Evan was definitely a cop. Ben could see it in the way he assessed his surroundings, the way he took control of a room the moment he walked in, the way he noticed and remembered small things like the snow on the hair of the woman who’d already had sex today.

It made Ben feel safe and excited at the same time.

After dinner they took a cab to the date’s second surprise. When the taxi pulled over, Ben couldn’t suppress a squeal. “Electric Gardens!” He shoved open the door and stepped out into the falling snow.

Glasgow’s enormous Botanic Gardens lay lit up before them, the golden Kibble Palace greenhouse looming like an alien spacecraft.

They joined a group of about a dozen people, all booked into the final time slot of the final night. “Did you pull strings to get us in?” Ben asked Evan.

“Not unless buying tickets online counts as pulling strings.”

Right. And there just happened to be a fireside table available on Valentine’s Day.

As the group began to move off, Evan gave Ben’s hand a subtle glance that asked whether he should take it.

By reflex, Ben shifted away. To cover his timidity, he pulled his gloves and slouchy beanie hat from his pockets and put them on.

Evan also slipped on his gloves, a sleek black leather pair that hugged his knuckles. “Mind if I…?” He loosened the knot of his red tie, the vivid blue stripes of which matched his eyes.

“Good idea.” Ben tried to undo his own tie, but the thick gloves made his fingers clumsy.

“Let me.” Evan stepped close. “All right?”

“Aye.” Ben willed his hands to stay at his sides as Evan slipped the knot free with a deft touch. It took all his control not to drag this man off the garden path and behind the nearest sparkly hedgerow.

“There.” Evan undid the top button of Ben’s shirt, then stepped back. “Now we can breathe a peedie bit.”

Speak for yourself, Ben thought, his head spinning. He smiled at Evan’s first use of the Orkney word peedie to mean wee. Maybe it was a sign he felt relaxed enough with Ben to be himself—whatever that meant.

As they wandered with their group through a musical tunnel of light, Ben reviewed what Evan had shared over dinner about his life. He’d seemed to weigh every word as it left his mouth, as though his tongue was a delicately calibrated scale.

Born in London, Evan had been two years old when his parents divorced and his mother took him and his older sister back to her native Orkney Islands in the far north of Scotland. There she married a local farmer and had two more sons. Evan also had a cat, which Ben knew about, having been with “Gunnar” when said cat was found.

But these were surface trivia. Even the story of the breakup with Fergus sounded like a carefully curated biography. If Ben was an open book, then Evan was one of those top-shelf library treasures, accessible only with a rickety ladder and written permission from an archivist. The sort of book which people got murdered over in Dan Brown novels.

As they exited the tunnel of light, Ben heard a new song with a rapid, pounding beat. “The fire dancing!”

They followed the thumping music along the snow-wet path until they came upon a woman in a tight red top, gold mask, and black-and-white-striped leggings. She raised her arms to display two long chains ending in flaming spheres. The scent of kerosene made Ben’s nose crinkle.

But he forgot the smell, forgot everything, the moment she began to dance. The burning spheres became an orange blur as she spun them, first close beside her like a pair of lassoes, then diagonally, gyrating her hips, then finally linking the chains in front of her to create a fiery pinwheel.

Ben gasped as the flames nearly grazed her face. “Hope she’s not wearing hairspray,” he murmured.

Suddenly one of the balls leapt up, seeming to hurtle straight toward him.

“Whoa!” Ben stepped back, using Evan’s body as a shield. Then he felt stupid as the dancer caught the ball by the chain’s handle and continued her performance.

At least I made Evan feel all manly. Cops probably like that sort of thing.

Sure enough, Evan angled a protective shoulder in front of him. On impulse, Ben took his hand. Through their gloves he could feel the warmth and strength of Evan’s fingers. His heart beat faster.

Then the dancer began to switch hands with each swing, passing the chains back and forth in front of her, then behind her, then—Whaaaaat?—through her legs, stepping over the spheres as smoothly as if they were puddles of water and not, well, great balls of fire.

Ben looked over to see Evan’s reaction, and the sight nearly took the strength from his knees. Before him, at long last, stood the man behind the mask.

Evan’s eyes filled with wonder as they followed the fireballs’ path, his lips curving into faint smiles, then wider and wider Os. For once he seemed purely in the moment, neither calculating nor analyzing.

He looked more beautiful than ever, and Ben wanted to see that face above him, beneath him, at close, close range, its guard down in the grip of ecstasy.

The acrobat finished with a flourish, then bowed to the crowd. Ben let go of Evan’s hand so they could applaud.

“That was amazing,” Evan said, eyes still gleaming with delight.

Ben forced himself to look away, unable to stop picturing Evan naked and sweaty on a heap of twisted sheets.

Their group continued on, over pathways that seemed to undulate with shifting patterns of light. As the falling snow reflected and refracted every glow, turning the Botanic Gardens into Glasgow’s very own faerie world, Ben wished it would never end.

Alas, closing time soon arrived, whereupon the Gardens’ staff not-so-subtly encouraged visitors to toddle off.

“Where to now?” Ben asked Evan as they battled the stiff wind on their way to the main entrance/exit.

“I’m out of surprises. Two per day is my limit.”

I doubt that.

“Pub?” Evan asked.

“Mmm, nah.” Ben stopped to fix his scarf, which was flapping in the wind. “Technically my religion forbids me to drink alcohol.” And date men, he added mentally before he could block the thought.

“Oh.” Evan rapped his knuckles against his head. “I’m so sorry. I ordered wine at dinner and didn’t even ask—”

“How would you know? Anyway, I’m not strict. Wedding planners have to taste food and drink so we can recommend them to clients.” He tossed the end of his scarf over his shoulder, but it promptly blew back again. “Sometimes I drink a wee bit socially, so people don’t feel like I’m judging them.”

“I promise not to feel judged if you never drink with me again. Here, let me get that.” Evan reached out and pulled the end of Ben’s scarf around his neck, then tucked it into the front of his coat. “How far is your place?”

Ben shivered at this near-proposition combined with this near-touch. “May I be frank?”

“Of course.”

“I like you too much to fuck you.” Ben paused long enough to see Evan’s surprise and confusion. “Tonight, at least.”

“That’s a relief.” Evan stepped back. “Now I can stop seducing you.”

“Oh, had you started?”

“I don’t know.” Evan released a crooked smile. “You tell me.”

Ben’s mouth opened, releasing a series of stammered syllables. It felt like Evan was seeing straight inside him, reading every deliciously filthy thought. Standing there in the snow with his black leather jacket and windblown hair, Evan couldn’t have looked more enticing if he’d been doing naked bench presses in a tub of whipped cream.

“Hmph.” Ben turned away and marched over to the grass, where he started scooping up fresh snow.

Evan came over to stand behind him. “What are you doing?”

“You think you’re so hot,” Ben muttered as he formed the snow into a loose ball. “This’ll cool you down.” He spun around, grabbed Evan’s open shirt collar, and shoved the snowball inside.

“Aaaugh!” Evan sprang away, releasing a half laugh, half shriek. “I can’t believe you—och!” He clawed at his chest, which now bore a wet stain.

“I thought Orcadians were meant to be rugged.”

“Orkney’s climate is”—Evan yanked his shirttail out of his trousers—“actually quite mild.” He cursed as the wet mark spread to his belly. “Gulf Stream and all.”

“What about your Viking blood?”

“It doesn’t stop frostbite!” Evan shook out the front of his shirt, letting the snow drop to his feet.

“Sorry,” Ben said in a not-sorry tone. “Buy you a coffee as penance?”

“This date is my treat. I’ll buy the coffees.” Evan put a hand to his coat pocket. “Hold on. Where’s my phone?” He patted his other pockets, eyes widening with horror. “It must have fallen when I took out my gloves.”

“That was near here on our way in, almost an hour ago.” Ben looked round with dismay. “Could be covered in snow by now.”

“We were next to that green bench when I—wait, is that…” Evan dashed forward and knelt beside the bench.

Ben followed. “Did you find it?”

“Fucking hell. Knew I should’ve bought a waterproof case.” He handed the phone to Ben. “Can you fix it?”

Ben examined the screen, which was completely black. “Maybe the battery’s—aaaaeeeeee!” He leapt to his feet as a chunk of snow slithered down his back. “Oh my God. Get it out. Get it out!”

“Relax. It’ll melt.” Evan snatched his phone from Ben’s hand. “Eventually.”

Ben danced around, flailing his arms at his own back. “You treacherous bastard!”

“I see Robert’s told you my Warriors nickname.”

Ben scooped a handful of snow off the bench and chucked it at Evan without forming a ball. Naturally the wind blew it back in his face. “Oh, get to fuck, snow!”

Through his water-bleary glasses, Ben saw Evan crouching down, no doubt preparing the final death blow. He rushed to stop him, but slipped and toppled forward, landing on Evan in a graceless but effective tackle.

They tumbled together in a cackling heap, and when they rolled to get up, found their legs were tangled. Their struggle stopped.

Evan’s face was so close, it would have been easier at that moment to kiss him than not kiss him.

“Get a room, lads!” shouted a lass passing by. Her companions added a wolf whistle and a catcall.

Still giggling, Evan and Ben stood and brushed the snow off each other’s coats. As they proceeded toward the gate, Ben said, “I never imagined Evan Hollister could be such fun.”

Evan laughed again. “Me neither.”

“So tell me more about your job,” Ben said as he snuggled into the corner of a big puffy couch at the back of the coffee shop.

Evan sat down beside him, trying not to spill his brimming caramel mocha all over his shirt, which was still damp from their snowball skirmish. “It’s not as fun as wedding planning.”

“But it can’t be boring if you love it like you say.” Ben curled a leg up between them. “Give me a day in the life of Her Majesty’s risk-management architect Evan Hollister.”

Evan was prepared for this question, having devised plausible civilian parallels for his MI5 duties. “First thing: coffee.” He took a sip of his mocha. “While the caffeine kicks in, I read reports, then prioritize the ones needing immediate attention.”

“For instance?”

“Let’s say there’s a building which might be architecturally unsound. Obviously resources are limited, so I need to judge how dire it is. In extreme situtations, lives may be at risk. So I confer with my colleagues, then bring urgent cases to the attention of my superiors. Are you still awake?”

“Mm-hm. Do you ever travel to find out for certain?”

“Sometimes. Data is useful, but there’s no substitute for seeing it firsthand.”

“So you’re like a health inspector for buildings?”

“Pretty much,” Evan said.

“And which agency do you—”

“Sorry, but I’ve been wanting to ask all night: Is that a Teletubbies tie?”

Ben brightened. “Yes! My dad gave me this.” He lifted one end of his undone necktie. “See, there’s three guys dressed as Tinky-Winky—the one that televangelist said was gay—and they’ve got a sack of Mardi Gras beads.”

Evan leaned in to examine the cartoons on the white silk background. “Wow, that’s…”

“Random, right? I’ve no idea where my dad found it, but it’s a good conversation piece, if nothing else.”

Exactly why I mentioned it when I needed a diversion. “Your dad, does he work with your mum’s business?”

Ben laughed. “No, he’s in the army, stationed”—he flicked his hand—“somewhere in the world. He’s pretty high-ranking, so I guess his location would be a clue as to where the military thinks there might be trouble. Can’t have civilians knowing that.”

Evan wished his own father hadn’t told him Colonel Reid was stationed in Afghanistan. It felt unfair to know more than Ben knew. “Does it bother you? The secrecy?”

Ben looked down at his tie, tracing the Tinky-Winkys. “Obviously I’d prefer to know where my father is, but not if it puts him or his troops in danger. I know what he’s doing is important, that he may literally be saving our lives right this moment.”

“Do you worry about him?”

Ben picked up his giant cup of hot cocoa. “Would it help?”

“I guess not.” Evan was pleasantly surprised by Ben’s pragmatism. Or maybe he was just pretending not to worry, the same way Evan had minimized his concern for Ben’s welfare to Kay so he could stay on Operation Caps Lock. After spending a few hours with this man, Evan wanted more than ever to return to the operation, to protect Ben from people like Jordan Lithgow.

“I didn’t see much of my father growing up,” Evan said, “what with living in Orkney and him in London. But he always came for my birthday and my sister’s, and we’d go south to him on alternate Christmases.”

“Must’ve been a culture shock.”

“Aye, all those fancy shops and restaurants, and in London they get a whopping eight hours of daylight in December.” He felt his smile fade. “Visits were always short, because his job was demanding. Like your dad’s, just not overseas.”

The cafe door opened. Evan turned to see a pair of teenage girls, who’d been outside for a good while, judging by their reddened noses and staticky hair. Then he did a quick visual review of the rest of the place, taking note of the fire exit in the back—something he should have done when they’d first arrived.

“Why do you do that?”

Evan looked at Ben. “Hm?”

“Scan your surroundings wherever we go. Is someone following you? Or are you a bandit looking for a place to rob?”

Evan shrugged and kept his face impassive. “I like to be aware. I guess it’s a footballing instinct. I play midfield, where mindfulness is key. You’ve got to anticipate where the ball’s going, what all the players are thinking.”

“Like ESP?” Ben asked, then licked the chocolate whipped cream atop his cocoa.

“Kinda,” Evan said, his gaze glued to the furrow Ben’s tongue had carved into the cream.

“Then tell me what I’m thinking.”

“I don’t need to read your mind to ken what you’re thinking.” Evan picked up his spoon. “If I wait a few moments, you’ll tell me.”

“Oi, you!” Ben made as if to kick him.

“Careful.” Evan shielded his cup. “First you freeze me and now you’re trying to scald me.”

“Maybe I just want to see you in a wet top.” Ben grinned and waggled his foot atop his knee.

Evan felt himself blush. “Your turn. Tell me about a day in the life of Ben Reid.”

Ben groaned. “I’m sooooo behind schedule on my honors dissertation.”

“What’s the topic?” Evan asked, since he didn’t know.

Ben sat up straight and cleared his throat. “‘From First Kiss to Wedded Bliss? The Marriage of Geographical Information Systems and Social Media.’ Basically it’s a history of how social networks have become more locational. Originally I thought this trend was a good thing, but now I’m not sure. Hence the question mark in the title.”

“What’s the downside?”

“For people who want to mine that information—companies and investigators and all—there’s just too much of it now, and it’s not reliable.”

Evan agreed. Every day at work, sifting through surveillance data felt like searching for a needle in a needle-stack—mass surveillance was popular amongst some politicians, but it was no friend to the average citizen or the average counterterrorism officer. And that was just the classified stuff; the open-source intelligence Ben referred to was more like the Needle Himalayas.

“Of course, for users,” Ben continued, “there’s a massive loss of privacy. People give away so much information, either forgetting or not caring that it can be used against them. Like, remember the photo site Imageo?”

“Aye, it used to be huge.”

“And now it’s dead, because thousands of users had their identities stolen. Imageo got bought by a bigger company who promised to make it safer, but they couldn’t figure out how to do that without ruining what was great about it. That’s my dissertation’s big question: How do we balance openness and security?” Ben gave a long sigh. “It’s also the big question of our whole society, which makes it so hard to answer in a wee undergraduate research paper.” He mimed stabbing himself in the heart with his spoon. “But it’s far less boring than other topics I was offered, like ‘Spatial organization of households’ or ‘Biosecurity and the badger cull controversy.’” He stopped and looked at Evan. “Oh my God, talking of boring, look at me blethering on.”

Evan could listen to Ben all night. “I wish I could help, but I barely use social media at all.” MI5 had let him keep his Facebook profile because it would look more suspicious to delete it, but they also discouraged overly personal posts. Evan’s presence in the world was like that of a camouflaged animal, obscured but not invisible.

“I noticed,” Ben said with a glare. “At least with Twitter and Facebook, location can be hidden. But some apps are useless without it. Like Grindr: What’s the point of finding guys to hook up with unless they’re nearby? Talking of Grindr, Robert and I didn’t—I mean, not that it’s anyone’s business, but we didn’t do anything. He wanted Liam to be his first.” Ben’s smile became a grimace. “Och, I probably shouldn’t have spilled that detail.”

“It’s kind of romantic.”

“Right?” Ben took a small sip of cocoa, then pulled it away. “Ow, still too hot.” He stirred it carefully. “Perhaps I went over the top ordering cocoa with chocolate whipped cream and chocolate flakes.”

“It looks amazing.”

“Want to try?” Ben held out his mug. “I won’t even make you close your eyes.”

Evan leaned forward, keeping his gaze locked with Ben’s as he slid his tongue up the side of the whipped-cream dollop. Ben’s pupils dilated, and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple rising and falling. With a languid blink, Evan licked a slow, deliberate circle around the tip of the dollop, then descended the other side until he tasted hot cocoa. He lapped a few drops into his waiting mouth, then sat back on the couch and swallowed. “Tasty.”

Ben cleared his throat and looked around. “Your tongue should not be allowed in public.”

“That’d be a shame. We never know when we might need it.”

Ben bit his lip and glanced away. Then his knees clapped together three times as though applauding. It was the cutest thing Evan had ever seen.

“I had a brilliant evening,” Ben said as they shared a taxi down Great Western Road. “Next time I’ll plan it, and it can be my shout.”

“No, I’ll pay. You’re still a student.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve something dead cheap in mind.” He grinned at Evan to cover the twisty feeling inside him. It would be murder saying goodnight to this man.

In a few minutes they were pulling up in front of Ben’s student housing block. Evan turned to the driver and said, “Wait here, mate. I’ll be right back.”

“Ooh, walking me to my door,” Ben said as they got out of the cab. “How gallant.”

“You never ken what sort of ruffians are about at this hour.” Evan put his hands in his coat pockets, looking almost nervous. “I had a brilliant evening too, by the way. In case I’ve not said it.”

“Good.” Ben mounted the bottom step in front of his building. “This is where you kiss me goodnight.”

“Is it?” Evan moved closer, and thanks to the stairs their heights nearly matched. “You’re a bossy one, aren’t you?”

Ben’s pulse began to pound, providing his head with a delightful buzz. “I can be. But I liked having someone else see to everything tonight. It’s good to be looked after.”

Evan took Ben’s face in his bare hands. “I’d be honored to look after you.” Then he kissed him.

For the first moment, all Ben could think about was how Evan’s eyes hadn’t left his since the word kiss had been uttered. Which meant he hadn’t checked to see whether any “ruffians” were watching.

In the second moment, when Evan’s lips coaxed his apart, Ben stopped thinking. His tongue trembled, along with his knees, and he felt himself tilt forward, succumbing to the pull of a tenfold gravity. For an instant he worried they’d topple over in an embarrassing heap.

But Evan held him up, as strong and solid as the concrete they stood upon. Ben reached inside Evan’s open coat to place a palm against his chest, where he felt a racing heart whose speed matched his own.

This was not a goodnight kiss. This was a let-me-stay-and-show-you-what-else-this-mouth-can-do kiss.

When Evan let him go at last, Ben almost stumbled back. He pulled his coat tighter around himself. “Right.” His eyes felt glazed and his cheeks, flushed. “I’ll just…” He fumbled for his keys. “Go.”

Evan’s disarming smile reappeared. “Phone me when you decide what we’re doing Saturday night.”

“But I want to surprise you.”

“No.” Evan caught the door as Ben opened it. “I hate surprises.”

Ben started to laugh until he saw Evan’s frozen expression, so like the one he’d worn when he’d been told to close his eyes for a bite of pumpkin tortellini.

“All right,” Ben hurried to say. “I’ll send you the itinerary. But a warning”—he moved in to murmur in Evan’s ear, letting his lips and breath caress his skin—“it’ll make waiting that much harder.”