Page 26 of Breakfast Included

Reno had had every intention of getting naked with Tate the second they returned to the cabin, but when he walked through the front door, the mood had been completely ruined. The prospect of leaving hung like a black cloud over his head.

He gathered his few belongings—the new shirt he’d bought for the mixer; a pack of briefs because the same pair for an undetermined number of days was not going to happen; and an extra T-shirt and pair of sweatpants—while Tate packed up his overnight bag.

“Wait for me while I check out?” Tate asked when they arrived back at the hotel, his gaze imploring.

“Of course,” Reno said woodenly. He nodded to the doors that led to the river trail. “I’ll just be outside.”

Reno left Tate to take care of business while he strolled outside and stood on the patio. From there he took in the view—the gazebo, the footbridge over the meandering river with its mini waterfalls, the skating pond on the other side, and the snowcapped trees that surrounded the resort. This was such a beautiful place. If only he could stay and build on this fragile thing he and Tate had started.

He sucked in a deep lungful of crisp mountain air and held it for a moment before exhaling in a clouded rush. This wasn’t the end. Tate wanted to see him when they got home, so why was he worrying so much? He was being silly, right? Maybe he and Tate could make this an annual destination. Maybe take a trip up in the summer too. He could picture it in his mind, and the image brought a smile to his face.

He looked back toward the lobby behind the closed glass doors. Tate hadn’t come outside yet, but a lot of people were checking out, so it would probably take a while. He wandered over to the gazebo and placed his bag of extra clothes on the bench to use as a pillow. It was gorgeous, sure, but the bare wood bench would freeze his butt through his jeans. He hummed the new song he’d started mentally composing for Tate while he waited, and played the notes on his thighs as he visualized the piano keys.

Time ticked on, and still no Tate. Reno looked at his watch and his stomach dropped with a sinking feeling. How had twenty minutes passed already? No matter how busy the reception area had been, it shouldn’t have taken that long.

Reno stood up, gathered his bag, and headed back inside. He scanned the lobby, but Tate was nowhere in sight. Maybe he’d run to the restrooms after checking out? Reno didn’t want to risk missing each other if he went in a different direction, so he found a spot by the wall that gave him a full view of the lobby and waited. Still no Tate.

He pulled out his phone. There were plenty of bars, so service was good, but there weren’t any new messages. He pulled up Tate’s number and typed a quick message.

Did you just stand me up?

He added an upside-down smiley emoji. He’d meant it as a joke and expected Tate to respond right away, but those three little bouncing dots that indicated someone was typing never appeared. He swallowed. Nothing. He started texting again, but his fingers stopped moving midsentence.

Did Tate seriously leave me?

No. Not again. He wouldn’t do that. He promised.

Reno walked over to the reception desk on shaky legs.

“Hi,” he said to the clerk—Penny, according to her name tag. “Have you by any chance seen a tall guy with red hair? His name is Tate Boylan. He was supposed to meet me after checking out, but it’s been a while.”

Penny frowned. “I think I remember him. Handsome guy, yes?”

Reno grinned. “Very much so.”

She tapped on her computer keyboard.

“He’s all checked out, but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. There was a rush of people eager to get home, so I was busy.”

“Okay, thanks.” Reno gave her a tight smile as waves of humiliation and anger threatened to clog his throat.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his rising fears and glanced at his phone.

Still no reply from Tate. Still no Tate walking toward him, flashing that blinding smile of his.

This couldn’t be happening a second time, could it? Not after everything they’d shared while stranded at The Retreat.

He checked the time again. Thirty-five minutes had passed.

Dread washed through him as he walked down a short hall to the restrooms. They were empty.

He splashed cold water on his face before returning to the lobby. Another scan of the now thinning crowd didn’t reveal a waiting Tate. The festive vibe of the lobby dulled.

Tate was gone.

Why had he completely let his guard down and trusted Tate, slept with him—a lot. Almost told him helovedhim. He fell hook, line, and sinker, only to be made a fool of for a second time.

Ice filled his chest, and a chill racked his body that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

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