It was dark and silent in the woods, but I knew I wasn’t alone. Ev was right next to me, close enough that I could reach out my pinkie finger and touch his cold hand.

“You were lying earlier, weren’t you?” he demanded. His voice was husky, private, and I turned to look at him. His eyes were green as summer, glowing in the dark. He was beautiful, and he scared me to death.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I said around the sudden dryness in my throat.

“But you did, Silas.” He stretched out a finger to touch the hair at my temple, then slid it down across my cheek, and I realized that I’d been wrong. His hands were so, so warm. “You said you meant to strap me to the bed of the truck, but you didn’t. Not really. You pretended it was a joke, but it wasn’t.”

The knowing look in his eyes made my cock swell instantly. I’d had no ulterior motive when I’d blurted out my threat the day before, but I couldn’t lie; the way his eyes had fixed on mine after I’d uttered it, wide and maybe just a little excited, I’d suddenly realized I’d meant it in a whole other way.

“Would you like that, Ev?” I asked softly, and maybe a little menacingly too. “You want me to tie you down?”

“Maybe.” His hand brushed down my chest then lower, tracing gently over my cock. “I like that you’d want to,” he whispered. “I like that you want me.”

“I do,” I whispered back, and in the moment I said it, I knew it was true. I wanted him, more than any hookup I’d ever had. The man was a prickly, snarky challenge, but being with him felt right, and choosing him was by far the easiest thing I’d ever done.

I ducked my head to kiss him, wrapping my arms around his waist… but he evaporated before my lips touched his.

I woke up and growled at my empty room.

Even my fucking dreams were cockblocking me now, and I was hard as a rock for a guy who seemed to like me and hate me in equal measure.

I threw a hand over my eyes and chuckled in the pre-dawn gloom of my bedroom at the ridiculousness of it all. I didn’t dream of guys I had fucked, let alone guys I hadn’t and likely never would. I was horny. That was all. At that point, my dick would have reacted to any stimulus, whether it was a hot, new guy or a warm breeze.

And when I stroked myself to a hard and dirty orgasm in the shower and imagined it was Ev’s hand instead of mine, that was just simple biology, too.

When I was clean and more-or-less sated, I flopped back down on my bed in my towel and stared out the window. The sky was pink-gold, the sun not even risen. I had a whole day off and no plans at all for once.

No last-minute phone calls from my parents, wanting me to come over and do yard work, or help my mother redecorate, or endure yet another uncomfortable dinner at their house. No calls from Marci diverting my day. It was like the hookup gods were giving me this consolation prize; I could bring up the hookup app on my phone right now and have my dry spell broken by lunchtime.

But I didn’t get further than swiping my phone to unlock it before I started wondering what Everett Maior was doing right now. I threw my phone on the bed in frustration and scrubbed a hand over my face.

I liked him. I really did. He was hot as hell, with a tight little body, black curls, and fierce green eyes. He was darkly funny, too. As prickly as his cat and twice as suspicious. But I was not a guy who liked a challenge for the hell of it. I wasn’t into conquests and I sure as hell wasn’t into complications. Ev had complicated written all over him, just by the very fact that he would be living in O'Leary, and hooking up with him could provide exactly the kind of fodder for town gossip that I'd always avoided like the plague.

So why the hell, after just an hour’s conversation, had he become a lodestone, drawing my consciousness toward Henry Lattimer’s place like a needle pointing north?

Maybe it was because Ev was only here until the spring — he’d admitted he was practically counting down his days of captivity in O’Leary with hatch marks on a wall — and that was exactly what I wanted. Hot, fascinating, and temporary. Maybe the very fact that he was safe — that he wasn’t going to fall in love with me, or expect some kind of false permanence, the way every other person in this town seemed to — was what made him so attractive.

This was a theory that made sense.

O’Leary was a permanent sort of place. A Pumpkin-Festival and Christmas carols sort of place. A “Silas Sloane, I’m still waiting for you to return that library book on Jackie Robinson you took out in 1993,” sort of place. And for whatever reason – heteronormative culture or poison in the water, take your pick – folks around here were all about meeting their One True Love and settling down. I’d seen it happen to all my high school football buddies – every one of them had found a nice woman and gotten down to the business of churning out babies. I’d watched it happen to the LGBTQ couples in town — Rena Cobb and her wife, Paul Fine and his partner Quinn. And I’d even watched it happen to my friend Caelan James, the most curmudgeonly man I’d ever met and the person I’d have voted least-likely to ever fall in love… until he’d met his boyfriend Ash Martin. Hell, commitment had become a freakin’ cottage industry in this area, ever since it was named one of the top wedding destinations in the Northeast.

I mean, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere but O’Leary, but just living here was about all the commitment I could handle in my life. I’d been born without whatever genetic component made people want to stare at another person the way Paul and Quinn’s pug stared at bacon, or made them want to parade the streets with their lover hanging on their arm. The very idea of Marci and her friends discussing my love life in the cereal aisle of Lyon’s Imperial — linking my name with some other man’s, becoming an item of gossip that people would still be discussing at my retirement party — made me twitch.

But I was pretty sure none of that would be an issue with the town’s new art teacher. We could hook up for as long as he was in town, and he’d never expect me to hold his hand as we walked down the street. It would be perfect. It would be friendly. It would be casual.

Assuming I could convince him, of course. We’d had a friendly conversation in the woods the night before, but things had been decidedly tenser after we’d gotten to Henry’s, and by the time I’d left, after bringing his suitcases to the little guest room where he’d be staying, he’d been acting decidedly chilly.

Remembering the way he'd smiled made me think that I could work with chilly.

I took my time shaving and dressing in faded jeans and a t-shirt, but even so, the sun had barely crawled over the horizon by the time I closed and locked the door of my little house on the corner of Lobelia and Crescent, just a few blocks from town. Since showing up at Hen’s at the literal ass-crack of dawn did not say casual, I climbed in my truck and headed to the police station.

Marci’s car was already in the lot — since her son went to college and her husband left town a few years back, she spent more hours here than not — and surprisingly, so was Mitch’s. I parked next to his SUV, strode up the ramp to the front door, and pushed it open with a jangle of bells.

Marci’s cubicle was empty and so was the rest of the small squad room, not that I expected any different at this hour. I stopped at my desk to check my email and found a confirmation that Joe Cross had picked up Ev’s car and taken it to his repair shop in Rushton, along with a copy of Mitch’s report about the incident at Pickett Campground.

I frowned as I scrolled through the report, then headed for his office.

Marci opened his office door and stepped out just as I approached. Her dark blonde hair was falling out of her ponytail, and her severe white blouse was wrinkled, like she’d slept at her desk.

“Marci,” I greeted her. “Late night or early morning?”

“What?” She smoothed her hair back and her eyes darted around the empty room. “Neither.”

“You okay?” I asked, putting a hand on her arm. “Are you getting enough rest?”

She twitched her arm away. “Perfectly. Yes. I mean…” She drew a deep breath and gave me a small smile. “I’m fine, Si. Thank you.”

“Alright,” I said, unconvinced. “But if Mitch is giving you a hard time, you let me know and I’ll beat him up for you, okay? Everyone needs time off, even O’Leary’s best dispatcher.”

She blushed crimson. “O’Leary’s only dispatcher, except when Constantine’s on duty. Which he was supposed to be last night, but he called in sick.”

I frowned again. “Constantine called in sick? He seemed fine Saturday.” Constantine Ross was young – only twenty-four – and Mitch could only afford to have him on part time, but he was as dedicated to this place as Marci or Mitch, or even me. “Everything okay with his family?”

Marci shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything to the contrary. He’s still helping his dad with the landscaping business whenever he’s not here, though now Micah’s Blooms is giving them a run for their money, I’m guessing he’s run ragged.”

I frowned and nodded. “Well, listen, don’t be afraid to talk to Mitch if you need more time off. I can cover for you myself if need be, yeah?”

She blushed further. “I, uh… I’ll be sure talk to Mitch. Thanks, Si.” She hurried off to her desk without another word, which was so surprising I turned to watch her as she walked away.

No rants about Rena Cobb’s sculpture? No gossip about Constantine’s family’s business troubles?

“That’s odd,” I told Mitch, striding into his office a second later. “What’s gotten into Marci?” I threw myself into the chair in front of his desk.

Mitch glanced up from his screen and raised one eyebrow. “Good morning to you, too. You’re up early. Hot date last night?”

I grinned. Mitch Turner was as disorganized as his brother Dare was tidy, which had always amused me as we were growing up. The only thing messier than his desk was his unruly gray hair. But just like Dare, Mitch’s brown eyes missed nothing. And likely Marci had already given him an earful about my interrupted hookup.

“Sadly, no. I got called to Pickett Campground before anything could happen, and then I found a car wrapped around a tree on the way.”

“Oh, yeah. Marci said something about that. Single-vehicle?” Mitch frowned. “Who?”

“Everett Maior. Henry Lattimer’s grandson.”

“Ah, right. Going to be the new art teacher at the school,” Mitch said, leaning back in his chair. Two buttons on his shirt were done up incorrectly, and I had to fight a smile. The guy knew every fucking thing about the town, but couldn’t manage to dress himself. “He okay?”

“Yeah. Banged up his leg pretty good, but otherwise alright. Car’s likely totaled, though.”

Mitch grimaced. “That sucks. Think he’ll be able to take care of Henry with no car?”

Of course Mitch knew Ev was here to take care of Hen. I wasn’t sure why his superpowers surprised me anymore. “How do you know all this?” I demanded.

“Having a sister who’s the principal at Garnett Elementary helps,” he said. “Hen’s daughter called Janice to ask if they had anything open.” He shrugged. “I guess the kid’s had a hard year and she and Hen were worried about him.”

“Ev’s not a kid,” I said without thinking. I remembered how weary his eyes had looked, the triumph I’d felt at making him laugh, even if it had been at my own expense, and how shocked he’d seemed by his own laughter. “What kind of hard year?”

But Mitch’s eyes had lit up. “He's not a kid, huh? How not a kid?”

“He’s twenty-nine.” Information I’d learned the hard way. I squirmed under Mitch’s bright gaze. “What?”

He tipped his chair back further. “You like him.”

Damn it. “I gave you his age, Mitchell.”

“It’s not the data, it’s the manner in which it’s delivered, Si. You said Ev's not a kid like I'd been insulting him or something. It was oddly proprietary.”

I snorted. “How long have you known me? I don’t do proprietary. He's Henry's grandson, and he seems like a nice guy. I drove him to Hen’s house and called a tow-truck for him, same as I would for anyone in this town.”

“Is he hot?”

“Christ. As Dare and I have explained to you a billion times, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m attracted to every man I meet, okay? Just like you’re not getting it on with… with Marci,” I chuckled, inserting the first woman’s name I could think of, “just because she’s a woman.”

Mitch’s smile fell and he cleared his throat. “No. Of course not. Sorry. What were you saying before that?”

I blinked at this easy change of subject. “You were going to tell me what kind of hard year he’s had.”

Mitch shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t invite gossip if I can help it.” He tapped his finger on the arm of his chair thoughtfully. “Maybe you should go and see if you can give him a hand sorting through the accident business. Single vehicle collisions can cause a bunch of red tape.”

"Hmm." I frowned, pretending the idea of seeing Ev again had never occurred to me. "I guess I could, if you think it's a good idea. And, uh, your report about the campground said I should stop by to follow up with Frank and Myrna?"

“Doesn’t have to be today,” Mitch said. “I know you’re off-duty. Tomorrow’s fine. But I want to follow up on the missing camper.” He nodded at the report in my hand. “John Carpenter. Guy was in his twenties, said he was from the Philadelphia area, but paid cash so we have no credit card or address on file. Told Myrna he was here to get over a bad breakup. Completely green — all brand-new gear, still with the tags, and Frank had to show him how to build a fire.”

I snorted.

“Exactly,” Mitch agreed. “So the guy wasn’t planning on doing anything adventurous, just sticking pretty close to the campground. Some easy-to-intermediate hikes. It’s entirely possible the dude just got bored and went home without realizing he should even tell Frank. I’m gonna have Carmen try to track down his home address today, and more than likely we’ll find him sitting at home in his pajamas watching TV. But in the meantime, I sent Grace out with Carpenter's description, to see if anyone in town’s seen him. And tomorrow you can talk to Frank, see if he’s heard anything.”

“Will do.”

He smiled hugely. “And FYI, your thoughtful, reluctant face needs work, Si. Practice that poker face if you don't want everyone in O'Leary to know you're into Hen's grandson."

"Great." I sighed. "Thanks a bunch."

I drove down to Fanaille, Caelan’s bakery, grabbed two cups of coffee and a few muffins from his assistant, Maura, then headed diagonally across the street to O’Leary Hardware.

“Theo?” I called pushing open the door with my hip as I juggled the coffees and bakery bag. “You around?”

“Oh, hey, Si,” Theo said, coming out from the back room. At eighteen, Theo Ross had the same dark hair as his brother Constantine, but he was tall and lanky, with none of Constantine’s bulk. “What can I help you with? You ready to start that apartment conversion project yet?”

I sighed. The large, open attic above my garage was currently packed with mementos and memorabilia, just as it had been when my grandparents left me the house in their will seven years before. My plan to convert the space into a rental, which I’d dreamed up and blurted out one night after a couple of beers at Goode’s Diner, had become almost a joke around town. So had my plan to restore my grandfather’s Porsche, which had been sitting half-assembled in the garage for just as long.

It was pretty lowering when teenagers were dragging me for my procrastination.

I forced a smile. “Funny. One of these days, kid, that place is gonna be a goldmine. But today, I’m just looking for Henry. Or, his grandson, really. Mitch told me to follow up with him about his accident.”

“Ev. Yeah, I met him this morning, and I think the guy’s my new hero.” Theo looked around the empty store before saying in a hushed whisper, “Dude, I heard them sniping at each other from down here. And I’ve gotta say, I don’t hate hearing someone giving Mr. Lattimer a taste of his own medicine.”

I remembered Ev’s words from yesterday, his unlikely solidarity with the other incompetent, weird kid, and my forced smile became real.

“Grab a muffin, Theo." I nodded toward the plain, white bag in my hand.

His eyes widened. “Oh, sweet. From Fanaille?” He removed a blueberry muffin from the bag before handing it back. “Thanks, Si.”

A loud crash came from above, followed by an annoyed bellow. I exchanged a glance with Theo. “What was that?”

He shrugged. “Mr. Lattimer’s pissed. As usual. Maybe about that demon cat. Or maybe that he doesn’t need help wiping his ass yet, goddamn it. Or maybe that he’d have thought Ev’s kind would be able to brew a cup of coffee that didn’t taste like swill.”

“Ev’s kind?” I repeated.

Theo shrugged again. “I dunno. A city boy, maybe?”

Or a gay man.

I’d never gotten a homophobic vibe from Hen Lattimer before. There were no secrets in O’Leary, so he knew I was gay, and he’d never said a derogatory word. We talked hunting and fishing, town politics and football prospects. He even teased me about my inability to put the Porsche back together, without ever adding a snide comment about my kind being incapable of auto mechanics. Maybe being a cop protected me from that kind of thing. I found myself wanting to protect Ev from it, too.

I told myself I'd feel the same way about anyone, but I wasn't sure that was true.

And oddly enough, I still felt no desire to back off.

“Okay if I head up the back way?” I asked Theo, nodding toward the stock room, where a second staircase led to the apartment above. “Ev hurt his leg on his way into town, and I don’t want either of them to have to come down and let me in the front door.”

“Sure,” Theo mumbled around a huge bite of muffin. “Just knock, I guess. Although, the way they were stomping around up there a minute ago, someone’s using their legs.” He took another big bite and seemed to think for a moment. “Or maybe they’ve just been throwing shit.”

I looked up at the ceiling. “Great,” I muttered.

I hurried through the store, past row after row of perfectly organized appliances and tools, and out to the back room where a narrow staircase led directly to the kitchen above. I sprinted up, two at a time, bakery goods in hand, and kicked at the bottom of the door with my boot.

“Go away, Theo!” Henry bellowed.

“Do not go away, Theo!” Ev countered. “Get in here and help me before this man kills himself or me.”

There was another loud thump, followed by the sound of breaking dishes.

I juggled the coffees into one hand and pushed the door open, rushing forward to protect Ev…

And found Ev standing over Henry, who was seated at the kitchen table, the two of them struggling over a knife. What the actual fuck?

“Let go. Let go or I’ll do it!” Ev cried. “I swear to God, just give me a reason, and I’ll do it, old man. Hell, I’ll enjoy it.”

Training kicked in immediately. I moved another step into the room and put the coffees down on the counter. “Ev,” I began in the placating voice I’d first been taught in hostage negotiations. “Maybe you could…”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Henry taunted, glaring up at his grandson from his seat at the kitchen table. He was still in his pajamas and bathrobe, his white-gray hair combed perfectly. And on the table in front of him was what appeared to be a bowl of oatmeal and a nearly-empty juice glass. The shards of a coffee cup lay on the kitchen floor next to his casted leg. I moved around the table, positioning myself behind Ev.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Ev said menacingly. “If you don’t stop being ridiculous, I’m calling my mother. We’ll see how you like it when your firstborn comes to O’Leary and starts crying all over you. Now drop the knife!”

Henry’s eyes narrowed, he released the knife, and I stopped in my tracks.

Ev was threatening to… call his mother?

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.

Ev turned to look at me, then walked around the table to return the knife to its spot in the knife block on the counter. A snug blue t-shirt was stretched across his chest, and well-fitting khaki shorts highlighted the curve of his ass. He looked both well-rested and seriously pissed off, but fortunately not at me. “Good morning, Silas.”

“Everett. Henry.” I pulled out one of the unoccupied kitchen chairs. “Either of you mind explaining what I just witnessed?”

Ev snorted and nodded at his grandfather. “This one pretended to have an allergic reaction to the oatmeal I made him, and when I left the room to get his Epi-Pen, he attempted to cut off his cast with a steak knife.”

I looked at Henry, who was sulking like a toddler. “I hate oatmeal. Everyone knows I hate oatmeal. Diane Perkins never makes oatmeal.”

“Then why the heck isn’t Diane Perkins here, one wonders?” Ev rolled his eyes and took another seat at the table. “I don’t do dishes like Diane Perkins, I don’t make coffee like Diane Perkins, I don’t cook like fucking Diane Perkins.” His gaze came to me. “Who is this saint and how can I meet her?”

I grinned. “She’s a waitress over at Goode’s Diner. Been working there since… God, before I was born?”

“She’s not just a waitress,” Henry protested. “She’s a damn good cook! Better than that idiot Shane Goode, who likes to pretend the pumpkin pie that won the contest last fall was his own recipe! Bullshit, it was.” He wagged a finger at me. “That one has criminal stamped all over him, mark my words. If you’ll steal a pie recipe from a beautiful woman who’s been nothing but good to you, what won’t you stoop to?”

I nodded sagely. “Fair point. I’ll keep that in mind. Now, why the heck were you trying to cut off your cast?”

“I don’t need it!” he fumed. “What I need is to be downstairs running my shop. Theo’s head’s so far in the clouds, he’ll recommend a hammer to tighten a screw. And this one,” he jerked his head to Ev. “Wants to poison me in my own home. Oatmeal,” he said, pushing the bowl further away from him.

“Uh huh. The nerve of me, trying to lower your cholesterol,” Ev retorted. “Just wait until I stop by Lyon's Imperial and grab some quinoa and salmon for dinner.”

Henry opened his mouth, no doubt to give some blistering response… but then spied the goodies from Fanaille I’d left on the counter. He shifted in his chair to smile widely at me.

“Never mind our piffle, Silas. So, what really brings you by this morning? Come to bring me breakfast?”

I cleared my throat, a little ashamed. I’d gotten coffees for Ev and me, already planning how I was going to turn this morning into Operation Make Ev Want Me. I’d forgotten Henry entirely.

Damn.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yup. Coffee and muffins for you and Ev. From Fanaille.”

Henry leaned back in his chair slightly. “Ah! You see, Ev? Silas knows what proper food is. A man needs more than nuts and twigs to recover his health… if he’s in need of recovery, which I’m not.”

“Uh huh. I’m taking notes here,” Ev said dryly. “Just so I understand, you’re in perfect health? The leg doesn’t bother you at all? Is that why you practically sobbed when Daphne brushed up against your cast this morning?” He folded his arms over his chest and returned his grandfather’s glare.

“Brushed up!” Henry scoffed. “That creature rubbed herself against me like I was her personal scratching post. I was… annoyed.”

“You were crying out of annoyance.” Ev nodded. “I see.”

“That’s not… I wasn’t crying, Everett.” Henry looked at me for help, but it was far too entertaining to watch them baiting each other. As far as I could tell, they were as opposite as two men could be, while somehow managing to be exactly the same, from their eyes to their scowls. Even their posture exactly mirrored one another. “I was trying to hold in my anger.”

“By leaking water from your eyes.” Ev nodded again. “I’ve experienced this phenomenon myself. I call it… crying.”

His voice was dry as dust and I had to fight laughter once again. Ev wasn’t just hot and my attraction to him wasn’t just sexual. I liked the guy, more than I could remember liking anyone I also wanted to hook up with.

“Silas, hand me a goddamn muffin,” Henry said, breaking the standoff.

“Yes, sir,” I agreed, fetching the food for him mostly so I could hide my smile.

After placing a coffee cup in front of each of them and setting the bakery bag in the middle of the table, I grabbed a broom to clean up the shards of pottery on the floor.

“Oh. Thanks,” Ev said, sounding surprised. “My knee is mostly better this morning, but it still hurts when I bend it.”

“You can walk on it fine?” He nodded. “So, no need to go to the doctor, then?”

“God, no.” Ev shuddered. “Not unless I’m dying.” He swallowed. “Not even then.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “And what about Daphne?”

“What about her? I shut her in the bedroom when Grandpa started calling her Demon Cat.” He shot his grandfather a glare.

“Well, I was thinking…” I began, making this up as I went along. “You should probably get her checked out, just to make sure she’s okay.”

“You think?” Ev frowned. “But she seems fine.”

But if she was fine, Ev would have no reason to take a scenic tour of O’Leary with me this morning.

“I’m no vet,” I said. I dumped the broken shards of crockery in the trash bin next to the counter. “But Julian Ross – my friend Constantine’s older brother – is. His practice is literally across the street, so it wouldn’t be out of your way.” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder to show him. “You wouldn’t want to take any chances.”

Ev bit his lip and looked at his grandfather, then back at me. “I guess. But who’ll watch Grandpa?”

“Watch Grandpa?” Henry chortled around a bite of muffin. “I’ve been watching out for myself for seventy-eight long years, my lad, and you haven’t visited me for fifteen of them.”

“Roads run in both directions, you know.”

“Not when you have a business to run,” Henry replied. “Besides, you’ll be starting school in a couple of days. You take care of your demon feline, and I’ll take care of myself.”

Ev still hesitated.

“Ah, youth is wasted on the young,” Henry sighed mournfully. “You know, Everett, back in my day…”

Ev stood abruptly. “I think it’s a great idea,” he told me. “Let’s have your friend examine Daph. Just give me five minutes to bribe her to get back into the carrier.”

“Great! Henry, if you want, I can help settle you in the living room before we go.”

“Check his pockets for more knives,” Ev said from the doorway, looking back at his grandfather with narrowed eyes. “Easy capitulation is never a good thing.”

Henry hmphed. Then he removed a pocket knife from his robe and slapped it on the table with a scowl.

“Uh huh,” Ev nodded. “Figured.”

“Go summon your demon, Everett!” Hen sniffed, removing a second muffin from the bag. “Leave a lonely, old man to enjoy the few pleasures he has left.” He paused with the muffin in his hand and his gaze turned crafty. “And if you run into Diane Perkins while you’re out, you could mention that you’re planning to serve me fish and dirt for dinner. Maybe she’ll have mercy on me.”