Page 1 of Decorated

ONE

Alfie Spears didn’tlike Christmas. He wasn’t an outright grinch. He did see the appeal in festive holiday lights, he enjoyed the bright and cheery decorations that turned otherwise dreary London streets into something worthy of a postcard, almost, and he loved a good mince pie. But when you didn’t have family to celebrate with and nowhere special to go where people were waiting for you with hugs and mugs of hot chocolate, it took the shine out of the holiday.

He could have counted his squadron in the RAF as his family, but after flying one too many harrowing missions in Afghanistan and the nightmares that he still had now of being shot at, he wanted to distance himself from the people who had surrounded him during that time of his life. It was nothing on them, he just needed mental space from that conflict and combat.

Besides, being semi-out in the military could still be a problem, depending on who you had to deal with. A couple of guys from his old squadron felt that who he wanted to go to bed with was more important than the decoration for bravery he’d received after rescuing several children from a house that hadbeen bombed. He wasn’t inclined to give those people the time of day now.

Which was exactly how he’d landed a desk job back in England, where he’d been for a year now. After all he’d been through in active duty, he was more than happy to have an administrative role in logistics with the RAF now. He was equally happy to have just over two weeks left before transitioning back to civilian life, though what he would do when that happened was still worryingly up in the air.

His desk job, and the fact that he hadn’t been given any new projects, since his time left with the RAF was so short, was the reason he had driven out to Hawthorne House, home of the Hawthorne Community Arts Center, and was striding up their long, picturesque drive now, a large, folded, cardboard box under one arm.

Hawthorne House at Christmas belonged on a postcard. Its quaint, historic edifice was the picture of old British charm. Even with the antennas spiking up from various places on the roof, the large electrical transformer he spotted off to one side, hidden by shrubs, and the parking lot he walked in from, Alfie could imagine himself walking back into a previous era of history as he glanced up at the ivy-covered house.

Someone had decorated the house’s numerous windows with tasteful greenery, red ribbons, and electric candles. A few large wreaths hung at intervals around the front of the house, and a massive wreath was perched over the front door. It was the sort of decoration he liked, not the garish, plastic, loud decorations that too many people seemed to favor these days. It was exactly the sort of decoration he imagined the house would have had back in the day when his father attended school there.

That was the main reason Alfie had taken the job of organizing his office’s toy drive that December. He’d jumped at the chance to work at the place where his father had spent theformative years of his life. He could barely remember his father. The man had died when he was six. You could only learn so much from old photographs.

Alfie’s heart beat fast as he stepped up to the grand front door of Hawthorne House, then pulled it open with his free hand to reveal the piece of his past he might find inside. He immediately stepped back, holding the door for a trio of older women who were on their way out, standing at attention for them, then nodding as they smiled at them.

“Well then, this is a lovely new service Robert and Janice have provided for all of us,” the first of the ladies through the door said, her eyes glowing with appreciation as she raked him from head to toe.

“Stop it, Violet. You’re incorrigible,” the one who stepped out right after her said, giving her friend’s arm a playful slap.

“And so what if I still appreciate the male form in all its wonder at my age?” Violet asked her friend teasingly.

“Don’t mind her,” the third lady addressed Alfie, laughing. “She’s excited because Rhys found us a delicious male model to paint for our final assignment.”

“No offense taken, I can assure you,” Alfie said, smiling at the women as they walked on. Or, at least, smiling as much as he ever did, which wasn’t much. “Merry Christmas.”

The three ladies giggled as if they were teenagers as Alfie headed on into the house, shuffling the box under his arm. He didn’t mind their teasing at all. He liked seeing people happy, and if that came at his expense in a cheeky way, like Violet clearly intended, he could live with that. It was a harmless antidote to the conflict of war.

As soon as he walked into the huge front hall, he paused to take everything in. It was so easy to imagine that hall, with its tall ceilings, elaborate staircase, and antique furnishings hosting some sort of nineteenth-century Christmas ball. It was equallyeasy to imagine a hundred chattering, mischievous boys in school uniforms rushing about on their way to classes, plotting all sorts of trouble.

Alfie could almost hear centuries of laughter ringing off the walls. He drew in a deep breath filled with the scent of art supplies, but also that rich, eternal scent that old houses filled with aging wood and wallpaper had.

Hawthorne House had a good feel to it. It was a cheerful, open place. He picked up on the creative vibes without even trying.

“Can I help you?” a light, male voice asked, pulling his attention away from his surroundings.

Alfie immediately reassessed his initial impression when a strikingly beautiful and obviously nonbinary person stepped out of the glassed-in office to his right. They approached him like they already had an idea of who he was and why he was there.

“Corporal Spears,” Alfie introduced himself, shifting the cardboard box to his other arm so he could offer the young person his hand. “I’m here about the toy drive.”

“Yes, of course,” the young person said, shaking his hand. “I’m Early Stevens. I work in the office. Robert and Janice are expecting you.” They let go of his hand and gestured for Alfie to follow them to the office. “Give me a second and I’ll just let them know you’re here.”

“There’s no hurry,” Alfie said, continuing to look around, even as he followed Early. “This house is incredible.”

“I love it,” Early said, walking through the open glass door and around to the other side of the desk. “I took classes here years ago, then they hired me for the office, and now I’m dating Rhys Hawthorne.”

“Classes when the house was a school?” Alfie asked, then immediately realized that would have been impossible.

“No,” Early laughed as they reached for the phone. “The school closed down way before my time. The family has been offering art classes here ever since then. The arts center has expanded a lot since then, especially in the last couple of years. I’ll just let Robert know you’re here,” they ended as they picked up the phone.

Alfie nodded, then turned to glance back at the hall through the glass as they made the call. If he had to guess, he would say that the office had once been some sort of formal parlor for visitors to the grand estate, but it had been renovated beyond recognition. It almost felt like someone had plunked a glass cube of some sort around the parlor, extending into the front hall, to create the modern-feeling office.

The original inhabitants of the house would probably be appalled. He wondered if the change had been made before or after his father had been a schoolboy there.

“Robert is on his way down,” Early let him know a moment later. “Janice is teaching a class at the moment.”

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