TOM
Tom was waiting outside when Bryce pulled into the hotel parking lot, his truck pulling up with a rumble that, irrationally, Tom felt low in his chest. The morning was bright, edged with a crispness that promised heat later, and Bryce stepped out wearing worn jeans, shades, and that easy charm that seemed to live under his skin.
It had only been a few hours since they’d sat together on the porch, talking in low voices as the evening deepened and the world slowed down. Tom hadn’t meant to let anything about it linger, but it had.
“Morning,” Bryce said. He offered Tom one of the two take-out coffees he was carrying. “Peace offering.”
Tom took it with a nod of thanks. “For?”
“For the morning you’re about to have.” Bryce settled back against his truck, legs crossed at the ankle in a way that Tomcouldn’t stop looking at. Because those jeans showed off his legs to perfection.
“That bad?” Tom asked, his usual easy conversation seeming to have deserted him as he stared at the picture Bryce made.
“There’s going to be a lot of talking before we get to any point,” Bryce said, then he grinned and hoisted his coffee to Tom in a salute. “Though, actually, that sounds no different to your day job.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Inside, the hotel’s front desk was staffed by one of the owners, a wary older man who looked like he’d been preparing to repel boarders since dawn. Tom had gotten nowhere with him the day before, his questions about logistics and security for the upcoming visit politely yet firmly stonewalled. Tom hadn’t gone in hard, keeping things polite and unassuming. But he’d been an unknown quantity, and he had the feeling he’d probably come off as smooth rather than warm. Warmth in Washington would get him marked down as an easy target.
Bryce, when he’d heard, had offered his services. And now, with Bryce beside him, things were different.
Bryce leaned against the counter like it was his second home, smile easy, posture loose. “Hey, Ken. Appreciate you taking time for us. How’s Lily doing?”
He hadn’t been kidding about the talking. But after twenty minutes or so during which Tom listened to developments in the lives of people he’d never heard of, Ken softened to the point of including him in the conversation.
Tom had watched the change with interest. Bryce neither pushed nor retreated. He simply opened space for people to be heard, and then listened. He didn’t dominate a conversation, but Ken had ended up following his lead.
Tom’s skills in encouraging people to talk to him, to impart more than perhaps they intended, weren’t exactly shabby. But the difference was, Bryce sounded like hemeanteverything he said. That he was as invested in Lily—Ken’s daughter, who was living in Golden—as Ken was.
And that was trust, wasn’t it? The kind that couldn’t be forced. Bryce earned it like breathing. God knew, Tom already trusted him, though he couldn’t have said why.
Ken ended up happily showing Tom around the room Steadman would occupy. Not exactly the Councilor’s usual standard of suite, but she’d have to take what she could get. Ken also raised no objection to Tom and Bryce wandering around the hotel, inspecting every corner and cupboard. His wife, Cindy, was on their heels the entire time. Seemed Cindy had a bit of a thing for Bryce, his easy smile, and his gentle, respectful flirtation with her.
After they’d finished, Bryce glanced at Tom. “You fancy lunch?”
The diner was halfway to full when Bryce pushed open the door.
“You’ll want to brace yourself,” he murmured. “Strangers are about the only entertainment we get around here.”
As they stepped inside, the warm scent of coffee, bacon, and fried onions rolled over him. Bryce tipped a casual salute toward the counter. “How’s it going, Sam?”
Behind the counter, Sam, with cheekbones that could cut glass and auburn hair pinned up off her neck, eyed him closely.
“Reynolds,” she said. “What’ve you done this time?”
“Nothing!” Bryce protested with exaggerated innocence. “But I brought you a National Council representative. That count as pre-emptive penance?”
Her gaze flicked to Tom, and one neatly arched eyebrow rose. “You’re the one I’ve been hearing about this morning.”
Tom nodded. “Tom Barrington. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sam narrowed her eyes. “You’re polite. That’ll wear off if you spend more time around Reynolds.”
Tom, who was never at a loss for words, found himself unsure what to say. This sort of fond teasing was alien to him.
Sam handed them menus. “Sit anywhere. Riley’s around here someplace, pretending he knows how to pour coffee.”
Bryce steered Tom to a booth by the window. “It’s a compliment,” he said mildly. “She only insults people she likes.”
