Page 18 of Must Love Christmas

“So you design the software, and the programmers build it?”

“Basically,” Simon said, “but we’re all part of a team. Programmers don’t like hierarchies, and they don’t like being told what to do.”

“Especially by the new guy, right?”

“Right.” Simon leaned against the worktop and took a long sip of beer. This was good, the two of them talking about work—a nice neutral topic that would keep his mind from spiraling into thoughts of nakedness.

It was a welcome change from two days ago, when they’d rearranged Simon’s bedroom furniture after the removal company had delivered his things. Garen had proved stronger than he looked, which only reminded Simon of how those muscles had felt beneath his palms a week before.

Then yesterday, Garen had helped Simon set up Poppy’s vivarium, offering expert tips on substrate maintenance and element placement. Through it all, Garen had acted as though nothing had happened between them, as though they shared nothing more than an address and a burgeoning friendship.

How was it so easy for Garen to switch off those thoughts and feelings? He was made of tougher stuff than Simon—or maybe just shallower stuff.

“What about you?” Simon asked. “What’s your job at the museum like?”

“We’re a small staff, so we all do a bit of everything. Exhibition upkeep, animal husbandry, et cetera.” He blotted a drop of beer off the front of his purple work shirt, a polo style featuring the museum logo. “Mostly I do public education. My favorite thing is hosting field trips for the weans.”

Simon couldn’t imagine wrangling herds of screaming schoolchildren. “Sounds stressful.”

“Naw, it’s fun. Every kid is different. Some of them think they’re too cool for museums. Others are a bittooenthusiastic, and then the main challenge is stopping them destroying irreplaceable artifacts.”

“How are you not shattered at the end of the day?”

“It’s energizing. I guess I’m a diehard extrovert.” Garen held up a hand. “It’s totally fine if you’re not. Luca always needed time to himself after work to decompress, so I’m used to it.”

“My job’s not draining in that way. It’s good to hang out like this, speaking in English rather than thinking in Java.” He tilted his beer bottle. “Like you said, decompressing.”

“This could be a regular thing, then,” Garen said. “Schedules permitting.”

Simon noticed a print copy ofThe New Europeanon the corner of the worktop. The weekly pro–European Union newspaper had a subscription label with Garen’s name and address.

Simon pointed to the paper. “Good to know we agree about Brexit.” Sadly, it was a bit of a litmus test for new acquaintances these days.

“You won’t find too many Leavers in Glasgow.” Garen squinted at the ceiling. “Honestly, I don’t know a single person who admits to voting for it.”

Simon marveled at the bubble Garen was living in. Liverpool had voted to remain in the EU last June, but Simon knew loads of Brexiters. “Some of my former friends are hardcore Leavers.”

“Are they ‘former’ because of the way they voted?”

“No, they’re ‘former’ because it turns out they don’t much like immigrants, and they don’t much care that hate crime is on the rise since the Brexit vote.” He smoothed down a small wrinkle in the beer bottle’s label. “Of course, they put on sad faces when I tell them about people shouting, ‘We won! Go home!’ at my father when they hear his Greek accent, but it doesn’t seem to change their minds.”

“God, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, but other folk have got it worse. Like my Jamaican and Trinidadian friends, whose families have been here for generations—like, their grandparents were literally invited to come here by the government in the sixties—but they’re still treated like invaders.”

He took another long sip of beer to stop his monologuing, and as he lowered the bottle he noticed a new object next to the toaster. “Did you put out an actual snow globe?”

Garen glanced at it. “Sure. Why not?”

Why not?seemed to be Garen’s answer to everything. “It’s a week before Halloween.”

“There was snow forecast this morning for Glasgow. Every year I put out one snow globe on each snow day.”

“But it didn’t snow.” Simon scoured his memory. This city’s weather was notoriously volatile. “Did it?”

“That’s not the point. It was forecast.” Garen sipped his beer and kept his gaze locked with Simon’s, as if to say,I dare you to tell me to put away the snow globe.

“Okay.” Simon wanted to keep things friendly between them—actually, he wanted things to bemorethan friendly, but if they couldn’t be in each other’s beds, at least they could be in each other’s good graces.

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