Thirty-Five

Thursday, February 15, 2024

"Are you gonna eat that?"

Reilly peered down to see Tate pointing at the last piece of bacon on her plate.

She pushed it toward him, shaking her head.

They'd met at the diner to discuss at length the real possibility of a double wedding. Since Tate's excited phone call the night he finally agreed to marry Donovan, Reilly had been waiting for this conversation. Up to this point, they'd exchanged bits and pieces but nothing concrete. She wasn't even sure he was serious when he agreed that a double wedding would be cool.

Only now, he seemed to be avoiding the conversation. Every time she tried to ask him something, he shoved more food down his gullet.

"You're avoidin' me," she said, leaning back in her seat and glaring at her best friend.

"What?" His mouth was full, so the word came out muddled.

"You heard me." Her eyes shifted to the plate, then back to his face. "Are you gonna eat that next? Choke down some glass to avoid talkin'? If so, I'm gonna record it. It'll look good on TikTok."

Tate grabbed his napkin and wiped his mouth before reaching for his pineapple juice.

Her nostrils flared when he took a sip. She didn't know how he could even drink that. Eating pineapple was one thing—especially since she'd read somewhere that it made oral sex better because it changed the taste of vaginal fluid, which in turn made it taste… Wow. Way to go off the rails, Jameson. She really shouldn't be thinking about Brady licking her pineapple-flavored vagina while Tate was sucking down that juice with a straw. It was weird.

She shook her head and picked up her chocolate milk, forcing away thoughts of what flavor that might change it to.

"If you don't want a double wedding, just say so," she snapped, her tone harsher than intended.

Tate slowly set his glass down and sighed. "I do, actually."

Hope bloomed in her heart. "Really?"

He nodded.

Reilly had known Tate all her life, so she had the opportunity to memorize every one of his facial expressions. And he had a lot—like too many. This one … it was either his constipated face, or he was open to something but knew the cons outweighed the pros.

She wasn't going to like the answer, but she asked anyway. "But?"

His blue eyes looked sad. "But I'm not gettin' married for me. I'm doin' it for Donovan." He leaned forward. "I'm not sure it's what he wants."

Reilly crossed her arms over her chest. "Seriously?"

Tate frowned.

"You're tryin' to tell me that not a single part of you, no matter how small, doesn't want to get married?"

He shrugged.

"I call bullshit."

"Hey." Tate glared at her. "It's not—"

"You might be able to make D believe that shit, but I'm not buyin' it. You want to marry him."

"I want to be married to him, yeah," Tate defended. "I just wish we didn't have to have a wedding."

"More reason to have a double wedding," she insisted. "At one of those cute little chapels in Vegas. We can walk down the aisle together."

Tate huffed a laugh. "Next, you'll try to fit me for a veil. I'm not walkin' down the aisle, Rye."

"Why not?'

"It's not customary for a gay wedding."

"What is customary?"

Another shrug. At this rate, he was gonna pull his neck out.

"We just kinda stand at the altar. There's no fancy way to get there."

Lame. Reilly didn't like it.

"Customary, smushtomary. Who cares?" She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Our wedding. We get to set the precedent."

"I think Donovan would prefer something more traditional," Tate argued.

Reilly rolled her eyes. "I think D would dress up like a dinosaur and wear a tutu on the steps of the capitol building while strangers serenaded ‘Wind Beneath My Wings' off-key while dressed up like eggs if you asked him to."

Tate's eyes widened a second before he snorted a laugh.

Yeah, the image of Donovan sporting a tutu made her snort, too.

"He just wants to marry you," Reilly told her best friend. "I heard him talkin' to Brady. He doesn't care when or where. He just. Wants. To be. Your. Husband."

She wasn't surprised when Tate didn't say anything, but Reilly could tell he was processing.

"Plus, we've never been to Vegas. We'll make them spring for fancy hotel rooms, and we can spend a few days pretendin' we're high rollers. We'll make 'em take us to a fancy restaurant, and we can go to one of those clubs the movie stars get into." She took a deep breath. "Think about it, Tate. What better way to—"

"Okay."

Reilly flopped back, shocked. "What?"

"I said okay."

"I know. But did you mean it?"

He reached for his juice. "Yeah."

She watched as he took a sip and kept her thoughts from derailing. "Are you sure?"

Tate closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, they were clear, a genuine smile forming on his mouth. "If Donovan's good with it, I'm good with it."

She squealed and clapped her hands together. "It's gonna be amazing, Tate. I swear it."

Now, she just had to figure out how to spring it on her parents.

***

Tate parted ways with Reilly at thediner so she could go to the General Store, and he could go home and shower before his shift.

At least that was his plan, but as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot, he realized he wasn't heading toward the house. Instead, he was driving toward Donovan's office. It was a bit out of the way and meant he wouldn't have time for that shower before he had to be at the station, but he didn't care. He wanted to see Donovan's reaction for himself when he told him about the double wedding. It was the only way he would know whether the man was telling him the truth or simply compromising because that seemed to be what Donovan did.

Tate didn't want Donovan to compromise when it came to his happiness. Although Tate had no desire to stand up in front of a sea of people and exchange vows, he would do it if it would make Donovan happy.

He would hate every second. But he would do it.

Thirty minutes later, Tate was walking into the glass and metal building that housed M-J Architecture Interiors. He'd only been there once before, and that was on a weekend when they were closed. Tate had been curious and Donovan offered to show him where he worked.

But it wasn't a weekend, and the place wasn't empty the way it had been that day.

He was greeted by a chipper young woman sitting at a glass-top desk.

"Good morning. Welcome to M-J Architecture and Interiors." She flashed a smile. "Do you have an appointment?"

Tate shook his head. "I'm here to see Donovan."

She reached for the phone. "And you are?"

"Umm … Tate."

Her eyebrow lifted, and he could tell she was waiting for his last name.

"Tate Riggs."

Her smile wasn't quite as brilliant, but she pressed a button on the phone and held the receiver to her ear.

"Mr. Jameson. There's a Mr. Riggs here to see you. He said he doesn't have an—"

Tate couldn't hear what was being said on the other end of the line, but the woman's eyes rounded and she was nodding incessantly despite the fact Donovan couldn't see her.

"Yes, sir," she said quickly before hanging up the phone and looking at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize who you were."

"Don't apologize. How could you?"

Another smile, this one not quite as uneasy as the last. "Please. Go on back. Mr. Jameson's in his office."

"Thanks."

M-J Architecture Interiors wasn't as big as Tate had imagined it would be, but it was designed in a way that made it feel huge. Probably had something to do with the fact it was surrounded by walls of tinted glass. Beyond the front reception area, it was completely open on the main floor. Dark, glossy concrete was the base that balanced out the stark white of the steel supporting the second-floor loft space where Donovan and Brady worked. The large staircase was the centerpiece that separated a lounge area surrounded by several desks, most of which were occupied.

Tate made a beeline for the stairs and slowed himself down as he went up.

The second floor contained drafting tables, a large conference area, and two glass-enclosed offices along the back wall. Brady was perched on a stool at one of the drafting tables. He lifted his head as Tate approached.

"Hey, Tate. What's up, man?"

"Hey." Tate felt awkward being there, but he managed a smile.

Before he reached Donovan's office, the man stepped out, his eyes tracking every step he took.

"What's wrong?"

Tate should've expected he would think something was wrong. He wasn't the sort to drop in unannounced or even at all, for that matter.

"Nothing." He forced a smile as he stared at the sinfully beautiful man wearing charcoal slacks and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"This is a nice surprise then." Donovan's eyes warmed. "Come in here."

Tate followed him into the office and waited while Donovan shut the door. He then flipped a switch, causing the glass walls to go from transparent to opaque in the blink of an eye.

Donovan tucked his hands in his pockets and stared down at him.

The man was gorgeous, but like this, he almost looked dangerous—sexy dangerous, though, not mobster dangerous.

Feeling out of sorts, Tate made his way to the black leather couch and sat, keeping to the edge of the cushion.

"I had breakfast with Reilly."

"Y'all finally come to a decision?"

Tate looked up at him and took a deep breath. "Kinda."

Donovan walked around the black-lacquered coffee table and perched on the arm of the couch. "I hope kinda means yes because, Tate, I wanna marry you. And I'd like to do it sooner rather than later."

"And you're okay with gettin' married in Vegas?" Skepticism made the words come out harsh, but Tate couldn't help it. He still didn't believe Donovan was okay with having a quickie wedding in Vegas rather than something traditional where all his family and friends could attend.

Donovan shifted down onto the cushion, moving closer to Tate.

"Baby, I need only two things to make a wedding perfect."

Tate swallowed hard. "What's that?"

"You and someone ordained to perform it, so it's legal."

"What about rings?"

One of his notorious sexy smirks tipped the corner of Donovan's mouth. "I got those before I even asked."

"You did?"

His expression turned serious. "This isn't pretend for me, Tate."

"It's not pretend for me either," he said quickly. "I want to marry you."

Donovan inched closer, gripping Tate's chin between his finger and thumb. His voice was rife with emotion when he said, "Then let's get married. Wherever. Whenever."

"In dinosaur costumes?"

That earned him a look of surprise.

Tate laughed, relaxing somewhat. "I'm kidding."

Donovan leaned in, his lips hovering over Tate's. "If costumes are your thing, I'm in."

Shaking his head adamantly, Tate laughed. "They're not."

"You sure?"

"I'd rather see you in a tux than a tutu."

Donovan's eyebrows popped toward his hairline. "Are you sure? I'd look damn fine in a tutu."

And just like that, relief swamped him. He had known Donovan Jameson for most of his life and the man wasn't the sort to say things to placate people. Tate doubted he would be happy about a tutu, but he got the gist.

"I want to marry you," Tate told Donovan, sliding his hand over his muscular forearm. "The sooner, the better."

"In Vegas?"

He nodded. "With Reilly and Brady."

Donovan kissed him. It was a soft, lingering press of his lips, but Tate swore he could taste Donovan's relief.

When he pulled back, his light green eyes seemed brighter. "Do you have a day in mind?"

"April," he said off the top of his head.

"April. Why April?"

"Because it's between now and June."

Donovan laughed. "So is March and May."

"Yeah, but April gives us time to plan."

"April it is. Do you have a day?"

"The first Saturday."

Donovan's smile grew wider. "I like it. Have you picked out a place?"

"Not yet. But we will. I'll get with Reilly."

Donovan ran a finger down Tate's jawline. "You and Reilly plan the wedding. Brady and I'll take care of the cost, as well as the accommodations."

Tate nodded because he wasn't sure what else to say.

"Now that we've got that outta the way…" Donovan banded his arms around him, pulling him closer as he leaned back. "Let's make out."

Tate laughed, but he didn't argue. He could spend eternity making out with this man and never tire of it.

Donovan's lips pressed against the shell of his ear. "Just make sure you're quiet. You don't want my employees to know I'm doin' wicked things to you in my office."

"Neither do you," Tate said, his cock thickening.

"Baby, you should know by now I don't give a fuck." He brushed a hand over Tate's hair as he peered up at him. "I can't get enough of you, and I don't care who knows."

Tate didn't ask Donovan to prove it.

But the man did anyway.

***

Stone stood on Ethan and Beau's frontporch, waiting for someone to answer the door.

Beyond the wood, he could hear children laughing and the deep rumble of a male voice. He couldn't make out whether it was Ethan or Beau, but whoever it was sounded happy.

A second later, the door opened, and Beau appeared. He had one kid on his shoulders and one on each foot.

"Hey, man. You're just in time."

Stone looked up at the little boy who was using Beau's hair like reins, holding on tight. "For?"

Beau nudged the door open with his elbow. "We're buildin' a fort."

"A fort?" Stone walked inside, closing the door behind him.

Beau took large steps, keeping the kids on his feet from falling off. Every time he moved, one giant foot thudding on the hardwood, all three of them giggled.

"Tell your cousin Stone what that is," Beau said.

"Blanket fort!" they chimed merrily, two of them bounding up and running away.

Beau lifted the boy on his shoulders over his head and set him on the ground so he could join his brother and sister.

"Wow. They got big," Stone said, watching as Jack, Kiera, and Aiden tossed pillows onto the floor.

"They grow like weeds," Beau said. "Four years old, and they think they're ten."

"Daddy! Get in the fort!" Kiera summoned.

"In a minute, baby girl. Daddy's gotta talk to Stone for a bit." Beau motioned for Stone to follow. "Want a beer?"

"Sure."

Beau led the way deeper into the house, where they found Ethan. He was in the kitchen, oven mitts on his hands, reaching into the oven to pull out a large glass dish.

"Hope you like enchiladas," Ethan said.

"I like pretty much anything," Stone admitted. "Especially if I don't have to make it myself."

"Good answer." Ethan cast an amused look at Beau. "I'm married to someone like that."

"Hey, I'd make it if you'd let me." Beau looked at Stone. "The kitchen's off limits. He's the only one allowed to cook."

"Because the fire department had to come out the last time you did," Ethan countered.

"One time," Beau huffed. "And we needed to remodel the kitchen anyway."

Stone snorted, not sure whether to believe him. "Seriously?"

Ethan's eyes widened, and he nodded.

"It wasn't that bad," Beau said defensively.

"Of course not, baby," Ethan crooned. "The fire only took out one wall. There're plenty more."

Stone choked on a laugh when Ethan rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"The kids were at my mom's," Beau said, as though that needed to be clarified.

"He's not allowed to cook when they're home," Ethan added. "He's limited to sandwiches and the microwave."

Beau opened the refrigerator and pulled out three beers. On his way around the island, he paused in front of Ethan and kissed the man.

Stone had always admired Ethan and Beau's relationship. Although they'd had their share of ups and downs over the years, they'd found true happiness.

"Hey, munchkins!" Beau shouted. "Time to set the table."

An excited "Yay!" was followed by the thud of little footsteps as the triplets raced into the kitchen.

Stone watched in amused disbelief as the three kids did their duty of setting the table—plates, silverware, napkins—before he found himself being herded by three little kids eager to get their dinner on.

The meal reminded him of dinners when he was a kid. He'd done his share of chores alongside Donovan, CJ, and Chelsea. Reilly hadn't been forced to do as much of the work since she'd come along much later.

"The daddies need to talk to Stone," Ethan told the kids when they were finished. "Why don't y'all work on your puzzle for a little while."

"Yay!"

With that, they were off and running again.

"How do y'all keep up?" Stone asked, watching as the triplets raced out of the room, slipping and sliding in their socks.

"I'm younger than you," Beau said straight-faced.

"By a year," Ethan said.

"But he's not." Stone pointed at Ethan.

"By a year," Ethan countered again, reaching for his beer.

Beau winked at Ethan, then looked at Stone. "We've got a routine. Trust me, it takes work to keep them entertained, but we manage."

"One day, you'll know what it's like," Ethan noted.

"I hope so," Stone admitted.

"Yeah?" Beau shifted, giving him his full attention. "Things serious with you and Stevie?"

"And Nico," Stone added.

"Ah. Wow. I did not know that." Beau looked at Ethan. "How did I not know that?'

"Cause you spend your days watchin' SpongeBob SquarePants."

"Hey, it's a good time for all ages," Beau said, straight-faced before looking at Ethan. "You knew?"

Ethan nodded.

Stone interrupted their back and forth. "My question is, how did anyone know?"

"Small town," they said in unison.

"Touché."

"So they're gonna go into business with you?" Ethan asked. "Farmers' market, right?"

"I take it y'all don't need me to give you my spiel?" he joked.

"We got the rundown from Sawyer. He's got a big mouth," Ethan stated as though that explained it all.

"I heard it from Braydon," Beau noted. "He's got a big mouth, too."

Stone laughed. "To answer your question, yeah, the plan is for them to go into business with me."

"I must admit, I like the idea," Ethan said. "I told Mom I thought it was brilliant."

He was surprised to hear that his aunt already knew about the plan. He probably shouldn't have been because, as they said, it was a small town, and he'd been talking about it with enough people that he knew the rumor had spread.

"So you're okay with it?" Stone asked, watching Ethan's expression closely. "With them giving me the land?"

"I damn sure don't want it," he countered. "Hell, I'm tryin' to convince Autumn to become a partner in the demo company."

"She's suggested more than once for him to take over," Beau explained. "From a management position."

"Nope." Ethan shook his head. "I'm a mechanic. I put in my ten hours and come home to my husband and kids. Where I prefer to be."

"He preferred it when I worked with him," Beau said, his eyes never leaving Ethan's face.

Ethan didn't bother denying it.

"Maybe one day I'll be back there," Beau said, glancing at Stone. "The kids'll start kindergarten soon. I won't know what to do with myself all alone in this house."

Stone was watching Ethan, so he saw the spark of hope that ignited.

He got it because the thought of working alongside Nico and Stevie every day caused warmth to churn in his chest, too.

"We're good with it, by the way," Ethan said. "With you takin' the land. At least it'll be in good hands."

"Thanks. I won't let Aunt Lorrie and Uncle Curtis down."

"They know that; otherwise, they wouldn't've made you the offer. Which is why we know that."

Stone took a pull on his beer, hoping it would wash down the lump that formed in his throat. That sentiment meant more to him than he expected.