Page 17 of Must Love Christmas

“Yeah.” Simon sat on the edge of the bed, his posture slumped. “Why does this have to be so hard?”

Without a shirt, Garen thought, Simon looked lost and vulnerable, like a shipwrecked sailor.

“It doesn’t have to be hard.” Garen paused before taking the plunge. “You could live here.”

Simon spun to face him. “How?”

“We enjoy each other’s company. We’ve already made an agreement about chores.”

“But what about”—Simon waved his hand between them—“this?”

“This”—Garen mirrored the gesture—“was great. But if you live here,thisis also over. The sex part, I mean. Obviously we’ll still be friends.”

Simon’s lower lip jutted out in a flash of a pout. “Is that what you want?”

“I mean, it’s not…ideal.” He fidgeted with the seam of Simon’s pillowcase. “But it seems the most logical solution to your problem.” He had another thought that might ease the pain. “I could introduce you to other guys. Better guys.”

Simon stiffened. “So you want to be my flatmate and my pimp. Cool.”

“Sorry,” Garen said, his face flaring with heat. He’d deserved the sarcasm. “You’re right, thisishard. I know because my former flatmate, Luca, is also my ex-boyfriend. It was a long time after we broke up that we started living together, but it was still sometimes awkward, those first couple of years sharing a place.”

Simon made aYikes!face. “I can imagine.”

“And I’m not saying I don’t want to be with you. I’m giving you options, and it’s your choice. Stay here and we’ll be friends. Live somewhere else, and we’ll be…whatever we want.” Garen wasn’t sure which alternative he was hoping Simon would pick.

Simon rubbed his bare arms as he looked around the room, then at the open bedroom door. “I do like it here.”

Then he turned back to Garen. As their eyes met, Garen felt a lurching protest in his chest. Maybe they could play it by ear, share a bed whenever they felt like it, even while living together. Keep it light and casual.

But something told him Simon wasn’t into casual, and though Garen had had his share of purely recreational relationships, that wasn’t what he wanted with this man. Better to have nothing, romantically speaking, than to constantly long for more.

“Simon.” Garen reached out and squeezed his hand. “Go back to Liverpool, fetch your python, and come live with me.”

Chapter 4

62 Days UntilChristmas

Simon arrived home from his job, tired but optimistic. His new boss and coworkers had given him a warm welcome, treating him to takeaway at lunch and spiriting him to a nearby pub after work. So far he felt much more at home than he’d expected. Even the rapid-fire Glaswegian accent he’d been warned about didn’t feel completely foreign to that of Liverpool, what with both cities’ speech influenced by Irish immigrants.

Just inside the flat, he removed his coat and shoes, then decided to leave the latter beneath the coat rack instead of taking them into his room. Perhaps if he made his shoe-removal habit obvious, Garen would take the hint and stop tracking dirt throughout their home.

He found his flatmate in the kitchen, peering into the open refrigerator.

“Hiya! I just got home from work myself.” Garen pulled out two bottles of IPA. “How was your first day in the mines?”

“Boss.” Simon loosened his tie. “I thought the museum was closed on a Monday.”

“It is, but there’s always a backlog of tasks, usually researching and prepping for upcoming exhibitions and such. So I put in a shift today to help make up for taking off next Friday and Sunday. Got a big curling tournament in Edinburgh.” Garen opened the bottles and handed one over. “Is that real snakeskin?” He put out a finger as though to touch Simon’s tie, then drew back. “Oh, it’s just the pattern. It’s gorgeous.”

“Ta.” Simon ran his hand over his favorite silk tie, which bore a subtle gray-and-black python print. “I’ve got ties with several different morph patterns. Haven’t been able to find Poppy’s firefly morph yet, though those colors might be too bright for me to wear to work.”

“This is Glasgow. Bold fits right in.” Garen examined Simon’s cream-colored dress shirt and dark-gray trousers, which were anything but bold. “I thought computer programmers wore ripped jeans and ironic T-shirts.”

“Not when they work at a bank’s operational headquarters.” Simon couldn’t resist correcting him. “Also, I’m a software engineer, not a programmer.”

“Right. You did tell me that.” Garen rubbed the back of his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “And what’s the difference again?”

“It’s like an architect versus a construction worker—if the architect was also rather handy with a hammer and nails.”

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