Page 16 of Must Love Christmas

“Good morning,” he murmured, savoring the warmth of Simon’s body as it curled around him from behind. “Sleep well?”

“How could I not?” Simon brushed Garen’s hair from his neck and kissed his nape, making him shiver. “You’re exhausting.”

“Aw, ya poor wee angel.” He took Simon’s hand and pulled it forward to wrap his arm around his waist. “Forced to endure my company throughout the long, cold night.”

“Not complaining.” Simon’s hand caressed Garen’s belly through his T-shirt, awakening memories of how those hands had felt last night on all parts of him.

Then the mattress shifted and Simon gasped. “It’s quarter to nine. You’ll be late for work.”

“Museum’s closed on a Monday. It’s my one universal day off. Like hairdressers and waiters.”

“Oh.” Simon sank down onto his pillow again. “Do you want to sleep more?”

“With you in my bed?” Garen rolled over. “What a waste that would be.” He moved in for a kiss.

Simon pulled his head back. “My breath’s dead foul.”

“Then kiss me where I won’t taste it.”

Simon obeyed, planting his lips, then his teeth against Garen’s throat. Every inch of Garen’s skin woke up singing.

It amazed him how two people so clearly incompatible as flatmates could find such synchronicity in bed. Garen had never met anyone who fitted him so well, so quickly. Regardless of where their relationship was going, it would have time and space to develop naturally. As long as they weren’t flatmates, they could actually like each other.

Finally Simon sighed and pulled away. “Hold that thought while I go to the loo?”

Garen let go of him and stretched out on his back, resting his arms against the wooden headboard. “If you want to kiss me today, you can use my toothbrush.”

“Eww, ta, but no.”

“All night we’ve been swapping spit, but you won’t share a toothbrush?”

“Toothbrushes carry a lot more than spit. I’ll think about it, though, if you’ve got peroxide or mouthwash to clean it with.”

Garen rolled his eyes. He’d almost forgotten Simon was a cleanliness fanatic. It was definitely for the best they wouldn’t be living together.

Simon swung his legs out of bed and fumbled in the dim light. Garen heard the swish of trousers, then a soft thump on the rug. “Oops, my phone,” Simon said, bending over to pick it up. “Ah, there’s an email from the guy in Royal Terrace.” He was silent for a moment. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“What’s wrong?” Garen sat up to look over his shoulder at the screen.

“He says he’s just found another flatmate, someone who came round this morning.” Simon shoved a hand through his hair, making the short black strands stick out in even more directions. “Now I’ll have to take one of the other places I visited yesterday.” He set down the phone and pulled on his trousers. “I was so excited to live next to the park, though.”

As Garen watched him leave the bedroom, his heart grew heavy with the certainty of what needed to be done.

For the next few minutes, he stared at the ceiling, trying to work out how he and Simon could have their metaphorical cake and eat it. But he had to follow through on last night’s level-headed conclusion: They couldn’t live together andbetogether at the same time.

Ah well, there was no point raging against bad luck. They just had to make the best of it.

“In better news,” Simon said as he returned to the room, “I brushed my teeth with my finger.” He padded over to the bed and reached for the edge of the covers. “So now we can—” He froze when he saw Garen’s face, then stood up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Garen rolled onto his side. “Question, though: Have you told any of those other prospective flatmates what sort of pet you’ve got?”

Simon’s shoulders sank. “Not yet. It’ll probably be a deal breaker for most of them. There was one guy who had a very small dog.”

“Ooft, that might be a hard sell.”

“I could leave Poppy at home with my parents.”

“But you’d miss her.”

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