“Come on. I think it’s about time you were introduced to my family the way you should’ve been the first time.”

As Logan stepped onto the sidewalk and slipped his hand into Tate’s, he marveled at the difference between now and the first time they’d stood here.

“And how is that?” he asked, curious of how Tate saw him—saw them.

He started to walk up the drive, making Logan have to follow or let his hand go, and once they’d reached the white steps leading to the wrap-around porch, Tate kissed him. “As my boyfriend and the man I love. The person I now live with.”

“That’s a lot of information right there,” Logan said, trying to hold back the smile he felt threatening to appear.

“It is. But they need to know that’s the way it is. If they want to be in my life,” Tate said as he backed up two of the steps, “in any way—whether it’s on Sundays for dinner or in hospital rooms because I’ve been in an accident—then they need to know that you are going to be there. You’re the only person I want there. Everyone else is just an added bonus. Got it?”

Logan took a step up, stroked Tate’s cheek, and told him, “You make me so fucking happy. I had no idea I never was before.”

Tate smiled broadly before capturing his lips in a kiss. Then he turned to make his way to the front door while Logan lingered just behind him, waiting for whatever the hell was about to take place. But he wouldn’t have to wait long because Tate raised his hand and knocked.

As Tate stood there with Logan’s hand in his, he wondered what was about to happen. But instead of the apprehension he’d once felt about bringing Logan home to meet his parents, he felt proud.

I have a caring, successful partner.Hell yes, I’m proud, he thought as the door opened and his father stood before them.

He felt Logan’s fingers tighten around his own, and Tate took a step back so he was standing directly beside him. His father’s eyes went first to him and then over to Logan before they dropped down to where their hands were connected. He then raised his head and shocked the hell out of him.

“Tate, Logan… This is an unexpected visit.”

It was the first time he’d ever heard his father speak Logan’s name, and as it lingered in the air, Tate forgot what he’d been about to say.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.

Tate wanted to answer, but before he said yes, he needed to know what they were walking into. “Is Mom home?”

“No. She’s over at your sister’s,” his father said as he pushed the screen door open and stood aside. “Do you want to come in?”

This time, Tate took a step forward and felt Logan follow. As they passed by his father, Tate said, “Thank you.”

They walked down the hall and into the living room where, months ago, they’d had their first spectacular showing, and Tate looked at his surroundings. It was strange to be back there after everything that had happened. It felt surreal. Like that Sunday had been a whole other life ago. And as his father gestured to the couch and he sat on it beside Logan, he thought that it really had been.

“I thought everyone would be here,” Tate started, honestly surprised his father was here by himself. Sundays had always been a family day, and usually after church and lunch, Jill and Sam’s kids would be racing around the yard into the evening.

“Yeah,” his father said with a sigh as he walked into the kitchen. “Some things have changed over the past few weeks.”

Tate looked over at Logan, who’d sat back on the couch and casually placed his ankle over his knee. He appeared relaxed, and for a minute, Tate bought it. Until he saw the way Logan’s fingers were drumming out a frenetic rhythm on his thigh.

He reached out and put his hand over Logan’s, stilling his fingers, and when he caught those blue eyes, he winked. He then turned back to the kitchen and saw his father watching them. He had the fridge door open, and when he saw Tate looking at him, he quickly averted his eyes back to the contents inside.

“Do you two want a drink? Soda? Beer? Wine, maybe?”

He’s nervous, Tate thought, the idea never having occurred to him before. Almost as nervous as we are.

“Dad?” he said and then waited for him to look at him again. When he did, Tate let Logan’s hand go, telling him, “I’ll be right back,” as he got to his feet. He made his way into the kitchen and got three glass tumblers from the cabinet. “You still got your bourbon stashed around here somewhere?” he asked his dad.

His father narrowed his eyes at him and then smiled. The expression was so familiar that Tate felt tears prick his eyes, but he blinked them away as his father pointed behind him.

“In the flour container on the bottom shelf.”

Tate took a deep breath and walked into his mother’s large pantry. He grabbed the container, and when he came back out, he put it on top of the wooden butcher block and opened it.

“Thought you quit, old man,” he said as he fished out a half pack of Marlboros.

“Life has been stressful lately.”

“I totally agree with that,” Tate said as he unscrewed the bottle of alcohol. “Dad?”

His father raised his eyes, which mirrored his own, and they encouraged him to continue.

“I want you to meet someone.”

They both turned to where Logan had sat forward on the couch, and his father said, “We already met, Tate. I told you—”

“I know what you told me, but I want you to meet the man I know. Not the one you had to talk to because he was sitting in a hospital waiting room.”

Tate poured the three drinks, and when he slid one across the surface, his father took it in his hands and lifted it to his lips.

“Fair enough.”

He looked over to Logan and crooked a finger at him. As he stood and walked their way, it was more than obvious to him that Logan was anxious. His shoulders were stiff, his hands were in the pockets of his jeans, and when he stopped beside him at the kitchen island, he made sure they were far enough apart that they weren’t touching.

Oh no you don’t, Tate thought, and moved over so their arms grazed one another. When Logan looked at him, he offered a drink with what he hoped was an expression that said, Trust me.

Logan liked to think himself a pretty confident guy, but as he stood in Tate’s family kitchen opposite his father, he had to admit that he was intimidated as hell. He’d been watching father and son from across the room as they stood side by side, intrigued by their likeness. It was almost uncanny.

The curls Tate wore messy and long had clearly come from his father, who wore them cut close to his head. But there was still a noticeable kink there. His weathered features were tan, just like Tate’s complexion, and a moment ago, when he’d smiled across at his son, Logan had recognized the expression as the same easygoing one Tate would flash.

Tate was the spitting image of his father—and for a minute, it had made Logan wonder how he would have measured up if he’d ever had a chance to stand beside his own father.

“I was just telling Dad I want you two to meet,” Tate said, interrupting his thoughts.

Logan cocked his head to the side and eyed him. “Pretty sure we’ve met a few times now.”

“That’s what I told him,” Mr. Morrison said before he raised his glass and took a sip of his drink.

“Okay, smartass,” Tate said to his father. Then he faced Logan. “I meant it would be nice if he got to know you outside of a hospital.”

“Ahh, I see,” Logan said. He then turned to Mr. Morrison and extended his hand. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but when he reached for it, Logan decided that it was about time to make his intentions crystal fucking clear. He clasped it in a strong grip and inclined his head. “I’m Logan, and I’m in love with your son.”