing to be sorry about, except for his nerves getting the best of him. Mal exhaled slowly and steadily, then found it in himself to smile. The quickened beat of his heart wasn’t from panic anymore, but from anticipation of the conversation to come. All he had to do was be himself and he’d be okay.

Nothing. It’s my brain playing tricks on me. I’m not a fan of big crowds at the best of times, and right now, with my heat starting up, I’m definitely not at my best.

I don’t know… I think you were pretty phenomenal.

The reply came so quickly that it had to be sincere. Vincent hadn’t spent ages choosing the best words or editing his comment to make an impact—he’d spoken from his heart and replied.

It wasn’t how their conversation was supposed to go. Vincent was supposed to have moved on.

What was the catch?

Mal fished Vincent’s business card from his pocket and searched it for further details. There was his cell number, an office number, which had been scratched over by pen, an email address in Vincent’s name, and an address located in Oregon.

Oregon.

Mal frowned.

Oregon was thousands of miles away. No wonder Vincent was being so friendly—he was in town for the wedding, and then he was going to fly back home and forget the weekend had ever happened. Mal should have guessed as much. No one he was interested in ever stayed in his life for long.

But the look in Vincent’s eyes… was it wrong to dream?

It wouldn’t have been so phenomenal if I hadn’t had someone touching me like you did.

You’re sweet. Where are you right now? I wouldn’t mind running into you again.

Mal blinked and reread the message several times, trying to determine if there was innuendo in it or not. Before he could reply, Vincent sent a follow-up text.

God, I meant that in a nice, nonsexual way. I’m sorry. That was kind of ambiguous, wasn’t it? I guess I’m not used to this whole Being a Gentleman thing. I usually keep to myself.

A tiny smile lifted Mal’s lips, and strange warmth rushed through his chest. Vincent was a nice guy, even if they had met under unusual circumstances.

I usually keep to myself, too, but I’m glad you happened to stumble into my little closet.

I’m glad I did, too. :)

A smiley face. That was a good sign, right? A cold wind stirred Mal’s hair and slid its way under his suit jacket, bringing with it a shiver that started between Mal’s shoulder blades and plunged to his lower back. As the weather chilled him, he read back over their texts and realized he’d neglected to answer Vincent’s question.

Should he answer it?

If he stayed out where guests weren’t, he could come down from his anxiety and maybe pull himself together enough to make it back to the party. But if Vincent came out to join him, Mal wasn’t sure he’d ever want to go back.

I heard the clock strike twelve. I had to go.

I thought it was strange I didn’t see you in the crowd anymore. One second you were there, the next, you were gone. If your pumpkin leaves you stranded, will you give me a call?

What was Vincent’s game? He was young and attractive—perfectly suited for any of Alex’s friends—but he was being kind to Mal in a way that was more than friendly. How many years separated them? Fifteen? More? Maybe Vincent hadn’t seen the wrinkles in the corners of Mal’s eyes in the dim light of the storage closet, or maybe he’d enjoyed too much champagne and hadn’t noticed. Whatever the case, Mal thought he should set him straight. Vincent was too nice to be led astray.

I would, but I think your prince is in another castle. I’m probably not as young as you think I am.

So?

Two letters had never struck Mal as hard. He stared at his phone, struggling to comprehend the response.

I mean, I think I’m a lot older than you.

So?

A smile crept onto Mal’s face. It was a simple joy, but he welcomed it regardless. There was a chance that Vincent was placating him, but right now, he couldn’t help but feel like he really mattered to someone, even if that someone was a near stranger.

Vincent followed up with a second text.

If you find yourself stranded, wherever you’ve run off to, all you have to do is let me know. I’m not going to change my mind because you’ve been around the sun a few more times than I have.

Mal tapped the toe of one shoe against the back of the other, dislodging a clump of compact snow from the space between the sole and the minuscule wedge heel. Tiny snowflakes began to drift lazily through the air, and, to Mal’s surprise, strings of white lights secured to the beams of the overhang blinked to life. A dreary January evening turned into something magical.

When was the last time he’d experienced wonder like this?

I will, Mal promised. Thank you.

At your service. I hope I’ll see you again soon.

It was unlikely, but even if it was a nicety, the sentiment was appreciated more than Mal could make known. He’d spent the last thirty years of his life overlooked or dismissed for one reason or another, and for the first time in decades he felt…

What was it that he felt, exactly?

Invigorated. Rejuvenated. Whole.

A little praise went a long way, and praise paired with an orgasm? Mal didn’t think he’d come down from his high any time soon.

The conversation had come to its natural end. Too embarrassed to reply, Mal tucked the phone back into his pocket and let out a long, flustered sigh. It froze when it left his lips, his breath rising like smoke.

There was no point in getting too attached. After the wedding, Vincent would head home, and their little fairytale would be done. It was safer to keep his heart closed.

But the warm, fluttering feeling remained.

The third IVF treatment would take. Change was on its way—Mal could sense it. The new year had just begun, and he intended to make it his best one yet. Vincent was a sign of the good still to come.

He’d make this happen. He’d live his dream.

And whether he became a single dad, or found a partner to settle down with, he’d find his happily ever after. He swore it.