It wasn’t strange waking up to another warm body next to my own.

I did it all the time, after all. A lot of people had hang-ups about letting people sleep over at their houses, but I never had. I was used to waking up next to near strangers, and as long as they were courteous enough to leave in an appropriate amount of time, I was comfortable with it.

So when I woke up with Patrick lying next to me, everything should have felt normal. After all, we’d only done what I did all the time: had a good time together.

But it felt different. Of fucking course it did. Everything with Patrick seemed to feel just the slightest bit different, more heightened, more intense.

It was still very early in the morning, and only the faintest grey-blue light was starting to rise over the hills outside my windows. Patrick was still fast asleep, breathing evenly next to me. For a few minutes I watched the rise and fall of his chest. He was in my clothes, a shirt that I’d gotten for free in D.C. for participating in a run for charity a few years back.

A small piece of fluff from the comforter had landed right on his temple. I reached out slowly and gently pulled it away, my fingertips brushing against his hair in the process. He murmured softly, clearly still very asleep, but humming contentedly somewhere in dreamland. He shimmied a little bit closer toward me in the bed, the warmth between us growing, a contrast to the chilly air above the sheets.

I felt like my heart was clenching inside my chest.

Something felt weird. I couldn’t process if it was good or bad or scary or what—all I knew was that I was enjoying having Patrick here far more than I expected, far more than I should have been.

It was just a hookup, I told myself, drawing my eyes away from Patrick and forcing myself to look at the bare ceiling. It was just a hookup. So why did it feel different? Why did I feel tempted to watch how beautiful Patrick was when he slept—something I didn’t do with almost anyone? I used to do things like that with Leanne, at least before everything had gone bad. She’d been everything to me, and when I woke up before her, I would hold her in my arms, feeling her soft breath on my chest and knowing I would spend the rest of my life with her.

But that certainly hadn’t happened. And I’d successfully avoided feeling that way about anyone else since her.

So feeling even the slightest hint of that with Patrick felt like a shock. It was a realm of emotion I hadn’t even allowed myself to feel in so many years, a type of emotion that I fully believed I was no longer capable of having access to.

I knew it was likely a fluke. I’d been so vulnerable with Patrick the night before, and maybe somewhere in my brain, I was conflating a budding friendship with some silly romantic ideation.

So I was going to ignore it. Patrick was someone I wanted to be friends with, whether we hooked up or not.

I slipped out of bed soundlessly and went to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face before returning to the bedroom. I looked around for a while, unsure of what exactly to do. My eyes landed on the book beside the bed—Rose Falls Sightseeing and Exploring—and on impulse, I went to pick it up.

I sat back down in bed, making sure not to rouse Patrick yet, and turned on the tiny light on my bedside table. I started flipping through the glossy pages of the Rose Falls book. Something about it calmed me, looking through page after page of gorgeous scenery. I couldn’t believe some of the places were even real. They looked like stock photos, like the type people used for the background photos on their computers, but I knew I only had to travel a few miles to see most of these things.

Movement next to me a few minutes later almost made me jump out of my skin. I turned and saw that Patrick had woken up, squinting his eyes at me in the low light.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice carrying a slight morning rasp. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I breathed out. “No problem. It’s fine. I just was sort of lost in these pages.”

Patrick yawned, stretching his arms high up over his head before propping his head up behind his hand and leaning on his elbow. “Enjoying that Rose Falls picture book, eh? You’re so cute.”

“I’ve been paging through it,” I said, trying not to acknowledge the fact that Patrick had called me cute. Cute? I didn’t know if anyone had called me that since I was a child. Sure, I got “handsome” or even “sexy,” but “cute?”

I felt my cheeks heating as I thought about that word. Something was very clearly wrong with me this morning, indeed. I was suddenly acutely aware of Patrick’s eyes on me, burning into me as hot as my cheeks now felt. I had to do something about it.

I quickly flipped through the book to find a picture of a particularly amazing cliffside shot that I’d seen earlier. “Let’s go here.”

“Hm?” Patrick hummed, clearly confused.

“Let’s go here. This says it’s only twenty miles away from here.”

He leaned over, looking at the book. “Yeah, those are the Anara cliffs. It’s not far at all.”

“So let’s go. Right now.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “Taran, I’m supposed to be at Brew for You in a half hour.”

“Didn’t you tell me last night that Owen and Emmett have it handled? You said you were so proud of Owen this weekend, that he was almost done with his training….”

“Well… yes, I’m sure they will be fine, but….”

“But what? Come to the cliffside with me.” I launched myself out of bed. “I’m sure you’d be just fine in those sweatpants, but I ordered a bunch of athletic wear, and trust me, you’ll like these pants better,” I said, crossing over into my closet. I pulled out lightweight exercise clothes for the both of us. When I emerged back into the room, Patrick was sitting up in bed, looking at me like I was insane.

“You really want to go there right now? The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“It’s coming up as we speak. If we go, we’ll get there just in time to see the end of sunrise.”

“But… Owen….”

“Brew for You will be fine,” I said, stripping bare to start changing into my athletic clothes right in front of Patrick. I couldn’t help but enjoy feeling his eyes on me while I was naked—that was the type of attention I liked, that I was used to. I took a little more time getting dressed than I normally would have.

“Let me call Emmett at least,” Patrick said, getting out of bed and going over to the window. He dug his fingers through his hair, clearly nervous.

“Patrick,” I said, walking over to him. “Trust me, I know what you’re feeling right now. I couldn’t be torn away from my work either in the first couple years. But you need to let go.”

He nodded. “I know. But we have this shipment coming in today, and I don’t know if Emmett and Owen—”

I put my hand on Patrick’s shoulder, his skin still warm from being under the covers. “Call him. Ask him if he can handle it. And if he says yes, that’s the end of it.”

“Right. Okay,” Patrick said.

I could practically feel the fear radiating off him. He really was like an addict with his business, and I knew exactly how it felt. I couldn’t blame him, but I also knew that he needed to break free. And without a push, he might never get there.

So I was providing that push.

While he called Emmett, I ventured out into the kitchen and started making my morning smoothie, doubling all the ingredients so that I could pour one for Patrick. He came out ten minutes later, decked out in my athletic wear, a look of equal parts shock and freedom on his face.

“Emmett says he’s… fine,” Patrick said. “So I guess I won’t go into the shop this morning. He told me he’d see me in the afternoon for the changeover to the night shift.”

“Great,” I said, sliding over his glass on the countertop. “I made you a smoothie. It’s got mango, pineapple, and strawberry—hope you like those.”

“Jesus, Taran, thank you,” he said, leaning over and grabbing it. He still looked shell-shocked as he started drinking, shaking his head. “I can’t believe the store is opening in fifteen minutes and I’m not going to be there.”

“The world of Brew for You will go on,” I said, grinning at him. “It’ll go great. How do you feel?”

Patrick looked at me, and a slow smile spread over his face. “I feel… fucking great,” he said. “I’m ready to go to the cliffs.”

“Let’s do it,” I said, clinking my smoothie glass to his. “To your first real morning off.”

“Cheers to that,” he said, the first light of the morning shining through the window and making his eyes sparkle.

He is fucking beautiful, I realized, watching him there in my kitchen. It hit me like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t just physically attractive—that I had known all along—but he was magnetic, to me. I’d felt the pull toward him ever since the night I’d met him, but having him here only solidified the feeling.

My brain set off every alert it could: bad, danger, you could get hurt, you will get hurt.

But the look Patrick had on his face blew right past every warning sign my brain wanted to conjure up.

* * *

Three days after the trip to the Anara cliffs, I woke up with the same strange feeling again. I was alone, this time, no Patrick in bed next to me.

But I had dreamed about him.

It wasn’t even a sex dream, which was the worst part about it. The dream had been very commonplace, something that could seem innocuous to anyone else. It had been me and Patrick, at some event, the kind where I usually dressed up in my finest suit and tried to flirt with everyone in the room. But in this dream, Patrick was by my side the whole time, as some sort of partner to me. At first, I thought that we were just somehow business partners in the dream, that we’d teamed up and opened some bar together in Rose Falls.

But then Patrick leaned over and kissed me, in the dream. And then I’d looked down and seen a gold band around my finger, and a matching one on his own. And when Patrick put his arm around my waist, pulling me in close, everything had felt like it finally made sense. It felt like I was at home in his arms. And as cameras flashed around me at the event, I knew that the whole world was watching Taran Vallas, the playboy, become Taran Vallas, a married man.

The event in the dream wasn’t a bar opening at all. It was an engagement party. I had fucking dreamed that Patrick and I were getting married.

I woke up with a sense of panic in my veins. It was just a dream, I told myself, over and over, as I showered and got ready for the day. But I felt unmoored. Why the hell would I dream about something like that?

I came to the conclusion that I’d probably gotten something confused in my head after Patrick and I had gone to the cliffside together. When we were there, we had witnessed a proposal taking place. As we rounded to the top of the cliff, about two hours after sunrise, we had seen it happen from afar: a man get down on one knee in front of a woman. She had jumped up and down, embraced him, and they’d walked off down the path ahead of us a few minutes later. Patrick and I had stood in that same place a few minutes later, looking out over the cliff, the spring trees blooming below us across the town.

So clearly, the dream had just been some weird artifact from witnessing that scene. I felt like an alien in my own skin, and I knew I had to get the image out of my head.

I went for a long run, letting the cool morning air wash over me. When I got home, I still had many hours before I needed to go into Cobalt—hell, I didn’t need to go into Cobalt at all, really. My general manager was beyond competent and had everything handled. But I still felt like I needed to be doing something.

After calling and checking in on my bars in D.C., I had to get out of the apartment. I started off down the street, aimless, enjoying the spring day with no goal in mind.

As if on autopilot, I ended up in front of Brew for You ten minutes later after looping around the block. I stood nearby, looking in through the windows, seeing people inside on their laptops, most likely college students.

I still hadn’t been inside. But I knew that maybe if I went in, I could finally get the image of my dumb dream out of my head. I could replace it with the image of the real Patrick—my new friend. And hell, I could get a free cup of coffee, too.

As soon as I’d had the thought, I acted on it. I pushed through the front door, hearing a little jingle as I entered. Brew for You even had a little jingling bell on the door—it was so small-town perfect.

When my eyes scanned the coffee bar, I didn’t see anyone I recognized, at first. There was a cute guy manning the espresso machine and a younger guy at the register, slowly counting change from the tip jar. He looked like Patrick, almost, if Patrick had much shaggier hair and a much more relaxed attitude. That had to be Owen.

And as I walked up to the register, I saw Patrick emerging from the back room, carrying a sleeve of plastic lids in his hand. When he met my eyes, he smiled wide, immediately dropping the sleeve of lids onto the back countertop.

“You made it!” he said, coming around the bar to give me a brief hug hello. He returned behind the bar, gesturing at Owen. “Taran, this is Owen, my brother. And over there is Emmett.”

“Taran, nice to finally meet you,” Owen said, beaming at me. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Patrick shot him a glance.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, grinning. “What have you heard?”

“You know, it seems like you’re in the Gazette every other day now,” Owen said. “I saw the article yesterday that said you’re considering staying in Rose Falls for another month to watch over your bar.”

“Right,” I said, forgetting that I’d told someone two nights ago that I might do that. I still wasn’t used to the damn local newspapers around here—in D.C., it felt like hardly anyone read them anymore, but here, it felt like they were the main source of gossip. Or maybe the Gazette editor just really liked the cocktails at Cobalt.

“Well, now that you know you have a source of free coffee here, you’ll probably never leave,” Patrick said. He pointed up at the menu behind me. “I assume you’re already well aware of what coffee drinks are your favorites, but feel free to take a look.”

“Go ahead and make me whatever you think I’d like,” I said. “I’m not picky. And I trust your judgment.”

“Do you like the taste of espresso?” he asked.

“Absolutely love it.”

“Okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Owen, I’m going to show you how to make a real macchiato. Come with me.”

I watched idly as Patrick instructed Owen through the entire process—from washing his hands after handling money, to pulling the espresso shots, to steaming the milk and taking only the foam from the top. Patrick was clearly a very good teacher, patient with Owen when he initially messed up the milk-steaming process and then giving him positive reinforcement at the end when he made the final macchiato. Owen looked visibly proud as he picked up the small mug and brought it over to me.

“One macchiato for the Casanova of Rose Falls,” Owen said.

“Please, you can just call me Taran,” I said, only half-joking. Since the first newspaper article had printed that about me, it seemed like half the people who encountered me parroted the term. It was something I’d found hilarious at first, but now, somehow, I’d begun to resent it.

I didn’t feel like some player when I was in Rose Falls. The term would have fit pretty perfectly for my lifestyle back in D.C., but I just felt different now that I was here. I wasn’t a different version of myself, but I certainly felt less connection to that lifestyle than ever before.

I’d been able to breathe here. And instead of feeling like some character, I really just felt like myself. Taran.

I took a sip of the macchiato. “God, that is good,” I said. “You’ve got some skills, Owen.”

“Well, I’ve got a great teacher,” he said.

“Aww,” Patrick said. “He’s being extra nice right now because you’re here, Taran, but if you weren’t, he’d have been complaining the whole time.”

“I would not,” Owen said, waving a hand through the air. “I’m getting better at this every day.”

“You are. It’s true,” Patrick said.

It was beautiful seeing the two of them together. Already it was improving my strange mood that had hung over the morning. I’d been raised an only child, and I had no idea how it felt to have siblings, but it was clear that Owen and Patrick shared a close bond.

While the two of them were busy cleaning up at the espresso machine, I slipped a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar. When Patrick came back over, I slid my empty coffee cup back over the bar.

“Thank you so much, Patrick. It really was great,” I said.

“Great!” he said cheerfully, a huge smile on his face. I looked down at the counter for a moment, an awkward silence blooming between us.

What the hell was this? Since when was I awkward with anyone? I certainly wasn’t used to it—I could smooth over any bump in a conversation, no matter who it was with. One time, Jennifer Lawrence had come into one of my D.C. bars, and I hadn’t even batted an eyelash talking with her for twenty straight minutes.

But here, now, I could barely form a sentence with Patrick. I didn’t know what was happening to me.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” I said, instantly wanting to slap myself.

“Okay,” Patrick said. “Like I said, anytime you want a drink, come on in.”

“For sure,” I said, giving him a smile and a nod.

Awful. It was awful. I wanted to talk to him more, to have a real conversation, to know what the hell our relationship was now.

I briefly thought of our time in the shower, his cock deep in my mouth, how unbelievably connected and intimate I had felt with him at that moment, just a few days ago. I thought of how he’d looked in the dream, with a gold ring around his finger signifying that he’d be mine forever.

And now, in the cold light of reality, we had… this. An awkward silence, and me having no clue how to even speak anymore, apparently.

“Bye now,” I said, quickly heading for the exit. The air that had felt cool earlier now felt balmy, and I had to strip off the sweater I was wearing as I walked back down the street.

It had been a perfectly “normal” interaction, but to me, it had felt sort of like a disaster. The strange mood of the morning was now back and worse than ever.

And it seemed to last all the way through the week.

For the next week, every morning, I contemplated going into Brew for You, and every morning I didn’t. I went into Cobalt every night, even if there was no immediate reason for me to be there. I helped make cocktails. I asked the general manager if any help was needed with orders or invoices, but everything was under control.

On the weekend, the Rose Falls Spring Arts Festival was taking place. All day Saturday and Sunday, people flocked to the town, the event even drawing in a bunch of people from New York City. The streets seemed twice as packed, and everything felt alive, even somewhat like a big city would feel.

And Cobalt was slammed. For once, my presence was actually very needed—the bar needed all hands on deck for the swarms of people coming in on the weekend. I even called Madeline, asking if she was free to come help out. She showed up a couple hours before the night rush, ready to help out bartending for the first time in many years. It felt like old times when we’d worked together in our early twenties, earning our bartending stripes.

It was almost a relief having so much work to do. I didn’t have to obsess about Patrick, worrying if I’d fucked up a friendship, wondering if I’d suddenly gone nuts thinking about one person so much.

Instead, I just worked straight through to Sunday night. I stayed until an hour before closing, helping with the last vestiges of the crowds. When it settled down, Madeline and I stepped out front, standing together and catching our breath.

“It’s been a long time since I worked a weekend like that,” Madeline said, brushing her hair from her forehead.

“You’re tellin’ me,” I said. “Felt like when I first started working bar jobs.”

“You want to know a secret?” she asked.

I grinned at her. “Is it what I think it is?”

She nodded. “I kinda loved it.”

I laughed. “I knew it. I totally loved it too. I am so tired I could pass out on this damn sidewalk right now, but it feels perfect.”

“Feels like we’re young again!” she said joyously.

“Felt like I could finally clear my head, for once.”

She grinned at me. “Lot on your mind, huh?”

I shrugged. “I had been way too… in my own head this week.”

“You been okay, Taran?” she asked. “We haven’t been seeing each other enough. Have you been getting around town? Meeting people on your phone apps? Wishing you were back in D.C. every minute of every day?”

I shook my head. “You’d be surprised,” I said. “I haven’t been doing much of anything at all. Been running a lot in my free time, which I guess is good, but other than that… I’ve been on my own.”

She shot me a look of mock horror. “Alone? You? That’s… never happened before, has it?”

“Shut up,” I said, playfully punching her on the shoulder. “But also… you’re right. I kind of hate being alone. I’ve been going crazy this week, Maddy.”

“What’s up? Why aren’t you prowling around town like you usually do?”

I didn’t quite know how to answer her question because I didn’t really know the answer myself. I knew that I’d felt strange ever since my night with Patrick, but I didn’t know if that was the reason why I hadn’t been trying to meet other people.

“You’re keeping something from me,” she said, leaning against the wall and narrowing her eyes at me. “I know you better than literally anyone in the world, Taran.”

“What?” I said. I cut my eyes away, looking over at a cherry blossom tree.

“It’s fine,” she continued. “You don’t have to tell me what’s up if you don’t want to. But I know something strange is going on. It isn’t something with your parents, is it?”

“Oh God, no,” I said. My parents only lived about an hour away from Rose Falls, but I still hadn’t gone to visit them yet. “Now that you say that, though, that is another thing I should be worried about. I need to go see them.”

“You really should,” she said.

“Um… I’m going to tell you something, and you have to promise not to react badly,” I said.

“That sounds pretty ominous,” she said.

“I mean, it’s not like I committed some crime,” I said. “But… I may have done something bad. Something I shouldn’t have done.”

She stared at me blankly. “I should have known,” she said.

“Known what?” I asked.

“Don’t act all innocent like that,” she said, a smile spreading over her face. “You hooked up with Patrick from Brew for You, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Maddy, you really do know me better than anyone. Including myself.”

“Knew it,” she said.

I let out a long, deep sigh.

“Taran, it’s fine,” she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I know I cautioned you against getting with Patrick, but if you both were into it, there’s no harm in it, really.”

I glanced up at her. “You don’t think so?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. It’s not like you two are coworkers or anything. It’s fine if you want to let off a little steam.”

“Yeah…” I said, trailing off. “I wish it were that simple.”

“It’s not?”

“Not really.”

“So what’s the issue? He wants more, but you don’t? You’re very experienced with situations like that. I’m sure you can handle it, right?”

“No, nothing like that,” I said. I didn’t know how to tell her that the problem wasn’t Patrick wanting more; it was not knowing if I wanted more. How could I be certain that the night with Patrick had just been the start of a casual sexual relationship?

“Then what?”

I paused for a moment. “When you met Gretchen, how did things start? I mean, was it really love at first sight, or did it start off casual?”

Madeline cocked her head to one side. “Well, I think we both were pretending it was something casual. But deep down, I knew. I knew she was the one for me, the one I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with.”

“But how could you possibly have known that right away? When you barely knew her?”

She shrugged. “It was an instinct. Love certainly isn’t logical. And like I said, I didn’t even admit it to myself at first. It just… happened.”

I nodded, looking down at a chip in the sidewalk and poking it with the toe of my boot. “Sometimes I don’t know if love is even an emotion that’s available to me,” I said. “You know I thought I had it with Leanne, but… is it possible that that side of me is dead? I mean, shit, Maddy, what happens if I grow out of hookups, but I also don’t have the proper tools to be in a real, committed relationship anymore?”

“Then you build up the tools,” she said, her tone sympathetic. “It’s hard, but it can happen.”

“I build up the tools,” I said, “or I’m just alone for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, throwing her arms in the air. “Is this what life in a small town is doing to you? You were a bachelor on the prowl a month ago, and now you think you’ll be alone forever?”

“It could be true!” I protested.

“Come on. When you get back to D.C., you’ll be good as new. I’m sorry you’re having a hard time here, though.”

I bit my bottom lip. Truthfully, I wasn’t having a “hard time” in Rose Falls—it was strange, but I was liking the town more and more every day. But with each passing day, I also felt like my emotions were being revealed to me, like rubbing off the silvery coating from a lottery scratcher ticket. The loneliness wasn’t stashed away, something I could ignore by working constantly and having as much casual sex as I wanted. It was right at the surface. The joy I felt with Patrick didn’t just feel like a fleeting thing that I could enjoy and discard like a paper cup full of ice cream—it felt like something I wanted more of, something I wanted to go back to, something with substance.

And all of that just felt strange.

As Madeline and I stood out on the sidewalk, I started to feel tiny droplets of water falling over me.

“I think it’s going to start raining in approximately two seconds,” Madeline said, looking up at the sky. “You ok, Taran?”

“I’m good, I promise,” I said.

“Okay. We need to see each other more while you’re here. No excuses.”

“I could not agree with you more,” I said. “Soon, Maddy.”

I walked her over to her car, and we hugged goodbye. The conversation with Maddy had been good, and I certainly felt better than I had before about the Patrick situation. But it also complicated things a little bit more. Hearing Maddy talk about my time in Rose Falls as being something I just needed to suffer through was weird. Because it wasn’t really how I felt about my time here anymore. I almost felt as though I was beginning to adapt to life here, even if I didn’t feel like I belonged. I didn’t feel hostile toward Rose Falls anymore like I had at first.

In reality, it actually had redeeming qualities. Lots of them.

As I began my short walk home, a light rain began to fall, soaking through my clothes. It was shockingly cold, and by the time I got to the loft, I was wet, exhausted, and freezing.

I hopped in the shower, remembering last week when I’d had to do the same thing for different reasons. Patrick and I had gotten soaked like this from the sprinklers in the park. He’d looked like some teenage fantasy of mine, water dripping from his body, making his t-shirt cling to his every muscle. I hadn’t been able to keep my eyes off of him on our walk home.

And suddenly, after a weekend of being able to push him out of my mind, everything came roaring back, hitting me twice as hard.

I actually felt like I missed him. Sharing this shower with him had been dreamlike, and the big thing felt empty without him there. It was stupid, of course, because there was no reason I should have gotten used to him being there. It was a one-night thing, and now it was in the past.

But that still didn’t explain why I couldn’t even talk to him like a normal human the other day in Brew for You.

It had felt like I was communicating in some foreign language. Like I didn’t know how to approach starting a conversation with him.

It had felt like… I was a schoolgirl with a crush.

And as I got out of the shower, drying myself off, looking at my empty bed yet again, I couldn’t stand it.

Something clicked: maybe the only way out of this was through it. Maybe I just needed to get Patrick out of my system, to sleep with him again, and then finally I could get rid of these strange, nagging thoughts about him.

A regular, old-fashioned hookup. One of the things I was best at: bringing hot people home and having sex with them.

I checked the time. It was just a little before midnight, and Patrick was probably still down at Brew for You, getting ready to close up shop. I still had time.

* * *

I rushed down the hill from the Promenade in record time, now armed with the forethought of bringing an umbrella along with me. When I got there, the bar had closed already, but I saw Patrick inside, alone, cleaning off tables. I knocked on the window, and he glanced up and saw me, crossing over and unlocking the door for me.

“Taran, how’s it going, I—”

“Come home with me,” I said, a little rushed, still slightly winded from walking over so fast. As soon as I uttered the words, I felt unburdened, like I’d gotten something off my chest that had been weighing on me all week.

It didn’t matter now if Patrick said yes or no. I’d gotten the weight off my shoulders, and I could breathe.

“What?” he said, blinking at me, still holding the sanitizing rag in his hand.

“Do you—do you want to come home with me?” I said. “I, uh, took home this extra bottle of whiskey from Cobalt, and it’s been a long weekend. A long week, really. And I just thought maybe you… maybe you could come over again.”

There was a slight pause during which I was sure I was about to be rejected. I wasn’t used to rejection, but honestly, it might come as kind of a relief from Patrick. I was so messed up about him, and even if he hated me, at least I could forget about him and maybe move on.

I watched as water dripped slowly from my umbrella onto the black mat at the entrance of Brew for You, steady like the ticking of a clock. Or like a time bomb.

At last, Patrick let out a sigh. “Nothing could sound better to me right now,” he said. “God, this weekend was insane.”

Relief and excitement washed through me like I’d just had ten tons lifted off of my back. One time I had won twenty thousand dollars in a casino, and it hadn’t felt even close to as good as Patrick saying yes. I realized at that moment that I probably could have asked Patrick back days ago, and he likely would have said yes.

Why the hell hadn’t I? When he was here, right in front of me, I felt like I had nothing to be afraid of.

I met his eyes, recognizing the look he was giving me. “You guys were as slammed as we were? Holy shit, it was a madhouse.”

“Right?” he said, grinning. “It was crazy, but also kind of amazing. I love having a packed house.”

“Me too,” I said.

I settled in at the bar as Patrick did the final tasks to close out the store for the night. I examined the little row of photographs hanging along the mirror above the bar, just above all the bottles of liquor. I could see Patrick’s smiling face in most of them, his arm often around the other people in the photos. I assumed they must have been mostly pictures of him with regular customers, old and young alike, either with coffee mugs or beer glasses in their hands. There was one that showed Patrick with a big, fluffy, white dog in his arms, the dog’s tongue lolling out of its mouth, and the hugest smile on Patrick’s face.

My heart swelled as I looked at the photos. Patrick truly was the definition of a good person—a hard worker, loyal, kind. At that moment I couldn’t really think of why he’d want to hang out with a guy like me. I’d come into town like a media-hungry tornado, opening a bigger bar on his block, promising him nothing other than casual sex, if he wanted it.

But still, he smiled wide at me as he picked up his umbrella and headed for the front door, waving me along.

* * *

Back at my apartment, we collapsed onto the couch. The bottle of whiskey was on the coffee table, and as soon as I sat down, I popped the cap off and took a swig straight from the bottle. It wasn’t something I’d normally do, but it had been a long day and a longer week, and all I wanted was to relax and enjoy Patrick’s company.

“Woah,” Patrick said with a laugh. “You’re really going for it, huh?”

I smiled, handing the bottle over to him. “I’m not actually trying to get drunk,” I said, “I just am far too lazy to get up and get glasses right now. Unless you want one?”

Patrick tipped the bottle back and took a sip. “No need,” he said. His eyes fell to the coffee table, onto the little pack of tarot cards sitting there. “Wait a minute, I recognize those,” he said, smiling and picking up the box. “Andy is always trying to sell these to me at the mini-mart. Did he rope you into it?”

“He sure did,” I said. On one of my aimless runs earlier in the week, I had stopped into Rose’s Mini-Mart, the little convenience shop across from Brew for You. The college student who worked there, Andy, was endlessly charming—he reminded me of what I’d have been like in college if I hadn’t constantly been on edge because of Leanne.

“Did he try to tell you your fortune? I never let him.”

I nodded. “Yep. The kid has spunk.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Something about good things coming my way, but that it was going to take crossing a huge mountain before I got to them.”

“Ooh, spooky,” Patrick said. “A couple days ago he came into Brew for You and did Owen’s fortune. Apparently love is in Owen’s future, but there is also some tumultuous thing he will have to work through.”

I laughed. “Sounds eerily similar to my own fortune.”

“It’s probably what Andy tells everyone, changing up the details slightly, isn’t it?”

“That would make sense. Andy could be a great con man in another life.”

Patrick laughed, which quickly turned to a yawn. “God, Taran, I’m sorry. I should be a better houseguest, but I literally feel like I’m going to die if I don’t put my head down.”

“Are you kidding? That’s completely fine. Make yourself at home, here, Patrick, I really mean it.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding relieved. “I felt like I should be more entertaining, but I’m just beat to hell.”

“You and I both.”

He adjusted himself on the couch, lying on his side and landed with his head on my lap. I don’t know why it shocked me—I hadn’t expected him to end up there, and something about having the warm weight of him on top of my thighs filled my whole body with a fizzy feeling.

I put my hand on his head gently as he let out a long, sleepy sigh. I ran my fingers through his soft hair. The swig of alcohol I’d taken combined with my exhaustion to form a hazy, fuzzy filter around everything, and I felt myself drifting, content and finally at peace like I hadn’t been all week.

I didn’t even feel myself begin to doze off.

An hour later, I blinked my eyes open, finding Patrick in much the same position, except instead of facing out toward the coffee table, he had fallen asleep and turned in toward me. I’d slumped down as I dozed, too, and we were practically lying on top of one another on the couch. He was so warm against me, his face almost near enough to kiss.

“Hey,” I said, my voice quiet and raspy. I ran a palm along Patrick’s back, trying to wake him gently.

“Mmm?” he hummed in his half sleep.

“We should go to the bed,” I said. Truthfully, I didn’t want to move an inch—I loved him being here, on top of me, near me at all. But I knew if we stayed on the couch, we’d both wake up sore and aching, wishing we’d moved to the bed.

He slowly opened his eyes, looking up at me. “Yes. Bed. Okay,” he said. He was so adorable when he was exhausted, and it took everything in me not to pick him up and carry him there.

When we got to the bedroom, Patrick lazily stripped off his jeans and shirt, ending up only in his boxer briefs before slipping into bed.

“I had been considering offering you sleep clothes, but that… that is very okay with me,” I told him as I followed suit, stripping down to my underwear and getting into bed next to him.

“Clothes,” he murmured, “who needs them?”

“My thoughts exactly,” I said.

He smiled at me, pulling me close under the sheets. The light in the room was dark, but up close, I could still see the little crinkles around his eyes that appeared when he was smiling. “I missed you this week,” he said softly, running a hand down my arm.

His words went through me like a jolt. “Missed me?”

“Mhm,” he said, now running his hand along my chest. “You came into the shop that one morning. But every other morning I wondered if you’d come in again.”

“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t know if…” I said, trailing off. My heart had started pounding, and I swore it must be loud enough that Patrick could hear it.

“We’ve got plenty of coffee,” Patrick said in his sleepy voice. “Don’t be shy. Come whenever you want.”

“Okay,” I said, not knowing how else to respond. What was I supposed to say? That I’d thought about coming into Brew for You every single morning, too, but somehow found myself unable to do it?

Or that all week, I couldn’t stop thinking about how his eyes had looked when he made me come, or when I made him come? That the warmth of him in my bed was something I had craved so much, that having him here again was the first time I’d felt right again since last week?

It was all too much.

“Y’know,” Patrick mumbled, closing his eyes and cuddling up close to me, “when I’m really sleepy sometimes I picture myself on a deserted island, all by myself, and it’s what comforts me and lets me fall asleep. I love it—I picture the sand, the palm trees, the clear blue water under the clear blue sky… and nothing could be more peaceful. But you know what?”

“Hmm?” I responded, running a hand around his hip, rubbing the small of his back.

“Right now, I’m picturing being on that sand next to you,” he said. “You’re allowed on my sleepy island, Taran. Feel special.”

I puffed out a soft laugh, and I saw him smile, too, his eyes briefly opening again.

And I could no longer hold back. I didn’t care how strange everything felt, how foreign it was, or how much I felt like I was falling down a cliff.

I needed this. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I leaned slightly closer toward him on the pillow, closing the distance between us, and kissed him softly. He let out a tiny surprised moan at first before responding and kissing me back just as sweetly. He pressed up against me, and I pulled him in as close as I could, feeling his warm skin against mine.

I was exhausted, and I knew he was too. I was hard now, of course; there was no way I couldn’t be with Patrick snuggled up to me in bed.

But as much as I wanted him, as much as I thought about flipping him over and fucking him right there, slow and deep in the darkness, I let that all go.

Because this was enough. In fact, this was what I wanted most. Patrick in my arms, kissing me, both of us too tired to even keep forming words. And as I kissed along his temple and against his soft hair, I could feel us both drifting off, locked in each other’s arms. Like we belonged there, and we were both too tired to fight it.

* * *

I later woke to Patrick stirring in his sleep, squeezing his body against mine. I was still half-asleep, but I could hear him mumbling.

“Hmm?” I hummed at him, unsure of what he’d been saying. I wondered if he was having a nightmare.

“Need you, baby,” he said, slightly more clearly this time, though he was still asleep.

And when I heard it, my heart started slamming in my chest all over again.

Need you, baby.

Did he… mean that? Was he somehow half-awake or speaking through his subconscious? Or could he have been dreaming about someone else entirely?

A low panic settled in my body. I was fully awake now, and acutely aware of Patrick’s limbs entangled in my own.

Patrick didn’t really need me, did he?

And why did that thought scare the living shit out of me?