Page 107 of Must Love Christmas

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Simon woketo the sound of breaking glass. He jerked to a half-sitting position, up on one elbow. Maybe the noise had been a dream.

A loud thud came from the living room, like one of the dining chairs falling over.

“Garen?” he called out, then remembered his bedroom door was shut tight.

Simon switched on the faerie lights and slid his legs out of bed. As he leaned over to put on his slippers, his pulse pounded at being woken from deep sleep. He rubbed his eyes to fight the grogginess, then got to his feet using the walking frame.

He went to the door, opened it, and called Garen’s name again.

“Everything’s fine!” Garen shouted from the living room, though his tone indicated otherwise. “Go back to bed!”

Simon heard Christmas music. “What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing. It’s under control. I’ve got it.” There was another thump. “Ow!”

Simon headed down the hallway as fast as he could go. Though his head was still foggy, his legs felt surprisingly stable considering the long day at the curling rink.

He reached the living room doorway and looked inside. “What the…”

“Stay away!” Garen was pounding the tabletop with both fists. “There’s broken glass on the floor.”

“I’ve got my slippers on.” Simon crossed the room, trying to comprehend what he was seeing—not to mention smelling. “What happened?”

“Just a small fire.” Garen stood up straight and raised his hands, which were covered in brown goo. “It’s out now.”

That was the scent Simon had detected: smoke. But also something like caramel. And…beer? None of it made sense.

He neared the dining table, feeling like he was watching an aerial shot of a disaster film.

Their gingerbread house was gone. In its place was a mass of soggy, smoldering brown-and-white muck oozing across the table and onto the floor.

“I’m sorry.” Garen’s eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a disheveled mop.

Simon spied his kitchen blowtorch on the table. “What. Happened.”

“My part fell to pieces.”

“Your part?” Simon surveyed the carnage, wondering how Garen could be seeing something different. “The entire thing’s destroyed.”

“I came in here to make you a playlist. I don’t know why I thought…” He shook his head. “Anyway, I found the house with my wall toppled over. I tried to fix it and broke the roof.”

“And?”

“And things went downhill from there. Let me fetch some cleaning stuff, and then I can explain.” Garen dodged the broken glass as he hurried for the living room door.

Simon leaned over and picked up the fallen dining chair, checked the seat for beer and gingerbread, then sat down. On the speaker, a female folk singer crooned about wanting a river to skate away on.

Had Garen done this in response to the note Simon had left him? Maybe the message had been a mistake. Maybe Simon should’ve waited until the morning and spoken to him face to face. But he’d feared he’d change his mind and stay here, spend a torturous Christmas in Glasgow just for the sake of being near Garen. He’d thought maybe “space” was what they really needed, though every instinct had told him the opposite.

Besides, going home was safe. Going home was comforting. Going home meant he could watch the Merseyside Derby with his father tomorrow night, just like old times. He could forget all about this mess.

Garen reappeared with a broom and dustpan in one hand and a plastic bin bag and kitchen roll in the other. He was now wearing his giant furry reindeer slippers, no doubt as protection against the bits of brown glass scattered across the floor.

Watching Garen shuffle toward him in those ridiculous slippers, his face the portrait of earnestness, Simon knew in a rush that he wouldn’t be going home to the safety and comfort of his family and friends. He would stay here and work through this, no matter what it took.

Unsure where to start, Simon went for the facts. “First question: Why did you pour beer on it?”

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