Chapter Five
Logan woke the next morning to the muffled sound of music filtering in from behind the half-cracked bedroom door. He shifted his head on the pillow to see it had just turned eight thirty a.m. That was relatively late for him on a Sunday, but he knew damn well that it was early for Tate.
Someone can’t sleep this morning. Interesting…
He stifled a yawn and ran a hand over his face as a loud clang came from the direction of the kitchen followed by a soft, “Shit.”
Smiling, Logan got out of bed. He snagged his jeans off the floor and stepped into them, deciding he better get into the kitchen before Tate hurt himself or burned the building down.
As he opened the bedroom door and stepped into the small living space, he spotted Tate standing in front of his oven, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a red T-shirt. With his feet bare and his back to him, it was the perfect opportunity to watch him unnoticed.
Leaning against the doorjamb, he acted the silent voyeur to the oblivious man in the kitchen. Tate was humming to the soft music he had playing, stirring something on the stovetop, completely unaware that he had an audience.
This was what Logan wanted more than anything else—moments just like this, where he saw glimpses of Tate that no one else did.
As one of his favorite artists continued to fill the room, Logan found himself unable to stay quiet any longer. “Peter Gabriel, huh?”
Tate’s head whipped around, and when their eyes connected, he stopped singing and smiled. “Yeah. He’s a favorite of mine, among others.”
When he turned back to what he was doing, Logan pushed away from the wall and made his way over to stand behind him. He couldn’t resist the urge to put a hand on Tate’s waist as he peered over his shoulder to check out what he was mixing on the stove—a creamy gravy with sausage in it. It smelled mouthwatering, and as Logan nudged his nose into the hair by Tate’s ear, he realized Tate did also.
“You’re cooking me breakfast?”
Tate chuckled, the vibration rumbling against Logan’s chest. “I figured I owed you.”
“Oh…so this is a ‘sorry I came before you’ breakfast? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have worn considerably less and really made you apologize.”
When Tate turned his head, Logan made sure to lick his lips and Tate zeroed in on them with obvious interest.
“Considerably less than a pair of jeans?” Tate asked.
Logan nodded and gave him a kiss. “Yes. But I didn’t know, so alas, I’m now clothed.”
“That’s a shame. We both know how bothersome you find clothing.”
Logan ran his fingers under Tate’s shirt and around the waist of his sweats. When he started to flirt with the silky hair of his treasure trail, Tate fumbled the spoon in his hand.
“I find yours bothersome too.” With a laugh, Logan stepped away and pointed to the stove. “But it’s probably for the best. I don’t want you to burn yourself—or me for that matter.”
“Fuck you,” Tate said with a slight frown, his lips twitching as he fought back a grin. “Go and sit down, troublemaker.”
Logan wandered over to the small table in the dining area and heard Tate say, “Turn this up, would you? It’s one of my favorites.”
He grabbed the remote for the entertainment system and turned the volume up on “Solsbury Hill”—one of his personal favorites also. Taking a seat, Logan angled himself so he could watch Tate as he worked around the kitchen and found, for the first time in his entire life, that he was truly content.
* * *
Tate sang along to the lyrics as he opened the oven and pulled a tray of biscuits free. He didn’t usually cook. Actually, he never cooked. But as he’d lain there thinking about what he wanted to say to Logan this morning, he’d become more and more nervous. So he’d figured the best thing to do was get up and do something—anything to take his mind off trying to explain what was running through his head.
“You know, for his solo debut, this was a damn good song,” Logan said, cutting through his thoughts.
Tate reached for two plates and then walked over to put them on the table. One on his side, the other in front of Logan.
“Yeah. I’ve always liked it. Probably more so than any of his others.”
“Oh, come on. He did some of his best work with Genesis.”
Tate agreed and turned back to get the food. “There’s just something about this one. I’ve been listening to it a lot lately.”
“Have you?” Logan asked, and his tone had Tate facing him.
“Yeah. Why?” He carried a plate with biscuits and the pot full of gravy over, watching Logan closely.