The Boyfriend Proposal (Appleton Falls #3)

Chapter One

Theo

I was tired of living an ordinary life.

Not that it was such a bad one—I owned my own house free and clear; Sweeny’s Pub, which was crowded almost every night; and enough money in the bank to make payments and have some left over.

In high school I’d never been popular and had never really made friends; working behind the bar at Sweeny’s all these years had helped alleviate some of my terrible shyness by forcing me to interact with customers.

While I’d never win Mr. Congeniality, I’d gotten to the point where I could talk without stammering.

For the most part.

After my father died, with his life insurance money and my frugal living, I could’ve moved to a more modern place, but our house was right across the street from Sweeny’s and it had great bones—built in the early nineteen hundreds, it was a colonial with original pine floors, marble-topped fireplaces, and bay windows with a view of Main Street.

My father had never kept up with painting, and his repairs were patchwork at best, so, since I had no social life, I’d decided to fix it up. Minor things I could do myself, but the major work needed professionals, which meant I couldn’t afford to have it all done at once.

The bathrooms were ready, and the kitchen was next on my list. Eventually.

Half the house remained closed off, the rooms dusty from neglect, but every night, like an autumn leaf blown from its branch, I drifted from room to room, listening to the echoes of silence, wishing I had someone to share it with.

What I truly needed wasn’t a home renovation. It was a life remodel. Something drastic to get me out of my funk.

After seeing Jet and Harte married and Emerson Kane and Dominic Starr happy in their relationship, I’d hoped maybe now was my turn.

Encouraged, I’d celebrated Pride night at Sweeny’s without any negativity from the community.

No more sitting and waiting for something to happen—specifically with men.

I had to make it happen. No one else would.

Yet I remained alone.

I’d become friends with both Jet and Harte, and they’d invited me to some of their Gay Athletes in Sports events.

I knew it was their attempt to match me up with single men, but the few I’d met at those GAINS parties were all sports fanatics, and I could only sit and listen to conversations about touchdowns, goals, and home runs for so long before my eyes glazed over.

And, since I wasn’t good at faking interest, they either drifted away or our first date became the last. I knew Jet was disappointed he couldn’t help—now that he was married, he wanted it to be my turn—but after a year of failure, I’d given up and stopped accepting his invitations.

I physically ached for someone’s touch. I mean, how much longer could I sit on the sidelines, waiting and hoping to meet someone?

Every night I worked behind the bar, watching people connect and leave together, never giving me more than a cursory look or an absent-minded smile when they paid their bill.

I could be anyone. But I was just Theo Sweeny. No one special. Part of the scenery.

The idea of using dating apps made me cringe. I’d never thought love should be decided like ordering from a takeout menu—pick your favorite eye color from column A and height and hair color from column B. Call me silly, but I wanted a meeting of the souls. That spark.

I’d seen it happen for so many people.

Just not for me.

“Hey, Theo, can we get the check?” Kane asked as he waved at me from his seat, next to his boyfriend, Starr.

“Sure.”

All evening I’d surreptitiously sneaked glances at the two gorgeous alpha deputies.

Starr rested his hand on Kane’s neck, playing with the curling strands of hair, and I couldn’t help wishing I had that.

The two of them rarely took their eyes off each other any time they were together, their emotional connection glowing like a visible aura around them.

How incredible it must feel to be loved so deeply.

It was what I dreamed about. A man who wanted and desired me so fiercely, no one else existed in his eyes.

That preposterous thought was dismissed immediately.

“Have you looked at yourself?” I mumbled.

Here I was, pushing forty with a bad habit of turning red whenever someone spoke to me.

I could barely remember the last time I’d had sex—a rushed and pleasureless encounter with a man I’d met at the bookstore.

I’d hoped our common love of reading would lead to something more, but he’d ghosted me after our one time together.

I handed Kane’s bill to Tony, the server, and wiped the bar. It was Tuesday night, one of my slowest, and I only stayed open until ten. Wednesday was my one day off, and Sweeny’s would be closed. Tony returned to me with the credit card and bill.

“Long night? You look tired,” Emerson asked me as he and Dominic walked up to greet me. I took the bill and credit card from Tony, swiped and gave it—along with the receipt—to Emerson, who signed and handed me a cash tip.

“Thanks. They’re all long. But yeah, I can’t wait to be off tomorrow.”

Dominic grimaced. “I’ve got an early tour, starting at six thirty in the morning.”

“Time to put someone to bed.” Emerson grinned, and from the glow in Dominic’s eyes, I had a feeling sleep wasn’t the first thing on his mind. My cheeks heated.

“Let’s go, Emmy. Night, Theo.” Starr reached for Emerson’s hand, and they walked out, leaning into each other. I watched and sighed as Emerson slid his arm around Starr’s waist.

Color me shocked when the two men had come out as lovers. Their animosity toward each other had been evident to everyone, and both had dated almost all the single women of Appleton Falls, but obviously something had changed.

I laughed to myself. “That’s putting it mildly.”

I turned off the taps and began to count the night’s cash take while the last of the customers trickled out.

The kitchen staff had already shut down the grill and fryers, and Tony moved to clean the tables.

Within half an hour, the bar was empty, except for Tony and me, so I paid him his tips, locked the excess cash in the safe, and left.

Living across the street from the bar had its benefits.

Ten minutes later, I was in my sweats, curled up on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate.

I rarely drank, having seen my father’s ugly, beer-infused rants over the years and having little desire to lose control.

Occasionally, I’d have a beer or a fuzzy navel—my favorite—but I preferred hot chocolate in the winter and iced tea in the summer.

The wind picked up, and the bare branches of the trees swayed and moaned outside my window. With winter approaching, I’d be even less likely to want to go out, which meant this was a good time to think about fixing this place up again.

Come spring, I might have a new house. Maybe that would jump-start a new me as well.

I flicked on the television and became immersed in a movie about a quiet, shy woman who’d given up on finding love, so she decided having random sex with men was the next best thing.

“I can relate,” I muttered, realizing I’d been talking to myself a lot lately. “Maybe I’ve been doing this wrong.”

I should forget about love and simply go out and have fun. Stop dwelling on forever. It wasn’t meant for everyone, and maybe it was time for me to realize it.

With that, I turned off the set, brushed my teeth, and went to bed, listening to the howl of the wind.

**

In the morning, I ate my usual oatmeal and banana while reading the news. My father had grown paranoid as he’d aged and believed the government used computers to monitor people, so he’d insisted on having newspapers delivered. I’d never bothered to cancel the subscription.

My thoughts drifted back to him. His immobility had frustrated him, causing episodes of rage, and while he’d never put his hands on me, he’d occasionally attempt to throw whatever he could reach—cutlery, plates, coffee cups, food—at my head.

I’d merely walk away because getting angry or attempting to reason with him would solve nothing.

The man had verbally beaten me down since I was a child, from when I’d failed to make the football team—I’d only tried out because he wanted me to play—to not having a single date in all four years of high school.

He’d berated me daily, calling me weak and a loser, taking out his anger on me for my mom running away with another man.

I’d never told him I was gay. He hated everyone who didn’t look, think, or behave like him, so I could only imagine his response if I’d come out while he was alive. I shuddered at the thought.

Maybe it made me a bad person, but when he died, the only emotion I’d felt was relief. That saying—life began at forty? For me, it was the truth.

I turned the pages of the paper, skimming articles until one caught my eye.

“ ‘Capital Area Legal Meeting of LGBTQ+ Attorneys Wednesday Night. Keynote Speaker: District Attorney Jaxon Polaris.’ ”

A headshot of Polaris accompanied the announcement, and in the solitude of my kitchen, I was brave enough to trace his profile with the tip of my finger. A strong chin, perfect mouth, and confident blue eyes.

God, he was handsome.

If I had to describe my dream man, it would be Jaxon Polaris.

The times he’d come into Sweeny’s, I found it hard to concentrate.

Jaxon was one of those men who didn’t wait for things to happen—he created the energy in the room, capturing everyone in his golden circle.

A crowd always gathered around him, hanging on his every word as he discussed his latest courtroom win.

People said he was a player, and he’d told me himself he had no desire to settle down. I’d seen him meet dates for a drink, and they’d leave together, laughing and flushed with anticipation.

I’d known they were going home to have sex and had wished it could be me.

If only I could be the type of man to be so open. So free.