He thought about it for a few seconds before he smiled over at him. “Strawberry Fields.”

As the light changed and they were able to cross, he tugged on Tate’s hand and they started up again. “Really? Big Beatles fan, are we?”

“A little. Courtesy of my father. He used to listen to them a lot when we were kids, and I learned most of their songs on my guitar at school.”

“I love learning these little things about you,” Logan said. “Strawberry Fields it is.”

“What about you?” Tate asked.

“Hmm?”

“What did you listen to when you were younger?”

Logan chuckled. “I didn’t really listen to music.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I told you I was a nerd. Books were my thing, not music. Plus, you’ve met my mother. You can imagine her tastes weren’t exactly what a young boy likes. Actually, that may explain a few things…” he mused.

Tate pulled him against his side, and when their shoulders bumped, he laughed. “That’s kind of hot.”

“What is? That I was a nerd?” he asked in disbelief. “Trust me. I was not hot. I was skinny and awkward.”

Tate waggled his eyebrows at him. “Keep going. I’m getting a good visual here. The glasses, the books, that smart brain of yours, all wrapped up in…”

Deciding to play along, Logan answered. “I favored pressed polo shirts with my very proper pants.”

Tate gave him a thorough once-over, and Logan rolled his eyes.

“Stop it. You never would’ve looked twice at me. I’m a guy, remember?”

“Perhaps not at first,” Tate agreed. “But I bet if we’d spent time together…”

Logan scoffed at Tate’s insinuation. “Oh, don’t stop there. You’re saying—if we spent time together in college, you think you would’ve tested the waters with me, huh?”

As they came to the entry of the park and wandered inside, Tate glanced over at him and really seemed to be contemplating him before he said, “I think there’s something about you that just…”

Logan pulled him to a stop. “That just?”

Tate touched his cheek and simply said, “Calls to a part of me. And I don’t think it would’ve mattered what age we were.”

Logan blinked at him, trying to think of something to say, but he had nothing. No one had ever said something so honest to him in all his life. As always, Tate continued to be the one person who could surprise him—just when he thought he’d heard everything.

“There’s something about you,” Tate tried to explain as he traced his fingers along his jaw. “In the way you are. It pulls me in, Logan. I can’t imagine knowing you and not feeling it.” He stepped toward him, right there in the middle of the park on a busy Saturday morning, and took his lips in a kiss so fucking sweet that Logan had to clutch his arms to keep from falling over. Then Tate raised his head and whispered, “It just took me a few days to see it.”

Logan touched a curl by Tate’s ear. “You were pretty stubborn. And angry.”

“Do you blame me? You hit on me the first night we met. I was in shock.”

Logan turned, and they started walking again, oblivious to anyone in the park but themselves. “I did not. I waited until the second day to do that.”

“Sure. Your eyes were practically daring me to—”

“To?”

Tate’s lips quirked into an ironic smirk. “To go home and think about you long after my shift was over.”

“I like that. You going home to your apartment and thinking about me, curious. But you know what I love?”

Tate studied him and waited silently.

“You coming home with me—and being absolutely sure.”

Tate winked at him. “I love that too.”

And Logan felt his heart just about melt.

As they strolled through the winding paths of Central Park, Tate couldn’t imagine any place he’d rather be. The temperature was perfect for walking around town, and as he watched the couples stretched out on blankets and the children throwing Frisbees and chasing one another around the grassy fields, he felt the stress of the last few months lift from his shoulders.

This was exactly what he’d needed, and it shouldn’t have surprised him that Logan had known that. He was extremely intuitive when it came to things like this.

They passed several people sitting under trees reading, and when they walked around the lake in the direction of Strawberry Fields, he said quietly, “I’ve been thinking a lot about my family this past week.”

He didn’t say anything else as they continued, and Logan seemed content to wait for him to decide what came next.

“I know I haven’t said much,” he started, trying to work out how to say what he wanted to.

“It’s okay to want to see them, Tate,” Logan told him gently, saving him from actually voicing the words.

When his feet faltered under him, Logan tilted his face in his direction.

“Did you think I’d think less of you for wanting to?”

“No…I… Well, I didn’t know if I wanted to see them.”

“I can understand that,” Logan said. Simple enough.

Tate walked over to lean on the side of the bridge they were crossing over. When Logan came up beside him, he rested his arms on the top and angled his body toward him.

“Tate, they’re your family.”

“But they were so…”

“Cruel? Judgmental? Bigoted?” Logan supplied, nodding as he looked out across the water. “Yes, they were all those things. And maybe they still will be, especially your mother,” he pointed out. “But your dad? He’s trying.”

Tate ran a hand back through his hair and sighed. “Yeah, I know, and that’s what I’ve been thinking about. Do you think… Nah. Don’t worry.” He stood straighter.

So Logan did also. “No, don’t do that. What were you going to say?”

Tate shoved his hands in his pockets and chewed the side of his lip as he carefully thought over his next words. Then he looked Logan in the eye and asked, “Do you think maybe we could stop by their house on the way home tomorrow?”

Logan wasn’t sure how he felt about going back to the scene of that long-ago Sunday dinner—the one that had resulted in Tate’s leaving him. But as he stared into the nervous, brown eyes that were waiting for his response, he knew he had to get over his own fears in this situation and trust that Tate was at a different place when it came to the two of them.

This wasn’t about him; it was about Tate. And if he wants to reach out and try again with his parents, who am I to stop him?

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Logan?” Tate asked.

Logan leaned forward against the side of the bridge, and Tate crowded in behind him and put his hands on his waist. He pressed their bodies against one another and then put his lips by Logan’s ear.

“It might be different this time.”

Logan turned his head so they were practically nose to nose and said, “It might not be also. Then what?”

“If it’s not, then we’ll get in your car and go home—together.”

There it was, his biggest fear laid out in front of him. The thought of Tate leaving him again or telling him to go away… Fuck, he wasn’t sure which was worse. But by the pained expression that crossed Tate’s face, he knew that his feelings must’ve been pretty obvious.

“I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

Logan turned so he could place his hand over Tate’s coat. “I feel like I should—”

“But you’re worried anyway,” Tate ended for him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Logan frowned at Tate’s annoyed tone, and then his own agitation rose. “Yes, I trust you, but damn it, Tate. I just got you back after a month in a hospital bed and the rehabilitation after. And the last time we went to Sunday lunch, you…you—”

“Acted like a dick afterwards?” Tate supplied.

“Yes,” Logan finished on a rush of air. “You broke my fucking heart that day, and honestly, I don’t think, after everything we’ve been through, that I can do that again. Not even if you need a moment to freak out.”