Page 43 of Holiday Pines

“You’re the banker staying at the Hawthorne House, right?”

Jake blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Barb mentioned you. Said you’re helping a lot of folks around here.” The kid grinned. “That’s cool. We need more people like you.”

“Thanks,” Jake said, beginning to think he was in a 1950s sci-fi movie.

Small towns. Jesus.

Tuesday afternoon, Wes was a mess.

He’d showered twice, changed shirts three times, and was currently standing in front of the bathroom mirror wondering if he should trim his beard. Miguel had given him a look when he’d left early—“Hot date?”—and Wes had stared at him, mouth agape, then stammered something about a meeting.

Which was technically true. Hewasmeeting Jake.

At the farm.

Where his father was also present.

Wes groaned, splashing cold water on his face. This was insane. He was thirty years old, sneaking around like a teenager because he couldn’t find the words to tell his father the truth.

I’m not ashamed, he reminded himself.I’m just… uncertain.

Downstairs, Henry was watching a game show, volume cranked up. Wes checked the monitor app on his phone and confirmed his father was settled.

Jake’s rental car pulled up at two-thirty, right on time. Wes met him at the door before he could knock.

“Hey,” Jake said, smiling. Blue eyes and teeth like something out of a toothpaste commercial.

“Hey.”

They stood there, grinning stupidly at each other, until Wes remembered himself and stepped back. “Come in. Henry’s in the living room.”

Jake followed him inside, professional and polite. “Mr. Dalton, good to see you.”

Henry waved from his recliner. “Likewise. You here for more paperwork?”

“Just a follow-up,” Jake said. “Making sure everything’s running smoothly.”

“It is. Wes has been working his ass off.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Up at four o’clock in the morning, and asleep before me!”

They made small talk for a few minutes—Henry asking about Atlanta, Jake asking about Henry’s recovery—and then Wes said, “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, Dad.”

Henry waved them off, returning to his show.

In the kitchen, Wes leaned against the counter, exhaling. “Sorry. This is?—”

Jake kissed him.

It was brief, soft, just a press of lips that tasted warm and sweet. When Jake pulled back, he was smiling.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Wes breathed.