Page 32 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

Mr. Civetti held out his card to Mikey. “If you’d like to consider a move to Aster Valley, and you’d like to give serious thought to something like this, give me a call.

We aren’t sure yet about making this investment since we don’t have plans to move here ourselves, but we like to grab opportunities when they seem to line up just right. Meeting you here seems serendipitous.”

“Thank you,” Mikey said, taking the card. “I really appreciate that. I’ve always had a dream to run my own restaurant, so I will let you know. It was very nice meeting you.”

“Take your time with the viewing,” I said. “We’re going into town for breakfast.”

The agent assured me she would lock up when they were finished. “And I’m happy to shoot you a text when they’re done if you’d… like to give me your number?”

I sensed a little puff of air escape Mikey’s nose.

No one else would have noticed, but I knew him well enough to know he thought the woman was flirting with me.

In light of what we’d done together last night, I wondered what he thought of that.

Did it make him jealous at all? Possessive?

I’d never really understood jealousy in the past, but I’d gotten a swift ass-kicking lesson on it when Nelson Fucking Evangelista had opened his damned mouth in that Seahawks game.

“Why don’t you give it to me?” Mikey offered with the same fake friendliness he gave to pushy reporters and Rigger haters we encountered in public. It was kind of cute.

After they exchanged numbers, we headed out the front door and into our rental. Mikey automatically got to drive since I wasn’t about to have the “clipped wing” argument with him again.

When he found an open parking space on the street behind the diner, I realized we’d spent the short drive into town talking comfortably like we always did. Nothing was weird or awkward between us after last night.

But.

I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Was the hookup a one-and-done thing? Were we back to the same Tiller and Mikey from before, or had things changed? Were we going to get naked together again?

Lord, please let us get naked together again.

The knocking sound jerked me out of my imagination, and I realized Mikey was standing outside my car door waiting for me with a frown on his face.

“You okay?” he asked when I finally opened the door. “Is it your shoulder? Did we fuck it up?”

He reached out a hand to help me out of the big vehicle, and I continued to keep hold of it after I’d stepped down and closed the door behind me. Mikey looked down at our joined hands and up at my face.

“Are we…? What are we doing exactly?”

I pulled his hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I want to hold your hand. Is that okay?”

He looked around at the empty street. “Well, I mean… for now because no one is here, but…”

He didn’t have to say it. I knew all it would take was one cell phone photo to blow up the sports news. I was out—there was no secret left about that—but a photo of me holding hands with my coach’s son? No. Absolutely no way that would fly under any media radar.

I pressed the back of his hand to my mouth again and held it there for a few beats before muttering a curse and dropping it. “Sorry,” I said with a sigh. “I’m really sorry.”

We started walking toward the restaurant side by side. “Tiller,” Mikey began, “you know I’m in the same boat, right? I mean, obviously it’s not nearly as big a deal if I’m caught with you as you being caught with me, but… my dad…”

He didn’t even need to finish. “I know. You’re his baby boy. He’d shit a brick.”

Mikey searched my face for a minute before nodding absently. “Yeah. That. That’s kind of an understatement,” he murmured under his breath.

It made me realize that there really wasn’t a future for us, not unless I was willing to put him through upending his family and becoming the target of a ruthless media.

Anyone I dated publicly would be subject to an insane amount of scrutiny and hate.

I was well aware of how many fans I had that enjoyed selectively forgetting about my sexuality.

Those same fans would turn on me if I started seeing someone publicly.

It was one of the reasons I’d never pursued dating seriously. It wasn’t fair to the other man.

Besides, this was the time in my life to focus on football.

There’d be plenty of time for romance after I retired.

In all honesty, that mantra was getting really old.

But I clung to it for dear life because it was one of the only things that had kept me focused enough to become the success I was today.

And it was one of the only reasons I hadn’t jumped Michael Vining’s bones before last night.

I followed Mikey into the diner in a rapidly declining mood, but I couldn’t help but smile when I saw an actual Santa Claus dressed to the nines behind the counter. Whoever it was made the most perfect Santa with a real white beard and everything.

He was eating the hazelnut crepes.

“Don’t even think about it,” Mikey muttered with a smile in his voice.

“If Santa can have them…” I began.

“Santa is an obvious cardiac risk,” he whispered, cutting me off. “You’re a pro athlete.”

I didn’t even actually want the crepes. If I started the day with that much sugar, I’d want to take a nap as soon as we got back to the house which would completely botch my plans to seduce Mikey again.

But I loved teasing him, and I wasn’t about to miss a chance to hear his prim lectures about macronutrients.

Solo hustled over to us with a pot of coffee. “Who needs the good stuff?”

Both of us raised our hands, and he laughed before quickly turning over our mugs and filling them.

“We have a special sweet potato hash this morning with peppers, onions, kale, turkey bacon, and eggs in it. It’s really good if you’re in a savory mood.

We also have a greek yogurt and muesli parfait and…

what else? Oh! Brioche french toast with candied walnuts.

Not to be missed. It’s my dad’s surefire way of cheering me up whenever I’m in a bad mood, and it’s on special today. You have to try it.”

I held out my hand for Mikey to go first.

“I’ll have the french toast please.” He lifted an eyebrow at me, but I ignored him.

“And I’ll try the sweet potato hash. Thanks.”

When he moved away to put our orders in, I could see Mikey’s wheels turning. “That sweet potato dish sounds good,” he murmured, pulling his phone out to make some notes.

“It sounds good because it is good. You make the exact same thing,” I reminded him.

He shook his head without looking up at me. “No. You’re thinking of the rosemary sweet potatoes I make with the bacon and onions. That’s a side dish at dinner.”

I took a sip of my doctored coffee and almost groaned in relief.

We hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and I had high hopes for this cup of caffeine.

Mikey sipped his absently while he continued tapping notes into his phone.

When he finally finished, he slipped it into his pocket and looked up at me sheepishly.

“Sorry. That was rude of me.”

I made a dismissive gesture with my hand. “It’s fine. I’m still waking up.”

I moved my foot across the space beneath the table to rest along the edge of his. His eyes widened a little in surprise, but he pressed his foot back against mine.

“So… that was nice,” I began. “The Civettis talking about turning the lodge into a B&B.”

Mikey’s eyes turned dreamy. “Wouldn’t that be perfect?

I can totally picture it. It would make the perfect bed-and-breakfast. Well, I mean…

if it were mine, I’d probably want it to be a lodge with a fine-dining restaurant attached.

I could offer breakfast, no problem, but I think Aster Valley could use a nice dinner restaurant as well.

Like a date place. Something fancier than the takeout places around here. ”

“Mm.” I sipped my coffee as I thought about it. “Good point. There really isn’t a place like that here, is there? Do you think the town can support it? Maybe with Steamboat so close?”

He shrugged. “If a cozy dinner place gets enough of a good reputation, people will drive to it. Besides, if you market it as a weekend getaway package for anniversaries and other special occasions, you’ll get plenty of people coming out from Denver.

There are probably tons of couples who don’t need skiing but still want a wintery weekend away with a long wine-filled dinner by a cozy fireplace. ”

I pictured the great room in the lodge that we hadn’t used.

It had a huge stone fireplace and rich, wide-planked wood flooring.

The picture windows along the back wall looked out over the slopes and trees.

“You’d make it perfect,” I admitted. “The way you describe it makes me think of those old historic homes that have been turned into restaurants in New England.”

He nodded. “Exactly. We went to that one place in Connecticut, remember? After the photo shoot thing for one of your sponsors.”

I remembered it. Mostly I remembered the golden glow of his skin in the candlelight and the rosy hue to his cheeks after his third glass of wine.

The woman who’d hosted us for the visit had spent the entire time flirting with Markus, and it had given Mikey the giggles.

I’d stared at him throughout the entire dinner.

“Do you think you’ll call them?” I asked, worried about his answer. “The Civettis. They seemed serious about wanting to discuss it with you.”