Trust (Temptation #3)(109)

“But?”

“There’ll be late nights, and I’d like a place close by for us if we don’t feel like driving across town. This is close to Mitchell & Madison too.” As Tate started to walk backwards, he unwound the woolen scarf, and then he tugged the ends, urging Logan to follow.

“For us, huh?”

“Yep” Tate agreed, and then he turned to make his way up the stairs. After two small flights, they reached the top and Tate stopped. “Something she forgot to mention down there…” he said as Logan walked around him, running his hand over the sliding metal door of the loft. “The builder made sure the loft was soundproofed to block out the noise below.”

Logan turned toward him and arched an eyebrow over his glasses. “Really?”

Tate took a step forward until Logan’s back met the door and nodded. “Really. When you step behind this door, you can’t hear anyone, and they can’t hear you.”

Logan chuckled, and the smile he flashed was pure sex. “Well, I definitely like the sound of that. Not that I was overly concerned. It may have been a little uncomfortable for the customers to hear the owner shouting in pleasure while I blow his…mind, but I was willing to have earplugs for sale at the bar.”

Tate raised his hand and slid the key into the lock of the old firehouse door. When he took the thick, metal handle in his hands, Logan stepped aside. Then he hauled it open and assured him with a wink, “No earplugs will be necessary. Feel free to blow the owner any time you like.”





* * *



Logan loved it. The space was absolutely perfect for Tate’s ideas for the bar. Between the business area downstairs and the loft above, he was impressed.

They said their goodbyes to the realtor, and Tate told her that he would be in contact. But Logan wondered where his mind was at in the process.

“Well?” Tate asked. “What do you think?”

Logan slipped his hands into his coat pockets and walked over to where Tate was standing on the pavement outside the bar. Stopping in front of him, Logan smiled and looked at the locked double doors, which angled out to the street, and then back to him.

“I think it’s great.”

“You’re being serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. It’s a great location, and the building is in immaculate condition as far as I can tell. You’ll need to hire an inspector for all the nitty-gritty, but the interior, like you said, is already remodeled. And the price—for this area? The price is insane.”

Tate nodded eagerly like a little boy as he glanced back to the door and practically bounced on his toes. “I’m so happy you like it.”

“I don’t like it,” Logan said. “I love it. I think it’s absolutely perfect.”

As Tate faced him, Logan stepped forward to kiss him and saw a white fleck of snow catch on Tate’s eyelashes. He raised his gaze above them and watched as the first snow of the season fell down around them. Then he closed his eyes, letting the flurries hit his cheeks. When Tate’s fingers slid into his hair and then pulled his face in close, Logan opened his eyes and saw snowflakes landing on those dark-brown curls he loved.

As the smile on Tate’s face lit his warm eyes, Logan pressed their lips together and felt his heart pound—never could he have dreamed this for himself. Never could he have imagined Tate. But as he stood there in the snow, he realized that this man’s future—his dream—had started to morph into his own.





Chapter Thirty-One





Logan sat in the waiting room of University Hospital, tapping his foot impatiently.

Of course it had to happen today. Of course.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and ran a hand through his hair to grip the back of his neck. Why does shit always happen all at once? He looked at the empty seat beside him and grit his teeth.

The coffee he’d been handed ten minutes ago was as thick as sludge—and the same color too. As he stared intently at the door leading back to the halls beyond, he cursed that he was even back in this hospital in the first place, but there was nowhere else he’d rather be at that moment.

He heard his phone buzz inside his coat pocket and pulled it out to read the message. When he saw it, he grimaced. Not much I can do about that, he thought as he opened it and typed back: No, stay there. Text me when you can.

After hitting send, he sat back and crossed his ankles. Tate was right; he had no patience. He hated waiting for anything, and as he looked around once again, he remembered Cole telling him that Rachel’s contractions had started last night. It was now three in the afternoon.

Surely, that meant it would be over soon, right?