“If you need to get back to Chicago, I’ll drive you. Or I’ll loan you the truck, if you want to go alone,” he says, taking Lance by surprise.

A funny feeling turns in Lance’s stomach. “That’s what you’re thinking about?” He tries to keep his tone light, like he’s making a joke. “How to get rid of me?”

Robbie’s eyes snap to his. “Of course not.”

Lance smiles weakly.

Robbie sighs. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck here. Or stuck with me.”

The funny feeling grows and twists. “I want to be stuck with you.” I love you, he doesn’t say, because he doesn’t know if he can. It’s too terrifying—which is ridiculous, because they both already know about Lance’s love, and have for a long time.

Robbie’s mouth pulls into a small smile, but it doesn’t last. “I hope you’ll stay as long as you want to. But you have work, friends, a life. I know that.”

Lance bites his lip, unsure what to say. He does need to go back to Chicago at some point, but it’s the last thing on his mind right now—especially when he’d rather not dwell on Niall’s parting threat. “My life has been there. But lives change,” Lance points out.

Robbie smiles at him again, but there’s a definite sadness in the expression. “We shouldn’t sit out here in the cold. Come on.”

They’re both quiet as they walk up the steps to the hayloft. Robbie only takes off his boots and gloves before he goes into the kitchen. Lance pauses halfway through stripping off his own shoes. “Are you going back out?”

Robbie glances at him, his smile warmer now. “Well, I have a calf to feed.” A complicated look crosses his face. “I kind of…stole her.”

Lance is startled into a laugh. “What?”

Robbie tells the story, and Lance listens intently, fascinated and delighted. When Robbie finishes, his guilty look makes Lance laugh out loud again.

Robbie frowns. “It’s not funny,” he murmurs, filling the mixing bowl with warm water and reaching for the whisk he’s been using to break up the powdered milk in the water. “It’s a crime.”

“As the hardened criminal here, I disagree,” Lance assures him. “It isn’t like you lied.”

Robbie gives him a flat look.

Lance grins and shrugs. “Okay, so maybe I’m arguing a technicality.” He frowns thoughtfully. “I’d say, at worst, it was some petty fraud. We’ll have to ask Danny.”

“Fraud sounds even worse,” Robbie groans. “And we’re never telling Danny.”

The “we” and the suggestion of a future where they’re both talking to Danny—and by implication, each other, too—lights Lance up from the inside. He re-laces the boot he just untied. “Well, I’ll be your accomplice.”

“No,” Robbie says, still seeming half-serious in his worry, to Lance’s amusement. “I’ll take responsibility for my own felony, thanks.” He finishes mixing the bottle and screws on the lid while Lance chuckles. He notices Lance is still standing, dressed and in his coat, at the door. “You’re coming?” Lance nods. “Okay, but change first. I don’t want to get you dirty.”