Chapter 3
Bailey
I should not be this excited to see Silas again. It’s been three hours since I left his office. Three hours since he said yes. Three hours of trying not to think about what I’ve set in motion.
And yet my heart gives a shimmy when I open the door at On the Rocks.
The cowbell above me jangles. The bar is the only part of the ski lodge that’s open year-round, and tonight it’s full of Herevians.
Granted, the only other options in town are the nicest restaurant—Kinnara, a Vietnamese place—and Schmidt’s, the biker bar and pool alley just outside of town.
“Holy fucking shit,” a familiar voice says. At the far corner of the bar, Kit Hutchinson straightens and starts striding toward me. He’s a lean, blond white guy who grew up spending a ton of time with my brother.
Across the bar, Morgan Law spins around from where he was restocking beers and catches sight of me. Morgan’s hair is a darker blond, his skin tanner, and the bump on his nose gives him a rough edge. The bartender’s face lights up in a grin that matches Kit’s and he dashes to the pass-through.
Kit and Morgan bump into each other. Then Morgan grabs Kit’s shoulder, pushing him backward so Morgan can get to me first. Kit retaliates by grabbing Morgan’s red flannel pattern and pulls.
The two men squirm and wrestle each other for a chance to get to me first. Somehow it ends with Morgan’s shirt coming off and Kit’s too-long hair sticking straight up.
Kit makes it to me first and pulls me in for a big bear hug. It’s not as long as the hug Silas gave me earlier and doesn’t feel as good, but it lifts me off my toes with its exuberance.
“Okay, okay, down,” I say, smacking his shoulder when he sets me down. “Save some enthusiasm for later.”
Then I’m hugging a shirtless Morgan, and just as he pulls away, I hear, “Bailey Emmaline Price.”
The noise level in the bar dips as my brother stands up from one of the back booths.
“Oooooh,” Kit and Morgan say at the same time.
“You are so in trouble,” Morgan says. “You got middle-named.”
“Dad’s gonna give you a lecture,” Kit adds.
“Shut up.” I reach for Morgan’s nipple to twist it but he ducks and protects himself. I swear to god, these guys are the Peter Pans of Here; they’ve never grown up.
My brother reaches us and despite the teasing glower on his face, he swoops me up in a hug that’s bigger and longer than even Silas’s.
“Okay, Dad, let go,” I say, but he just squeezes harder.
“Missed you too, grump,” he laughs.
I am NOT grumpy. I’m just surrounded by overly affectionate puppy dogs.
When he finally lets go he leans back to look me in the face.
His hair—brown like mine—falls over his forehead.
It’s gotten long since I last saw him, and while we have the same brown hair, Hunter’s eyes are much lighter than mine—our dad’s eyes instead of Mom’s.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to town? ”
“I told Mom and Dad,” I say defensively.
Hunter rolls his eyes. “I’m assuming you’re staying with them, then?”
“Of course. And I’m guessing I’m going to hear multiple times about how you don’t answer their calls.” Hunter and our parents don’t get along very well. I’ve had it easier since I moved away years ago, but Hunter still lives in the same small town.
“You should be staying with me,” Hunter says firmly, but before I can respond he wraps an arm around my neck and calls to Morgan, who’s slunk back behind the bar (and has also put his shirt back on) to get me a beer.
My brother leads me back to the booth where he was sitting.
His beer bottle is next to Quinn, another familiar face, leaving me to slide in beside Silas with a “hey.” Quinn is an electrician who has an office in the same building as Silas.
She’s athletic and tall, with fair skin and blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.
We were in physics together in high school and she was always nerdy but kind.
They both smile at me, and my cheeks heat, probably in a way that matches Silas’s pink-tinged ears.
He’s going to see you in your underwear.
Ugh, shut it, brain.
Our thighs are almost touching in the cramped booth. I shift slightly away, then worry that’s too obvious, so I shift back. Silas clears his throat and suddenly becomes very interested in peeling the label off his beer bottle.
Great. Now we’re both acting weird.
Hunter stares at me after I’ve settled into the booth. “Morgan and Kit rush to give you a hug and all these two get is a hey?”
Uh-oh. “Well, I was . . . I already saw them today.”
“She came by the office,” Quinn adds. I saw her on my way out, since she has an office space in the same building as Silas.
“Wait, what?” Hunter’s head whips toward me. “Are you looking at buying a house?”
Morgan whistles from the bar, and Hunter holds up a finger in his direction.
“Are you moving to Here? Oh my god, that would be so fucking sweet.” Oh my poor brother. Like there’s a chance in hell that I’d move back here.
Morgan’s whistle is sharper this time and Hunter’s wait-a-minute finger turns into a fuck-you finger. “Bailey’s moving here!”
There’s a general ruckus around the bar and I have to shout to get anyone to hear me. “I AM NOT MOVING TO HERE.”
Hunter sags, giving me puppy dog eyes. Patrons who looked our way at Hunter’s pronouncement turn back to their drinks with a grumble.
“I was just walking past,” I explain. Quinn gives me a look because she was parked next to my rental car when I left, digging something out of her van, and we had a chat, but thankfully she doesn’t call me out.
Silas shifts beside me. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face but I refuse to look at him. Hunter huffs and stalks away, swiping my beer off the counter and delivering it to our table.
I take a swig of the Call of the Wild IPA and sigh. I can’t get the local craft beer in the city, and there’s just something about it that hits the spot, making me nostalgic for a place I don’t even like.
Quinn asks about my trip up and Hunter expresses disgust that I’d rented a car in Hudson instead of called him for a ride.
They catch me up on the latest drama between Herevians: Collin and Heather, a couple that’s been together since high school, are on the outs again; Miss Mullins is campaigning for a Pride parade; a vegan food truck passed through town and nearly a quarter of the Herevians showed up.
The first one is no surprise, but the last two are.
I had known that the town had changed its slogan to “You Belong Here” a couple of years ago, but it’s a small town that never really had the pull of the other, more queer-friendly towns.
Coming from New York, where I saw my first Pride parade at seventeen, it’s hard to imagine our town doing it justice.
As to the food truck, while there aren’t many food options in Here, the only place that has vegan dishes is Kinnara, owned by the Tran family for over twenty years.
It’s the nicest place in Here, and it survives because Sirens Valley Lodge draws just enough people in the ski and leaf-peeping seasons.
Other nice restaurants have come and gone over the years, but there just isn’t enough business for two, and the Herevians are loyal to the Trans.
“That was a damn good Hot Pocket,” Silas says.
He leans back with a dreamy look on his face, and his arm brushes against my sleeve.
Just like when we were sitting together in his office this afternoon, Silas has on tan pants, a soft-looking blue T-shirt, and those damn slutty little glasses.
He’s still wearing the suspenders, too, which are oh-so familiar.
They used to be paired with dinosaur T-shirts and corduroys, but grown-up Silas knows how to dress. The edge of his sleeve partially hides one of the tattoos that morphs him from nerd to downright hottie.
Yeah, this isn’t helping.
“You okay?” Silas asks. I’ve been staring.
“Yeah, just”—I gesture vaguely at his outfit—“the suspenders. Still rocking them after all these years.”
He grins and snaps one against his chest. “Some things never change.”
But you did, I think. You went from an awkward kid to this.
The summer after junior year of college, when I came back home to find my brother and his friends had grown up all of a sudden.
It felt like overnight, they’d sprouted from awkward, gangly teenagers to eighteen-year-old men.
I had crushed the hardest on Silas. But he was Hunter’s best friend, and I was leaving for the city again in two months. Nothing was going to happen.
When I focus on the conversation again, they’re still talking about food, and my stomach grumbles.
I could wait until I get back to my parents’ place to eat, but I don’t really like eating with them.
Every meal becomes a performance where my mom watches what I put on my plate, and my dad pretends not to notice the tension.
It’s easier here. Hunter’s friends don’t count my bites or make comments about “watching it.”
Plus it’s cozy and loud and Silas’s arm keeps brushing mine.
Next to me, Silas leans forward on the table, his arms crossed. “Does Bailey know about the secret menu?”
I perk up. “What secret menu?”
Hunter leans in too. “The Schaefers haven’t let us change the menu in ages, so we just do our own thing. We don’t tell the tourists, but all the Herevians know about it.”
The Schaefers are the owners of Sirens Valley Lodge.
They used to live in Here, but now they mostly live in Albany.
I had known that they’ve turned more and more of the running of the business over to my brother—who’s worked here since he was a teenager giving ski lessons and running the lift—but I’ve also heard Hunter complain enough about how they are set in their ways and don’t care to make any official changes.
Hunter stands. “Let me go see what Chef Paul is up to tonight.”
Quinn excuses herself to go say hi to some other friends and that leaves me and Silas at the table.
“Ready for ski season?” I ask Silas. Even though he doesn’t work at the lodge—he probably would if he didn’t have three jobs—everyone knows how business is going. When the survival of the town relies on one company to bring people in, it’s hard not to pay attention.
Silas runs a hand over his dark hair. “We’ve got a lot of cleaning jobs booked. Thankfully that leaves me free to ski the weekdays. Hopefully we’ll get more snow than last year and the lift will be down less.”
Hunter frequently complained about the situation last year. While the chairlift isn’t the oldest in the Catskills the lift is original. And since the resort is twice my age, it’s no wonder that the lift is down frequently. It’s needed an upgrade for a while—but so have a lot of things.
Hunter gets back and ticks some menu items off his fingers. “Paul’s made kimchi and bacon focaccia, a smash burger with candied jalapenos and goat cheese, and his homemade smoked mushroom vegan patty.”
My eyes get wider with each one. “Holy shit.”
Silas chuckles and Hunter grins. “Not so Podunk anymore, are we? Should I just order one of everything?”
I almost open my mouth to say something snarky about overeating, but I bite my tongue. I need to be kinder to myself and not put myself down.
“One of everything,” I say firmly. Then, because I can’t help myself: “We’ll share, right?”
Silas bumps my shoulder. “Obviously. I’m not letting you have all the candied jalapenos to yourself.”
Something in my chest loosens.
“So,” Silas says while Hunter’s distracted ordering. His voice drops low enough that only I can hear. “Valentine’s Day.”
My stomach flips. “Valentine’s Day.”
“I’ve been thinking about lighting setups.” His voice is low enough that only I can hear over the bar noise.
Of course he has. “Already?”
“Can’t help it. Photographer brain.” He taps his temple, then meets my eyes. “This is going to be good, Bailey. I promise.”
The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. I believe him. That’s the terrifying part.
“What are you two whispering about?” Hunter asks, sliding back into the booth with a triumphant grin.
Silas and I spring apart—when did we lean that close together?
“Nothing,” we say in unison.
Hunter’s eyes narrow, his gaze ping-ponging between us. “Uh-huh.”
This afternoon, when I was nervous about asking Silas to do the boudoir session, I was worried he would say no and everything would change.
Now that he’s said yes, though, things are still going to change for us.
And I’m not sure yet if it’s going to be better or worse.