4. Riley

4

RILEY

The next day, Riley got up early, determined to explore his new temporary home. The desk clerk recommended Bear Necessities Coffee and Café, with a special mention of its donuts. In desperate need of sugar and caffeine, Riley headed there first.

Fox Hollow had one main street shaped like a J that ran alongside the lake before curving inland. The town packed plenty into that space, including shops, a grocery store, library, movie theater, hotel, beach, seaplane landing, outfitter, gift shop, bakery/café, and a couple of restaurants.

Riley wandered into the bear-themed café, smiling at the whimsical artwork of bears having fun doing all sorts of human activities like picnicking, playing music, dancing, and setting off fireworks. The café's few tables had a view of the lake.

He inhaled, enjoying the smell of donuts and fresh coffee in a moment of pure bliss.

"Smell something you want?" A woman in her middle years smiled at him from behind the counter. Her nametag read "Sherri," and her apron read "Bearly In Charge."

"I'm new in town—what do you recommend?"

She looked like she gave his question serious thought for a moment, then pointed to the donuts in the glass case. "We have an awesome pastry baker who works night shift. These are super-fresh. Everything he makes is good, but his strawberry margherita donuts are my favorites." Sherri pointed to a tray of pink-glazed treats.

"Then again, you can't go wrong with the maple-bacon ones, either. Or get a sampler pack and try them all—you won't regret it," she said with a grin.

"I think I'll take you up on that, and a large latte too, please," Riley said as he peeled off his mittens and pushed his scarf beneath his chin. He had bought a warmer parka for his move north, along with boots better suited to colder temperatures and more snow. He hadn't gotten used to the bulk, and right now he felt like the Michelin Man.

"What brings you to Fox Hollow?" Sherri asked as she got his order ready. With her ample curves and brown hair, Sherri vaguely reminded Riley of a brown bear, like the café's mascot that adorned its sign.

"I'm the new musician for the next few months at the hotel," he told her as he dug out his wallet. "And I'm taking some classes at the Institute."

"Well, you're either going to love it here or hate it because there are some big storms coming our way. We're set up pretty good for such things, so don't let it worry you. Just make sure you've got emergency basics. You'll get used to it if you decide to stay."

Riley paid for his order and looked at the bag. "What do you think I should start with?"

Sherri put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "Hmm. Everybody has different tastes, but I'm real partial to the maple-bacon even though it isn't the flavor-of-the-day. Jack, our baker, does a great job of coming up with new recipes. It's our sneaky way to make sure you come back to see us often." She winked.

He pulled out one of the maple-bacon donuts and took a bite, then had to stifle an orgasmic moan at the flavors that exploded in his mouth.

"That is the best donut I've ever eaten. I'm a convert."

"Told you so!" Sherri gave a smug grin. "By the way, I'm Sherri, and I own this place with my husband, Nelson. Sheriff Arnel is my cousin."

"I solemnly swear I will always pay for my donuts." Riley crossed his heart with a half-eaten pastry.

"There's a bulletin board just inside the doors where you can tack up a poster if you have something to advertise when you're playing," Sherri said. "Most of Fox Hollow comes through those doors sooner or later."

"Thank you," Riley replied around a mouthful of donut. He had a stack of photocopies for just that purpose and a box of thumbtacks in his coat pocket.

"We have a Coffee Club." Sherri handed him a card with one circle punched. "Every fifth drink gets a free regular coffee, or you can save up seven punches for a specialty coffee."

Riley thanked her and pocketed the card, happily eating his donut as he left. He dodged in and out of the other stores, noting what they carried. The library was next, and Riley carefully closed the donut bag and wiped his hands on his jeans before entering.

The Fox Hollow Library wasn't big, but it looked to Riley as if it utilized every square inch of space. He noted the bulletin board in the foyer and took time to walk around before he went to the front desk.

A slender man with red hair and gold-flecked brown eyes smiled when Riley walked up to the counter. "How can I help you?"

Once again, Riley felt like he got the once-over for being the new kid in town. "Getting the lay of the land. I just moved here, but everyone has already told me how wonderful the library is."

The man preened a bit at that. "Thank you. And it's absolutely true. Not that I'm biased. I'm Liam Reynard-Lowe, the head librarian."

"Riley Henderson, the new musician-in-residence at the big hotel." Riley shook the man's hand.

Liam gave him a head-to-toe once-over that seemed to see down to his bones. "That's you? I heard someone was going to be playing. You met a friend of mine in the grocery store yesterday."

"Brandon? The tall guy? Wow—word travels fast around here." Riley wondered what it meant—if it meant anything at all—that Brandon had mentioned their meeting to a friend.

"You have no idea," Liam said. "It's a town full of psychics, remember? People around here know what you're going to do before you've even done it. But don't let that bother you—unless you're a serial killer." He leaned forward. "You aren't, are you?"

Riley wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended. "No. No. I'm a musician."

Liam nodded with a serious expression. "Good. Welcome to Fox Hollow. Our library is small but mighty. There's a poster with the month's coming events—the next one up is Moose Appreciation Day."

"Seriously?"

"You've got something against moose?" Liam's voice took on an edge.

Riley raised his hands in appeasement. "No. Of course not. I'm sure they're very nice."

Liam gave a curt nod. "You're forgiven."

Riley couldn't tell if the other man was joking or not.

"We've got e-book and audiobook lending programs, there's a display for new books just added, and there are public computers in the back if you need them." Liam continued as if the moose comment hadn't happened.

"There's always a community art display, and we have classes on all kinds of things all the time—the only cost is for materials," Liam added. "Between the e-books and the physical ones, we have a very broad catalog and try to have something for everyone."

"That's great." Riley was still trying to get a read on Liam.

"If you can accept additional gigs, I'd like to find out your rate to play for Moose Day," Liam said. "We're doing moose-related books and art, and I'd also like to do a moose-themed sing-along."

Once again, Riley wasn't sure whether or not he was being pranked, but he decided to risk taking Liam seriously. "That sounds interesting. Do you have a playlist?"

"I'm working on one. The sing-along would probably be an hour. We have a budget for the event, but it's not huge." Liam named an amount, and Riley smiled.

"I can do that. Thank you."

"That's great! We'll make sure you're in all the publicity," Liam told him. "The library does its best to offer a lot of things to do, even in the cold months. So does the Fox Institute."

"I'm going to be taking some classes there." Riley stopped short of explaining the subject. He figured people here believed in psychics—and shifters, if the stories were true—but he wasn't ready to explain his non-gift just yet.

"The Institute does a great job," Liam said enthusiastically. "We work closely with them on community programming. I think you'll like it here."

"I already do," Riley answered. "Everyone's been very friendly."

"Well, if you found the donuts, you're already on the right track," Liam said. "Have you been to the comics store?"

Riley nodded with enthusiasm. "Yes. And I met Madden. That store is going to be a real temptation!"

"Be sure you check out the theater. Most people can get streaming via satellite, but our little movie house runs all kinds of fun stuff, like the Rocky and Bullwinkle marathon for Moose Day. Sometimes they do live theater there too. Our high school also puts on some good plays."

Liam handed Riley a flier with upcoming library and community events. "Don't be a stranger! You're welcome to have a look around—just save the donuts until you get outside."

Riley gave him a jaunty salute and did another circle of the library interior, impressed with what was offered. No wonder everyone speaks so highly of it. They really make a big effort to bring people together.

He had grown up in Jamestown, near the southwestern New York border. Although Jamestown wasn't a big city by any stretch, it was a good bit larger than Fox Hollow. Despite it being Riley's hometown, he had never quite found a group that he clicked with.

Maybe it was me. It took a while to grow into my skin.

But deep down, Riley knew that wasn't the whole truth. The town welcomed tourists who came for Lake Chautauqua, the college, or sites like the Lucille Ball Museum, but its furniture and manufacturing industries had waned, and Jamestown hadn't quite redefined itself.

He never "fit" there for more reasons than his orientation and struggled to find an audience for his music, although he had very successful gigs in Ithaca and elsewhere. Riley had been thinking about leaving Jamestown even before his ill-fated relationship with Tate, but when that soured and Tate turned abusive, Riley knew he couldn't stay.

Will Fox Hollow be too small—or just right? Would Brandon understand my weird psychic stuff? It seems like a lot of people in town weren't born here. Maybe if things go well with the music, I can make a place for myself. And see if Brandon and I can make something happen.

Riley finished the donuts and his latte after he left the library and headed over to the Fox Institute. The cold wind off the lake made Riley shiver on the short walk despite his parka. He figured he would toughen up if he stayed long enough—and the more he saw of Fox Hollow, the more he hoped he would have that chance.

A large, Victorian building housed the Fox Institute's administrative offices, and Riley guessed it was probably the original facility. Since its founding in the mid-1800s, the Institute had added dorms and more classrooms but kept the architecture reminiscent of its Victorian roots.

He parked in front of the administrative building and followed the signs to Dr. Jeffries's office, pausing nervously for a moment before knocking.

Am I really ready to do this? What if there's something wrong with being a psychic immune?

Riley gathered his courage, and just as he was about to rap at the door, it opened.

"Hi, Riley." Dr. Jeffries answered the door, a man in his forties with dark hair graying at the temples and blue eyes that held a hint of merriment.

"How—"

Dr. Jeffries shrugged. "Psychic." He grinned and tapped his forehead. "Come in and have a seat."

Riley sat in one of the chairs facing the large wooden desk and tried not to look worried. If I'm a real psychic immune he won't read how nervous I am from my mind, but my body language isn't keeping any secrets.

"Relax. And welcome. We're very happy you're here. Have you had a chance to look around the town?"

Riley gave him a quick recap, and Dr. Jeffries's smile widened. "So you've met all the ‘usual suspects.' That's a good start."

"I don't?—"

"You met some great people who are very active in the life of this town," Jeffries replied. "Liam works small miracles at the library. Brandon's one of our first responders as well as being a guide. You'll see a lot of Brenda at the grocery. Sherri's coffee keeps this town running. Dennis Todd and the hotel people are a big part of this town's success. And Jack's donuts make us all very happy."

"I'm especially partial to the donuts," Riley admitted.

"We all are." Jeffries handed Riley a folder from his desk. "You don't have to read everything right now—take it with you, and bring it back tomorrow filled out and signed. It has your course syllabus and some other information that should be helpful, as well as confirming your stipend and the hotel gig."

"What about the research study? How will that work?" Riley had to admit he was more nervous about being a "lab rat" than taking classes.

"True psychic immunes—nils—are rare," Jeffries said. "In some cases, people believe they are immunes when they just have exceptional shielding or some sort of trauma has caused them to bury their gift deep out of fear or shame. In those situations, if the person wants help, we can work with them to open up their natural abilities."

"What about the rest?" Riley didn't think he had any secret trauma, at least not over anything except being gay and the break-up with Tate.

"Those true immunes actually have a gift—it's psychic silence," Jeffries said. "I'm not a telepath. But for those with any measure of that ability, the world is a disturbing, noisy place. It's almost impossible for them to have privacy without learning how to create shields for themselves. They ‘overhear' everyone's thoughts, which includes dirty laundry they didn't want to know. Relationships are hard because they hear the momentary irritations that never get spoken."

Riley could only imagine being in a room with dozens of televisions set to different stations, all blaring. "That would be awful."

Jeffries nodded. "If we can figure out how your immunity works, we might be able to reverse engineer something telepaths could learn to cut down on the noise. And if it turns out that you have other gifts underneath the silence, you'll have an option to investigate those as well."

"That sounds great," Riley said. "What is the snow day policy?"

Jeffries laughed. "I guess you've heard everyone talk about the big storms coming in? We probably get more snow and bad weather than what you were used to in Jamestown, but folks here in town cope pretty well.

"Most people and all of the businesses have generators, so the power doesn't stay out for long," Jeffries assured him. "We advise folks to put together a winter emergency kit—there's a list of basic supplies on the town website. You might want to check it and load up on anything you don't already have while you're in town."

"Do places stay open?" Riley asked. Jamestown always seemed to struggle with being overly careful or not careful enough when it came to weather advisories.

"Schools will close for in-person classes if the snow gets too bad—including the Institute—but there's usually an online alternative since we can't just shut down all winter. A lot of folks in these parts have snowmobiles or four-wheel drive vehicles with snow tires, studded tires, and tire chains. We have plows and salt trucks that run all day and all night, if need be," Jeffries replied.

"Not to mention the kind of folks that stay here for the winter are stubborn cusses," he added in a fond tone. "They take precautions and avoid crazy risks, but they have the know-how and equipment to get around on all but the worst days. Businesses might cut hours short, but they'll open if they can. Hell, I've seen food delivery on snowmobiles."

"Wow. That's definitely not how things were back in Jamestown," Riley admitted.

"You'll get used to it if you're meant to be here," Jeffries assured him. "And believe it or not, we have people who come to the Adirondacks for the winter camping experience. It's beautiful, don't get me wrong, but I don't go outside more than I have to when things get bad."

Riley shivered just thinking about it. "I watched a documentary once about Arctic explorers. I think if it were up to me, the North Pole would still be undiscovered."

"Get the right clothes—plenty of layers—and good outerwear and boots, and you might change your mind," Jeffries said. "We have a lot of outdoor fun in the winter—bonfires, snowmobile races with a big indoor/outdoor party afterward, an ice sculpture competition, and lots of ice fishing. Get Brandon to take you on one of his hikes so you can see the territory. This is a beautiful place."

"I think I'm going to like it here," Riley said and meant it. He and Jeffries chatted a few minutes, and then Riley rose to leave.

"I'm playing at the hotel for the first time tonight. If you're free, please show up—I hate playing to an empty room." Riley didn't actually think the room would be completely empty, but he figured it didn't hurt to prime the well.

"I'll get there late, but I wouldn't miss it," Jeffries told him. "And be sure you put a flier up on the bulletin board by the main doors as well as in the library. I sent in your performance schedule to the town activities web site and their Facebook page."

"Thank you. Now if the weather just cooperates," he added nervously.

"Tonight's supposed to be clear and cold. That won't keep anyone away. And it's Wing Night at the hotel bar. That's sort of a holy obligation in these parts."

That went well. I like it here. Scares me a little how "right" it feels, he thought as he was leaving.

Now if I can just get a chance with Brandon…

Anger, fear, and grief might have sent him running to Fox Hollow, but maybe if he stayed long enough, he could heal old wounds.

Riley went back to his room and unpacked more of his things, making sure he set out everything he would need to wear for his gig. He put a box on the bed and opened it, staring at the contents and forcing down bile.

Portable security cameras. Extra locks. A motion detector. Things normal people don't need in their hotel rooms.

"Normal" people don't have stalker exes that might follow them into the wilderness. If I've got evidence, maybe the sheriff won't think I'm imagining things, like the cops back in Jamestown.

His breakup with Tate had been loud and public by design so that everyone knew they weren't together anymore, no matter what story Tate tried to spin.

Tate hadn't taken a swing at Riley, although the regular patrons at their favorite bar seemed primed to expect violence. In public, Tate didn't shout or throw things either. He did his best gaslighting with an audience, playing the confused, wounded, and jilted lover begging for a chance to make things right.

Riley had expected the performance and made it clear—loudly enough for everyone to hear—that he was done being pushed around and controlled. He had stayed cool and rational so that Tate couldn't turn his emotions against him or use them to garner sympathy for himself.

Then again, a psi-vamp would have gotten a feast off the emotions of everyone in that room.

Tate had tried guilting Riley to come back, but when that didn't work and Riley's resolve held firm, Tate switched tactics. He gossiped about Riley to their friends, succeeding in turning a few to his side. Tate love-bombed him with flowers, offered to take him on a luxurious vacation, swore his temper tantrums would never happen again.

Riley hadn't wavered as he put his escape plan in place. Tate must have guessed Riley planned to leave because he upped his game, keying the Pilot's paint, giving him a flat tire, running into his bumper.

Riley had moved out of the apartment he shared with Tate, taking a room at an extended-stay motel until he could sublet a place across town. Despite putting distance between the two of them, Tate managed to show up nearby far more often than coincidence could explain. Most of those times, Tate didn't approach him—he just stood on the other side of the street from wherever Riley had been, staring.

Unsure of the loyalties of their mutual friends and afraid to involve anyone else, Riley kept to himself. He constantly checked for surveillance cameras or tags and found a few, which he destroyed. Riley only went out when he knew Tate would be at work, except for his gigs. Tate made a habit of showing up whenever Riley played, just sitting and staring. Riley paid a bouncer to walk him to his car.

Tate had started off begging and ended up making dark predictions that were ominous even if they weren't legally threats. Riley took the messages as they were meant.

Why did he pick me if I'm really an immune? Whatever psychic manipulation he might have used on other boyfriends probably didn't work on me. Was I a challenge? Or just a handy snack?

Before Riley made the long drive to Fox Hollow, he made an appointment at a garage outside of Jamestown for an inspection to make sure Tate hadn't done anything more dangerous. The mechanic found evidence of tampering and fixed the issues, but Riley couldn't prove Tate had done it.

After that, Riley paused his social media accounts, turned off every tracking app he had, screened all his calls, and changed his emails.

Putting in the removable security cameras gave Riley a little control back and some peace of mind. He put the small devices where they could monitor the door and windows to his room, as well as one over the peephole. For his SUV, the cams went on the dashboard and facing outward to see anyone who approached the car.

At least if Tate tries something, I'll have a witness.

He had alarms for the hotel door and windows, and he kept a personal device in his pocket. Riley hated having to think like a hunted animal, but he had seen a side of Tate that he dared not discount for all the man's charm.

Riley was so deep in his thoughts that he jumped when an email alert chimed. It was from one of the very few friends Riley kept on his contact list, and he weighed whether or not to respond.

Can't hurt to see what he's sent. I don't have to respond.

He opened the email.

Hey Riley! Where've you been? Haven't seen you in a while. Guess you and Tate broke up? He's been asking about you. Don't tell me. I can't blab what I don't know, but I'll miss you. Don't blame you for getting out. Wishing you love and luck. – Caleb

Riley realized his hand was shaking. He sat down on the bed and took several deep breaths.

Sooner or later, he's going to find me. I'm a musician. The places I play have to promote my gigs. Even if I'd used a stage name, all it takes is one photo, and he'll find me.

I need to file my restraining order with the sheriff here.

Maybe this is too far away for Tate to bother.

Should I run even farther away? Out west, maybe? But I like it here. I've got a job, and the people are nice. And even if I went to California, Tate could find me if he tries hard enough.

Shit—if Tate's still looking for me, maybe I shouldn't start something with Brandon. I don't want to put him in danger. Tate doesn't love me, but he won't want someone else to, either.

All the good feelings from earlier in the day vanished, leaving Riley despondent. Miserable and scared, he curled up on his bed, set his phone alarm, and hoped he could lose his worries in sleep.

His dreams picked up where Riley's brief encounter with Brandon had left off.

Riley loved how solid Brandon's body felt against him, hard in all the right places. He had never dated someone that much larger, and now he definitely knew it was a kink because Riley felt completely hot and bothered from the first touch.

"Riley," the bigger man whispered, leaning in to kiss. Riley rose on his tip-toes, another new experience, immediately addictive.

Brandon's hands moved from stroking Riley's face to landing on his shoulders. As their kiss deepened, Brandon's grip moved down Riley's arms, then fell to his hips, pulling them together so the press of their hard cocks was unmistakable.

"Want you," Brandon growled, and he grabbed Riley by the ass, lifting him off his feet.

Brandon's kisses swallowed Riley's yelp of surprise. Riley's past lovers had all been close enough to his own height and frame that being picked up as if he weighed nothing sent a thrill through him.

Riley wrapped his legs around Brandon's waist, and Brandon turned them to the wall, pushing Riley's back against it and kneading his ass cheeks as his mouth worked its way from lips to chin and started down Riley's tender neck.

"What do you want?"

"You. Everything," Riley panted. Brandon kissed his way down Riley's throat. Teeth gently nipped where his neck and shoulder joined, and Riley saw stars. He thought for a moment that Brandon might bite him—and he was surprisingly okay with that.

Instead, Brandon sucked a hickey where it wouldn't show, but Riley would feel and see it for days.

"Mine," Brandon whispered. "Mate."

"Yours." Riley was sure he was about to cream his jeans like a teenager between the friction of their clothed thrusts and how hot it was that Brandon took the lead.

"Mate," Riley groaned as he felt his climax build. "Only you."

Brandon growled as he ground against Riley, and both of them arched as their orgasms hit, making Riley writhe in Brandon's arms, pinned between his strong body and the wall. The hickey pulsed on his neck, a delicious ache, and he hoped it would mark him for days.

Riley woke moaning Brandon's name, wet and sticky in his jeans. The dream seemed so real. He touched his face where Brandon's fingers had ghosted down his skin and felt for the spot on his neck where the hickey had been.

He wished that by some psychic miracle he would see the marks of their passion when he took off his shirt, already sad to think it was only a dream.

Mate?

Riley frowned, puzzled. "Mine" he understood and wished with all his heart it was true.

But mate?

And I said it back to him. Who does that?

One incredible possibility presented itself. Shifters?

Riley had read his share of shifter romance and fan fiction. In the stories there were claiming bites and fated mates. I think we're safe from MPreg.

Could Brandon be a shifter?

They said Fox Hollow is a haven for shifters as well as psychics. And if shifters are real, maybe they can recognize each other. So anyone who doesn't spot them—isn't in the club.

If Brandon is a shifter, will me being a nil matter since I don't have a furry alter-ego?

Would he even be interested in someone who is just human—and unreadable for psychics as well?

He thought about the people he had met in town and how his mind helpfully supplied what they might look like as talking animals in a Disney cartoon. Madden definitely gave off squirrel vibes. Sherri at the café had made him think of a brown bear.

If it's true about shifters in Fox Hollow, it makes sense there would be a lot of them around.

If Brandon is a shifter, what would he be? He's big. A deer, maybe?

Imagining his crush as a white-tailed buck made Riley snicker.

One step at a time. Before I get to find out about his "tail" I need to ask him out on a date. Let's see if he shows up at one of my gigs.

Riley hadn't dared date while he was still in Jamestown after he and Tate broke up. The hurt was too new, and the danger too great.

But with time, distance, and the chance of a fresh start, Riley knew he could find the courage to try again—with the right guy.

His alarm went off, breaking off his musings and reminding him that it was time to get ready for his big night.

The hotel agreed to store his amps in a secure place, so that meant Riley just had to move his instruments. He showered and shaved, taking care to pick out a blue shirt that played up his eyes and tight jeans that left nothing to the imagination. After a moment of dithering over footwear, he figured his Timberlands would fit right in—and keep him from falling on his ass in the snow.

If Brandon shows up, I hope he likes what he sees.

A flutter of excitement tingled through him.

I hope things work out here. I haven't felt this good—this much like the old me—in a long time.

Riley carried two guitars out to his SUV—an electric one and an acoustic. That gave him flexibility with the song choices. For his first night, he planned to stick with his set list, but if the crowd was friendly and the night went well, he hoped to add requests to later evenings.

Dennis Todd met him at the back door with another man, one close to Riley's own age. "This is Tyler—he's one of the hotel's owners. He's on duty tonight, but I wanted to handle the introductions."

Tyler and Riley shook hands. "You need a hand with anything?"

Riley shook his head. "Not tonight. I didn't bring my keyboard. Thought I'd keep it simple this time." He had plenty of practice wending his way through the back corridors of hotels with a guitar case in each hand and a backpack for his set list, picks, and spare strings.

"The room is filling up," Tyler said as Riley followed him through the maze of passageways. "I think you're going to have an enthusiastic crowd."

Tyler moved with unusual grace, like a big cat. Shifter? Riley wondered. Now that the thought had crossed his mind, he kept trying to match people with possible animal counterparts.

A round of applause greeted Riley when he walked on stage. His setup on the bar stage left room for patrons at the regular tables but made him more visible to the folks in the back.

"Hi everyone, I'm Riley." He leaned into the mike as he got his guitar ready and checked the connections. "Thanks for coming out tonight. We're going to have fun."

Once his eyes got used to the lighting, he scanned the room as he sound checked his guitar. Brandon hadn't showed up, and Riley felt a pang of disappointment.

He might have to work. Maybe he was giving me time to warm up. It doesn't mean anything.

Unless it does.

Riley's nervousness slipped away after a few songs, some of his favorites intentionally put first as an ice breaker for himself and the audience. Their warm response encouraged him, and he began to enjoy the music.

Whenever he played a new location, Riley planned a playlist of pop favorites, mostly upbeat, with a few slower or faster songs for contrast. Being in a bar or restaurant meant he wasn't the star attraction and could still expect people to chat and eat while he was performing. Once he got to know a crowd, he would work in some of his own songs when they fit the mood.

As the evening wore on, if he picked the right songs, the audience's attention would shift from their after-dinner drinks to listening to the music. Riley knew he had to earn a following here and paid attention to which songs had people swaying and mouthing the words and when they went back to quietly chatting.

For the most part, he had the audience on board, and Riley felt pleased. Toward the end of his first set, Brandon slipped in and took a seat at the bar.

Riley felt a flush of heat on the back of his neck remembering his explicit dream, and shifted on his chair as his body responded. Brandon made eye contact and nodded with encouragement, then closed his eyes and seemed to lose himself in the songs, leaving his beer untouched.

"I'm going to take a little break, but I'll be back real soon," Riley said when he finished a song. The applause felt sincere, not forced, and he grinned, setting down his guitar and leaving the stage. He headed straight for Brandon.

Brandon flashed a wide smile and indicated the bar stool next to him. "Great songs. I loved your playlist."

"Thanks." Riley was pleased at the praise and Brandon's obvious interest.

"Can I buy you a beer? Or a soda if you can't drink when you're playing?" Brandon asked.

"A Coke would be great, thanks," Riley answered, and Brandon signaled the bartender.

"Have you gotten settled yet?" Brandon toyed with the paper coaster under his drink.

Maybe he's a little nervous too.

"I didn't bring much with me, so it didn't take long," Riley joked. "The room is nice, and it has everything I need. I went over to the Institute and got my paperwork, although my classes don't start for another week."

Brandon looked like he wanted to say something and thought better of it. Maybe he's wondering what I'm going to study and doesn't want to pry.

"How about you?" Riley wanted to keep the conversation going as long as his short break allowed.

"I'm taking a group out on a hike tomorrow. We'll be back before the big storm, but if you don't see me around—or see me here—that's why," Brandon said, and Riley melted a little that he had thought to explain his absence.

"I'm glad you came tonight. I hope I didn't make your ears bleed," Riley joked.

"You have a beautiful voice." Brandon's hand brushed against Riley's, and he held eye contact. Brandon shifted on his stool, turning toward Riley, and their knees pressed against each other. "I enjoyed listening to your videos online."

I'm not imagining it. He's interested. Holy fuck!

Riley hoped he wasn't grinning like a fool. His pulse raced, and his hands felt sweaty like he was asking out his first high school crush.

"Thank you. I try to pick songs that fit my range."

"How did you get into music?" Brandon leaned one elbow on the bar but turned to face Riley. Between the angle of his broad shoulders and his long legs, he carved out a private space for them.

"My mom played the piano, so I learned that first. I picked up guitar in high school and stuck with it. Started playing with bands and in bars as soon as they'd let me," Riley remembered. "When I'm doing a place like this, I mostly stick to covers of famous songs, but in my spare time, I like to try my hand at writing some."

"I'd love to hear them—if you'd play for me." Brandon's dark eyes met Riley's, and Riley thought he'd melt on the spot.

"I'd like that." Riley liked having Brandon's full attention and being the focus of his warm smile. "Oh, I forgot to mention—I went to the library and talked with Liam. He asked me to play for the moose festival. I'll have to learn the list of songs, but it sounds like a lot of fun."

"I'm sure the moose will appreciate it," Brandon teased. Riley had the oddest feeling that he had missed something, but he smiled anyhow.

"I'm impressed by how much goes on here. I was afraid everyone hibernated."

"Well, some folks try their hardest," Brandon replied. Once again, Riley felt like there was a subtext he was missing, but that thought flew out of his mind when their knees bumped.

"If you've got a little time before your classes start, I'd like to take you out for dinner. Our restaurants aren't fancy, but the food is awesome," Brandon offered.

"That would be great. I'd like that." Riley hoped he didn't sound too eager, but he had never believed in playing hard-to-get when he saw someone he wanted.

He suddenly couldn't think of what to say to keep the conversation going. A tent card on the table advertised Zodiac Bingo.

"What's your sign?" Riley blurted. "I'm a Gemini."

Brandon looked quizzical for a moment, then saw the tent card and caught up. "Aries." A slow smile spread across his face. "Perfect pairing. Maybe it's written in the stars."

Riley felt himself blush, which was so not his usual reaction. "I like the sound of that." His watch beeped.

"Oops—need to go back for the second set. Maybe we can pick a day after you get back?"

Brandon grinned. "Definitely. Now go knock our socks off."

Riley returned to the stage, greeted by a smattering of applause. He picked up his guitar and strummed it, mentally running through his playlist.

He didn't want to scare Brandon off or lose the audience with songs that were too sappy, but sharing his heart through his music came naturally. Riley rearranged a few selections to highlight songs about crushes, love at first sight, meeting someone special, and moved those up in his set, filling in feel-good favorites in between.

I'd like to send a message but not come on too strong. Does Brandon have any psychic ability? If so, what does he sense from me?

Maybe we'll need a conversation about that…but not yet.

I'm overthinking this. We're both interested. That's a good start.

Riley's second set flew by. The audience clapped along and swayed to the music now that their meals were finished and they lingered over drinks. The room wasn't full, but it wasn't a bad crowd for a Friday night and his first time there.

He preferred a lighter crowd than a packed house until he could judge how this audience reacted to his song choices. Given that it wasn't tourist season, Riley figured these were local regulars, and he wanted to give them a great night so they would come back often.

Brandon stayed for the whole second set. When the bar closed, and everyone else drifted out, Brandon walked forward to where Riley broke down his equipment.

"You've got a lot of stuff. Need a hand?" Brandon offered.

Riley looked up and flashed a grateful smile. "Sure. I'll never turn down help. The good thing is that the amps and heavy things are staying here, so I don't have to carry them back and forth. That means it's just my guitar cases."

"One for you, one for me. That works," Brandon replied.

One of the hotel's tech staff checked with Riley to make sure everything had gone smoothly and then began unplugging and winding the cords.

Riley nestled his guitars in their velvet-lined cases and tucked the other things he used in his set into his backpack, which he managed to shoulder over his coat.

"Ready?"

Brandon already wore his parka and had an adorable knit beanie with an embroidered moose.

"Lead on."

Riley stopped by the bar and found Brandon had already paid for his soda.

"When you're not working, I'll take you out for a real drink," Brandon joked.

"See you tomorrow night, Riley," Connor, the bartender replied with a wave. "You had a good crowd for a first time. I think you'll do real well here."

Brandon set the guitar into the back of the Pilot, next to where Riley placed the other case. "Do you have snow tires? You're going to need them here."

Riley warmed at the concern. "Bought a set right before I came, and I've got chains and sand in the back."

"Good. They do their best to keep up with the roads, but a heavy snowfall makes it tough, and black ice is always a danger. Please be careful." Brandon hesitated like he wanted to lean in and steal a kiss.

Riley froze, not sure what to do, wanting to stretch up and meet Brandon's lips but afraid of misreading the signals.

The moment passed, and Brandon clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll see you when I get back from the trail tour. Stay warm, and knock 'em dead in the bar."

"Be safe," Riley managed, tongue-tied.

Riley watched Brandon walk away, still kicking himself for not seizing the moment.

We're going on a date. There'll be other chances. I really think he's interested.

Now I just have to keep from screwing it up.

Riley waited in his SUV for a moment when he got back to the motel before he got out, cautiously scanning the parking lot. When he didn't spot a threat, he grabbed his guitars and hurried to his door, disarming the portable alarm. He slipped inside, reset the alarm, and locked the door, including the extra lock he had brought with him.

Out of habit, Riley paused in the doorway once the lights were on to scan the room, assuring himself nothing was out of place.

How long am I going to feel like this? I don't want to be twitchy around Brandon. If we get together, he'll hear my whole sad story soon enough—I'd like to have some time when he doesn't know that part of my history.

Riley went to the window and peeked outside. Moonlight lit the snow, making even the parking lot look magical.

Something moved at the edge of the trees, and Riley went on alert. A large, dark form stepped from beneath the pines, and Riley caught his breath.

"A moose. That's a real moose."

The handsome creature moved farther into the moonlight, just enough that Riley could make out its height, the muscular body, and the broad rack of antlers.

"He's beautiful," Riley whispered.

The moose seemed to make eye contact for a moment, and Riley felt safe, like the moose, impossibly, was his protector.

Seconds later, the moose walked into the woods as if he owned them.

I hope he comes back. I like knowing he's out there, watching over me.

Not that the moose thinks that, but I can pretend.

Riley yawned, remembering that it was late. Playing usually energized him, but with all the changes in his life and the effort of navigating a new town, he felt exhausted.

He got ready for bed, walked the perimeter of his room checking the security equipment, and took a moment to assure himself that nothing worrisome had turned up on the cameras while he was gone.

Riley fell into bed, still glowing about seeing Brandon at the bar. He fell asleep happy, thinking of his date with Brandon and the "guardian" moose he had spotted. For the first time in a long while, Riley slept soundly without bad dreams.