CHAPTER THREE Tate

"I want this unit," I stated, standing in the middle of the spacious loft. "I love the size, the openness of the floor plan, and the rustic feel of the interior."

"There's another offer on the table," my realtor explained, removing her reading glasses. She raised her hand. "I know. I know," she defended. "Sounds like I'm pressuring you to act now."

"What part of I want this unit, don't you understand?" I asked, laughing in excitement. "Write it up. Full price with an escalation clause. I want it."

Sarah, the realtor I'd never met before today, and scheduled to view the building with, seemed pleased with my enthusiasm. That and the huge commission she'd earn with a full-price offer from a phone call she'd randomly taken yesterday.

My parents, particularly my father, were balking at me for buying a place so quickly, encouraging me to give the city a trial run first, but I didn't want to look back. I was afraid that if things were too easy for me to leave, I'd run at the first sign of unhappiness. Besides, all indications about Bend were that the real estate market was excellent, and growth was through the roof. I'd take my chances.

"How quickly do you want to close on the loft?" Sarah asked, taking notes for her offer contract.

"I'm pre-approved and will put half down in cash, so as soon as we can," I stated. "I'm eager to get settled and then start shopping for furniture once we're signed around."

"Not your first home purchase?" she asked.

"My second, actually. That and my ex liked to move a lot, and we purchased three homes together," I said. "Well, he paid for them, but I was involved," I added. I was making sure she knew I wasn't buried in mortgage debt, as well as mentioning my ex was a male.

"This unit is kind of large for a single guy," she commented.

"I'll use the second bedroom as an office, or not, who knows, and hopefully I won't be single forever," I quipped. "I'm the marrying type."

She laughed at my comment before pinching her brow. Her expression appeared like she was thinking about or recalling something important. "You mentioned earlier that you just started working at Browning Browning, didn't you?" she asked. I nodded. "That blew right past me earlier. I don't know how I forgot this, but my nephew works there, too."

"No way," I said. "Criminal Law?"

"Actually, he more than works there. He's one of the Browning's in the company's name. He mostly involves himself in recruiting now that he and his father have grown the firm so big," she stated. "Wait a second," she began, leveling her eyes on me as the obvious became clearer.

I smiled. "Is your nephew, Alec Browning?" I asked. "Black hair, incredible smile?"

"Oh my God. That's Alec," she said. "Alec is my sister's only child."

"Well," I began. "We haven't officially met yet, but Alec was instrumental in hiring me away from a Seattle firm. I start on Monday. Small world."

Sarah lowered her voice even though we were alone in the loft. "I'm sure Alec wouldn't mind me saying this, but he's also gay."

I'd assumed that much about Alec from a Zoom meeting, where he'd mentioned how Bend had something for all of us. "Gay, but he's also my boss." I reminded her.

"Oh, don't worry. Alec isn't like that," she assured me. "Frankly, I don't understand how he's single. He's drop-dead gorgeous, smart, and cultured, but then again, I'm his favorite biased aunt."

"I've seen him on a video screen," I said. "At least his upper body anyway," I corrected. "So I believe you."

"Oh, you just wait until you see the whole package," she encouraged.

I'd seen his face so if his whole package matched that, I looked forward to meeting all of him. Unfortunately, I also knew that blending pleasure with business was not a recipe for success.

"Okay, so anyway," she said. "I'll get the offer written up and email it to you later." Sarah packed up her briefcase and started for the door. "Look out for my nephew," she added.

"May I hang out a bit and look through the unit?" I asked. "Take pics and measurement estimates?"

She reached into her jacket pocket. "Use this," she said, laying a measuring tape on the kitchen island. "You can leave it here when you're done. I'm in and out all the time as the principal broker of this property."

After Sarah left, I moved around the loft and imagined how I'd decorate the space. The building was in The Old Mill District, on the west side of Bend. The neighborhood had undergone a massive restoration and now featured great shops, restaurants, and bars. The loft was in an old grain warehouse that had originally been constructed using local timber and brick in the 1920s.

Much of the original timber was still present in the support beams and structure. Some units had more brick than others, depending on the unit's floor location within the building. Updated utilities and elevators had brought the building to code, while careful design maintained much of its historic old-world charm.

The unit I wanted had one large room on a main floor that was completely open, except for the sizable guest bedroom with an ensuite bath. A half bath was in the opposite corner near an open kitchen. Four support columns made of old-growth timber stood separately as the only things in the cavernous room. The rustic columns went all the way up to support thirty-foot-high ceilings.

The second floor was visible from below, as half of the loft had a massive upstairs bedroom that looked down onto—and over—the main living space. The best feature was a staircase that seemed to float from the wall, with the steps individually attached to the brick interior with no other support; a bolted-to-the-wall handrail added the safety component.

I envisioned barn-house chic, with large pieces of wooden furniture and metal aspects for my interior design. Authentic older pieces, without seeming like grandma's antiques, were what I wanted. I imagined a massive bed in the middle of the upstairs bedroom where seating areas would surround it and make the bedroom a place you'd want to read or enjoy your morning coffee.

The loft had quite large windows with the original metal framework. A huge ceiling fan, with eight-foot blades, hung in the center of the unit, giving the loft another dimension of industrial style. I couldn't wait to start shopping.

"I loved it, Mom. Absolutely perfect for me," I said, lying back on the bed of the long-term stay hotel I'd rented. "Big for a two-bedroom, too. The second bedroom will make a terrific office or guest room. I haven't decided yet," I added.

"And where exactly will your father and I stay if you create an office out of the spare bedroom, dear?" she asked.

"In a hotel like you always do," I replied, knowing damn well that my homophobic father would never agree to stay with me whether I had a partner or was single for the rest of my life. He'd hated staying with Thomas and me even when we had ten thousand square feet of space and a detached guest house.

"And what if I come alone?"

"If that ever happens, you can stay in my spaceship, Mom," I joked. "You never go anywhere without Dad."

"You never know," she argued.

"I know and you know," I said. "Besides, Dad will bitch the entire time he's here that I purchased a loft, not a house, and that I paid far too much."

"And how much was far too much?" she asked, needing to supply my father with ammo once the call ended.

"Not happening, Mom. Tell Dad hello for me, though."

"Why don't you tell him yourself, dear? He's sitting right here," she said.

"No thanks," I replied. "Gotta run now, Mom. Nice talking with you."

I heard her exhausted sigh before I hung up but didn't care. My father and I barely acknowledged each other these days, so why go through a painfully forced conversation with him? I didn't give a shit about Fox News and his rantings, and he couldn't have cared less about my feelings about the state of conservative politics. We'd negotiated a perfect solution. We didn't speak to one another.

After hanging up the call, I felt hunger pains. The hotel had a gift shop and a tiny bar that sold greasy bar food. Uh, no thanks. The day was Saturday, so I figured places may be open later than normal and I could drive around and see what healthier choices I could find. I was half tempted to drive the forty miles back to Madras and the bakery I'd visited two days ago, but I needed more than pie and lemonade.

In all actuality, I'd been obsessively thinking about the young man I'd encountered there. I had no right to waste energy on a boy I certainly would never consider as dating material, but still, he was hard to resist. But a roll in the hay? I was totally up for that with him.

Most of us run into people that make an impression on us. Maybe they're incredibly good-looking, something a tad different from our usual preferences, or perhaps they pique your sexual appetite for some lustful reason. But the guy at the bakery? He was all of those things wrapped in one delicious package.

I couldn't get him out of my mind even though I knew he was too young, and from what I'd observed, too insulated from the real world, and probably wasn't gay. How could he be gay inside what appeared to be a cultish religion based on what I'd seen at the bakery? Perhaps I was being too harsh, but the women were dressed modestly and his clothes looked like he lived in a bygone era.

And besides, he was a kid. A very big kid for sure, but he could be sixteen or twenty-five, and I didn't need to be thinking about someone I definitely could not have. He was in a cult. Maybe? Probably.

For so long, I'd been devoted to, and very much in love with, Thomas, so I didn't wander or cheat. In fact, I barely recognized attractive people around me when I was with him. But now I was single, and even, apparently, horny after meeting ‘bakery boy.' His hotness had filled my sails with the wind of desire.

Every time our brief interaction replayed in my mind, I tried to think of something else to distract me from wishful thinking, but despite my best attempts, I still couldn't get him out of my head. He was raw and powerful, and that look had settled somewhere deep in my want file. To be honest, maybe it wasn't as much a love want as it was a physical longing.

He seemed mysterious and edgy, even though it appeared he belonged to the strict religious group he worked with. But what had happened to his strength and calm demeanor when the dressed-in-all-black, mysterious man walked into the bakery? He turned as white as a ghost and hightailed it to the backroom, not even saying goodbye to his customer, me.

I looked at my watch. The time was three-thirty. It'd take an hour to get to Madras, making it four-thirty. I grabbed my cell and googled bakeries in Madras. Safeway came up and some local gas station that sold Hostess Twinkies. There was no Google mention, nor was there a website, for the bakery. Of course, there wasn't. Modernity seemed to have passed them by and it appeared they didn't mind that in the least.

The hot guy was young, but he was definitely not a twink. In fact, at thirty-two, standing next to him made me feel like the twink, and that was exactly where my urges were coming from. Bakery boy looked rough and innocent at the same time, and that was a deadly mixture of desire for me.

I decided to drive to Madras. If bakery boy wasn't there, or a healthy food choice failed, there was always the McDonald's I'd seen on the highway when I'd first driven through town.