Robbie leans against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him. “Pretty nice, isn’t it? That was Danny’s idea, actually. The window.”

Lance glances over his shoulder. As Robbie would have predicted, he’s smiling at the mention of Danny. But it’s a smile that’s still very uncertain, giving Robbie the sudden urge to give him space.

“I’m just going to head outside for a bit.” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to invent a task that will sound credible. “Make sure the horses have water,” he decides, even though their tank was full and the de-icer was working perfectly when he checked four hours ago. “You just settle in. The bathroom is kind of primitive, but it’s through there.” He points to the only enclosed room in the loft. “Feel free to shower if you want. You’ll see where the towels are.” They’re hard to miss, being stacked on a shelf in the unfinished closet right by the sink. Robbie winces, suddenly seeing the place through someone else’s eyes. “It’s all kind of a work in progress,” he says by way of apology.

Lance turns from the window, his expression solemn. It’s still strange, seeing his adult self overlaid against the teen that Robbie last knew him to be. But the two pieces are beginning to merge for Robbie. Lance doesn’t look like a stranger now, with his blue eyes earnest and wide, and his voice so serious as he says, “Thank you for bringing me and asking me to stay. It’s like…” he hesitates, his eyes darting away.

Robbie waits.

Lance swallows, and for a long moment, Robbie doesn’t think he’s going to finish. Robbie’s about to show himself out the door and let Lance off the hook, but Robbie’s patience is rewarded a moment later when Lance’s eyes rejoin his.

“It’s always been like home.”

There’s no stopping Robbie’s grin, even though he doesn’t want to spook Lance, and senses how easy it would be to do that.

“I’m really glad you feel that way,” is all he lets himself say. Just those words are enough to make Lance’s cheeks fever-bright. Robbie remembers that about him. That his face was always so quick to flush, the hollows of his cheeks turning the deep pink of rose petals. But the effect on his adult face is entirely new. “So,” Robbie says, and clears his throat, “I’d better finish those—chores.” He’s already forgotten what he said he was going to do outside. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

Robbie takes the coat he just wadded up on the bench and puts it on, even though it isn’t waterproof and the wet snow has penetrated the cuffs of the sleeves and the collar, feeling shockingly cool against his flushed skin. But he barely registers that before he’s shoved on his boots and stolen back outside, where he leans against the door for a moment after closing it behind him.

When he trusts his legs to be steady enough, Robbie trots down the stairs and opens the door that’s directly below the one he just left. This one, though, is original to the old barn.