“LOGAN,” TATE CALLED out as he came downstairs Saturday morning. It had just turned ten, and Logan had let him sleep in a little after they’d spent last night finishing up with the final boxes.

They were almost done with getting everything in order, and all that was really left now was putting together some of the bigger furniture items and buying a few pieces they needed, now that they had more space and a couple of extra rooms to fill.

As Tate’s bare feet hit the main floor, he thought he’d regret that he’d forgotten his socks, but when only warmth greeted him, he noticed that Logan had the fireplace going. Tate smiled to himself as he looked at the sun sneaking through the partially drawn curtains of the window, and was thankful Logan had gone with the gas, regardless of how hard the sun was trying.

This room had fast become one of Tate’s favorites in the house. They’d purchased a three-seater couch that fit perfectly under the window, and yesterday, after it had been delivered along with a new coffee table, the two of them had finally hung the TV above the fireplace. And with Logan’s original loveseat and recliner in place, the living room was complete.

“Logan,” Tate called out again.

“I’m in the office.”

Tate walked through to the kitchen, and the rich aroma of coffee filled his nose. He headed over to the pot and poured himself a mug, and then he made his way into the office to find Logan seated at his desk with his computer on and coffee in hand.

As Logan looked over to the double French doors that Tate had just stepped through, a lazy smile spread across his lips. “Hello. I was wondering when you’d make your way downstairs today.”

Tate walked around the desk and bent to kiss Logan good morning. “Hmm, I was tired. Long week.”

“Long few weeks, really.”

Tate rested his backside up against the desk. “This month has been—”

“Full on?” Logan said. “I feel like we need a vacation from moving.”

Tate took a slow sip of his coffee and nodded. “You know what, that’s not such a bad idea.”

“What? A vacation?”

“Uhh, I was thinking more a weekend away.”

Logan shoved his chair away from the desk a little and kicked a leg out to urge Tate to slide down the desk and stand in front of him. “I could get on board with that idea.”

Tate put his mug down on the desk and then leaned over to put an arm on either side of Logan’s chair. “Good. Because I need you to go upstairs and pack.”

Logan sat back a little and narrowed his eyes. “Umm…don’t you think we should maybe decide where we’re going and book a place?”

Tate kissed him quickly and grinned. “Already taken care of.” As he went to pick up his coffee, Logan reached out and took hold of his shirt. Tate stilled and chuckled at the deep frown now etched between Logan’s brows.

“What do you mean it’s already taken care of?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special for—”

“Do not say my birthday, Tate. Because I have to say, I was more than a little happy you acted as though it didn’t exist. I’ve been trying to make you forget that date ever since we got together.”

Tate rolled his eyes. “Do you really think I’d ever forget your birthday? November ninth. Don’t think I didn’t notice you conveniently worked late Thursday night.”

Logan’s mouth fell open. “I was busy.”

“You are full of shit. But it doesn’t matter because you’re not getting out of this. Now go upstairs and pack a bag, Mr. Mitchell.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, I wouldn’t care if you walked around naked for two days,” Tate said as he removed Logan’s hand from his shirt, “but everyone else might.”

As the words sank in, Logan sat up and made a play to grab Tate. “Wait. Everyone else?” Tate dodged Logan’s hand and made a beeline for the door, his coffee forgotten. “Get back here, Morrison,” Logan called, but Tate just laughed and headed upstairs to pack his bag—and Logan’s.

* * *

AN HOUR AND a half later, when the doorbell rang, Logan trudged down the stairs as though he was headed toward a firing squad, and the only reason Tate was still alive was because he’d invited himself into Logan’s shower thirty minutes earlier.

Somewhere between getting him into the shower, lathering him up, and then helping him dry off, the sneaky fucker had informed Logan they were headed out of town with some friends of theirs and that they were going to be picked up at noon. And he hasn’t told me shit since.

As Logan reached the bottom of the stairs, where Tate was waiting for him, he aimed a scowl in his direction, but it was hard to stay annoyed at someone who looked so fucking good—and Tate looked unbelievable.

In boots, blue jeans, and a burgundy sweater, Tate had a black scarf slung around his neck and a matching slouchy beanie sitting a little ways back on his head. He had his sunglasses hanging in the V-neck and a jacket in his hand.

“You ready?” Tate asked, as Logan came to a stop in front of him.

“I suppose. But for what I don’t know, since you won’t tell.”

Tate grinned and handed Logan his navy-blue peacoat. “That’s right. It’s called a surprise.”

As Tate opened the front door, a bald man in a suit greeted them.

“Hello. Mr. Morrison?”

“Yeah, that’s me. But you can call me Tate. This here is Logan.”

The man looked at Logan and aimed a knowing smile in his direction. “Ahh yes, the birthday boy.”

Logan aimed an I’m going to kill you look in Tate’s direction, but Tate merely shrugged and slipped his sunglasses on. Jesus, it was going to be a long two days if this was what he had to look forward to.

* * *

ALTHOUGH LOGAN LOOKED as though he wanted to murder him, Tate couldn’t help but admire the man as he hefted up his overnight bag over his shoulder.

Larry, their driver for the weekend, was walking up the path ahead of them as Tate waited at the bottom of the stairs for Logan to lock the front door. He took a moment to run his eyes over the back of his lawyer as he pocketed the keys and turned around to face him. In his hip-length peacoat, Logan looked sexy and stylish. He’d flipped up the collar and had now put on his black sunglasses as he started down the stairs. With the rest of his getup as dark as his coal-colored hair, the black designer jeans and pullover gave Logan a dark and dangerous vibe, and the scowl on his handsome face helped, too.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he finally glanced over Tate’s shoulder, and the scowl turned to shock. “You hired a fucking limo? Are you out of your mind?”

Tate grabbed either side of Logan’s coat and tugged him forward to kiss his mouth. “Please try and contain your excitement. If you don’t calm down, I might have to subdue you.”

“Very funny. But really, a limo? You know how I feel about my—”

“Logan?”

“What?”

Tate leaned forward and nipped at his lower lip. “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

When Tate let him go, Logan reached for his sunglasses and lowered them slightly to peer at him.

“I’m replacing a bad memory with a good one.”

Logan sighed and shook his head. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Tate held his hand out. “No, you can’t. Now come on. We don’t want to be late.”

“Where are we going again?”

“Ha. Nice try. But you’re just going to have to wait and see.”

“Fine. Fine. And who’s in the car?”

“Again. You’re going to have to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass? You could give me some kind of hint.”

“I could,” Tate said as he held open the small gate for Logan. “But where would be the fun in that?”

Logan continued to grumble as Tate shut the gate behind him, and when they got to the curb beside the back door of the white Hummer limousine, Larry opened the door and gestured for them to hop in.

As soon as Logan stuck his head inside the vehicle, Tate heard him groan and then try to back right on out. But Tate was there, shoving Logan inside whether he wanted to go or not.

Tate wasn’t shocked by the faces staring at the two of them once they were inside. Nor was he surprised that when the door shut behind them, locking him and Logan in the vehicle, the tinted windows made it appear as though it were nighttime and allowed the neon to light up the interior.

“Gotta say, Tate, I wasn’t sure you’d get him out the front door and into the car if he knew what was going on. I’m impressed,” Cole said, then aimed a shit-eating grin in Logan’s direction.

“Oh, stop it, Cole,” Rachel said, bumping her shoulder against her husband’s. “Of course Logan was going to show up. The entire weekend is about him.”

“You know, there’s still time for me to leave,” Logan said, but Tate pointed to two empty spots and said, “Sit, counselor.”

As Logan glared over his shoulder, Tate took his glasses off and winked before he nudged Logan down into a seat, and the two of them looked around at the rest of the familiar faces.

Beside Cole and Rachel sat Shelly, who was holding a glass of champagne, and Tate thought a drink for himself and the man beside him didn’t sound like a bad idea. And beside her was her husband, Josh, who raised a beer in their direction and then gestured over his shoulder to what looked like a minibar built into the side of the limo with an ice bucket, champagne flutes, tumblers, wine, beer, and—

“They got any hard liquor in there?” Logan asked, and this time it was the newest face in the crowd who spoke up.

“There’s scotch or vodka,” Priest said as he raised a tumbler filled with ice, and what Tate assumed was vodka, judging by the clear liquid inside, to his lips.

“I’ll take a scotch—neat,” Logan said to Josh, and Tate opted for a Corona.

Tate hadn’t been sure that Priest would accept this weekend’s invitation. But he’d surprised the hell out of him by saying yes, and Tate had to admit it was going to make things that much more interesting, considering he’d also invited the quietest passenger thus far, who sat directly beside him—Robbie.

“Did you already get a drink?” Tate asked, and Robbie shook his head.

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t drink much.”

Logan peered around Tate’s shoulder and scoffed at Robbie. “Since when? If I’ve got to put up with this and try to enjoy it, then you can at least have a drink. Plus, have you forgotten, I’ve seen you plastered, young man. Don’t try and play the sweet and innocent card around here.”

Robbie arched an eyebrow at Logan. “Fine.” He aimed a look at Josh. “I’ll take a vodka soda to salute the old man we’re celebrating this weekend.”

Logan leaned across the back of Tate’s seat and flicked Robbie in the shoulder. “I’m still your boss, remember?”

To which Robbie replied, with all the sass and attitude he possessed, “Not this weekend, you’re not.”

Once they all had their drinks in hand, Tate looked to Logan. “Lena and Mason are meeting us there this afternoon. Lena had to work.”

“Meeting us where?” Logan asked, but Tate just wagged his finger. Logan was loosening up, and Tate knew by this afternoon he would be having a blast.

Replacing a bad memory with a good one…

He watched Logan down his drink in one gulp and then lean over and kiss Tate’s lips. “Okay, Morrison. Do your worst, and if you’re lucky, there’ll be enough alcohol in this limo for me to forget how underhanded you were about this.”

Tate thought of their final destination and kissed him back. “Somehow, I’m not too worried, Mr. Mitchell. You just sit back and relax. It’s time to celebrate.”