Page 13 of Wynter's Second Chance

I felt the weight of the six-pack in the basket, reminding me of the regret and sadness I feel. A slight heaviness settled in my chest and shifted uncomfortably. “So tomorrow, then?”

Taran nodded, his gaze lingering on the basket for a beat, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he just gave me another small, understanding smile. “Take care, Wynter.”

I watched him walk off, feeling a sense of relief. Talking to him hadn’t solved anything, but it had given me something to look forward to. With Taran, there was no pressure. He’d never expect me to play along with some false happiness. And if he’d picked up on my turmoil, he was careful enough not to press.

I glanced at my basket. Suddenly, I didn’t want to get drunk. There were better ways to deal with the mess my life was in. I put the beers back on the shelf and headed out.

As I drove to Pinecrest Cabins, I felt a little less alone. Maybe I should’ve been more open with Taran, but how could I tell him that my wife had shattered my heart? Given my own complicated feelings for him, he was the last person I should talk to about this.

CHAPTER 6

TARAN

My offer for dinner had been genuine—I just wanted to bring a little light into Wynter’s eyes, to make him feel welcome in a town that hadn’t changed much since he left. But maybe I should have backed off when he said Lisa couldn’t make it. Maybe I should’ve allowed him to process whatever was weighing him down. Still, there was something in his voice, a note of loneliness, that I couldn’t ignore. Not after decades of friendship. Not after everything he’d done for me when I was barely holding it together after Royce died. Wynter had been my rock back then.

How could I abandon him now?

Maybe he was fighting the same demons Royce had. Maybe he needed someone who’d been there, seen it too. I might not be able to fix things for him, but I could be there. I owed him that much.

I straightened up, taking a last look in the mirror. Dark jeans, a navy sweater that actually fit well—clean, comfortable, no fuss. This wasn’t a date, after all, just two friends getting together. Yet it felt good to wear something that made me look like myself again.

Just then, Rory walked in and gave me a long, suspicious look. He crossed his arms. “You’re going out?”

“Meeting a friend,” I said, trying to keep it casual.

“A friend,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing like he didn’t quite buy it.

I shrugged, glancing back in the mirror. “I called Mrs. Molder. She’s coming over to keep an eye on you.”

Rory sighed, heavy and long, then flopped down on the bed. “I’m not a little kid, Dad. You could’ve left me alone.”

“I know you’re not,” I said, sitting next to him, “but I’d still worry. Besides, you don’t have to hang out with Mrs. Molder; you can do your thing.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll read Percy Jackson. Happy?”

“Very.” I checked my phone as a reminder popped up. “And don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then he surprised me with a quick hug. “Have fun, Dad. Don’t do anything weird.”

I chuckled, pulling him into a one-armed side hug. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Responsible.”

After Mrs. Molder arrived, I got into my car and headed to the restaurant. I couldn’t shake the feeling of leaving something unfinished back there. Why didn’t I just tell Rory I was going out with Wynter? He was a friend, and this certainly wasn’t a date. But Rory was protective, wary of any new person who might come between us. I couldn’t blame him, not after everything we’d been through. It’s not like I’d been interested in dating since Royce died. I didn’t have the time or energy to devote to a guy who probably couldn’t handle the pressure of dating a single, working dad.

I let the thought slip as I focused instead on Rory’s Christmas gift. If I budgeted right, I could get it for him soon. The thoughttwisted something in my gut, though, as it always did around this time of year. No matter how hard I tried to make Christmas special for him, it was still tied to that anniversary—the day Royce left us.

And some part of me still resented him for that. For leaving, for making it so damn hard to move on. Damn him for ruining this special day for my son. But even as that flicker of anger flared, I buried it back down. It wasn’t Royce’s fault, not really. I just needed to find a way to stop carrying this guilt around, although deep down I knew it wasn’t my fault, either.

I mentally shook myself out of my thoughts and focused on the evening ahead. A mix of excitement and nerves buzzed in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a casual dinner, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise. With Wynter, the lines had always felt a bit blurred. We’d shared a close connection for as long as I could remember—so close that he was one of the first people I’d come out to. What he didn’t know, though, was that I’d had a crush on him that started when we were kids, around ten or eleven. That was when I first understood I was gay, when I realized that my feelings for one of my best friends went beyond friendship. But I’d never been able to tell him that, of course. Even then, I knew confessing my feelings would ruin our friendship.

So, there I was—the gay kid whose two best friends were straight–well, it turned out that Royce wasn’t straight like I thought, and I’d ended up marrying him. And I’d had a crush on the one I was about to have dinner with tonight.

And speak of the devil—there he was, standing at the entrance to Funky Gourmet, hands tucked into the pockets of a dark-gray wool jacket, the collar turned up against the chill. Beneath it, I caught a glimpse of a navy sweater layered over a flannel shirt, just enough color showing at the collar to make it casual but put-together. He had on a pair of dark jeans andrugged, insulated boots that looked like they’d handle snow as easily as any mountain trail. His breath showed in faint puffs, and his cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, making his eyes stand out even more in the evening light.

As I approached, he looked up and saw me, a slow smile spreading across his face. There was something about seeing him like this, relaxed and comfortable.

He reached out, gripping my shoulder with a light squeeze. “Hey, you made it.” His voice was warm, a touch softer than his greetings in the past. How I wished we could get back to the easy familiarity we’d had once upon a time.

“Yeah, glad you’re here.” I clapped his shoulder in return before we headed in. It was funny, thinking how just yesterday we’d greeted each other with stiff politeness when he first got back to our small town. This was… different.

---