Page 2 of Must Love Christmas

“Maybe upload some new photos, then? The place’ll look bigger now without my stuff.”

“Good idea.” The task would give him something to do tonight instead of lying on the couch feeling sorry for himself—or at least somethingin addition tolying on the couch feeling sorry for himself. “Away and start your happy-ever-after already.”

His eyes sparking with glee, Luca gave Garen one last quick hug…and then he was gone.

Garen locked the door, then returned to the living room. The afternoon sunlight was angling through the floor-to-ceiling bay window, so the place appeared warm and welcoming. To make the room look even more civilized, he cleared all of his random crap from the coffee table, leaving only the carved wooden bear statue his sister had brought him from Bulgaria.

He took new photos of the living room, then did the same with Luca’s bedroom and the kitchen. Feeling accomplished and also thirsty, he opened the fridge.

There on the top shelf was a brand-new four-pack of his favorite IPA—a red ribbon tied round the handle—and a note in Luca’s handwriting. Two hearts flanked the wordEnjoy!

Luca had also left behind the rest of his takeaway pad Thai from the previous night. That was Garen’s next meal sorted, then.

He brought the food and a beer to the dining table in the living room, intending to choose new photos to upload to hisFlatmate Wantedad.

But Luca’sCurling Mementos 2010-2016box beckoned him. Garen unsealed the packing tape, then flipped back the flaps.

At the top of the box was a framed photo of Team Riley—or “Team Smiley,” as their fans called them—taken just before the start of the Scottish Men’s Curling Championship. Garen and Luca stood in the center, flanked and dwarfed by their brawny front-end curlers, David and Ross. A grinning Oliver stood beside them as their coach.

Garen dug deeper into the box, traveling back in time. Here were Luca’s three consecutive Curler of the Year awards from Shawlands Rink, where Team Riley were based. Last year, Garen himself had won the honor in a shocking upset. He’d often wondered if Luca had asked the awards committee to give it to Garen. That was the sort of friend he was.

Arriving at the bottom of the box—the early days of Team Riley—Garen found a photo of himself, Luca, David, and Ross after they’d placed third in the national university championship.

He pulled out the photo and examined the space between his body and Luca’s, mere days before their breakup. On the ice, their chemistry had never faltered, but here on the podium, holding up their bronze medals, there was the hint of a disconnect. In the photo, Garen was beaming at Luca while Luca beamed at the camera. Awkward, that.

He let out a long, slow sigh as he began putting the items back in the box. Like most of Garen’s relationships, his affair with Luca had lasted roughly three months. Since then, Luca had dated sporadically before falling in love with Oliver two years ago. Meanwhile, Garen had continued his rollercoaster routine of diving into relationships hard and fast, then scrambling out of them even faster when things got difficult. Now he was nearly twenty-six and no closer to long-term love than he’d been at nineteen.

At least he’d found a true friend—and the world’s best flatmate—in Luca Riley. Who else would put up with Garen’s literal and metaphorical rubbish?

He had to findsomebody. He couldn’t afford this place alone.

Garen opened the Gumtree app and replaced several photos with the ones he’d just taken. Then he examined the text:

Slobby gay curler seeks flatmate who’s not fussed about any of those things. I’m not perfect, but this flat in Glasgow’s West End certainly is. Fully furnished with most mod cons, including dishwasher. Gorgeous view of Kelvingrove Park. Secure entry, lift, central heating, free use of launderette in building. Pets welcome!

As Garen ate his pad Thai, he considered removing the bit about his lack of tidiness. But surely some people preferred a laid-back flatmate who understood that a dish could sit unwashed in a sink overnight without spawning the apocalypse.

Maybe that wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was the ad’s final line:

PS: Must love Christmas.

He could easily delete that bit. But it would be hell to live with someone who wouldbah-humbughis annual merrymaking. Garen needed Christmas more than ever this year—the whole country needed it, what with the doom of Brexit now hanging over their heads. For just one month out of twelve—or maybe a bit longer—he needed to believe wishes could come true.

Wishes.“Ooh, that’s it.” Garen jumped up from the table, dropping his fork into the takeaway container. As he hurried toward his bedroom, he heard the fork clatter to the floor behind him.

He yanked open the bottom drawer of his bedside table, his “repository of randomness,” as Luca called it. He shoved aside three pairs of semi-broken earphones—their wires locked in a strangle-fight—half a dozen ticket stubs, a long-expired tube of mentholated pain-relief gel, and several random bits of plastic and metal that probably belonged to something important.

Finally he spied his lucky penny, the one he’d picked up on the subway last month—facing heads up, of course, because the opposite was bad luck.

Garen slipped the penny into his front jeans pocket, then put on his jacket and went out into the crisp October evening. Tugging up his hood to keep his hair from blowing into his eyes, he crossed the narrow street into Kelvingrove Park, where the low rays of sunshine glowed against the autumn foliage. Within a few minutes he arrived at the grand old Stewart Memorial Fountain and its four soaring spires of water.

Garen nodded a greeting to the Lady of the Lake, whose statue stood atop the towering round fountain. Arranged below the Lady at various levels were statues of unicorns and lions, carvings of coats of arms, and bronze plaques representing each sign of the zodiac. The whole structure was a bit over-the-top, like a comic book in fountain form, but Garen rather fancied it.

As the wind blew harder, sprinkling him with cold drops of dancing water, Garen circled the fountain clockwise, touching each of the bronze cherub statues on its shiny wee head. Finally he stopped in front of the plaque featuring a centaur for Sagittarius, his own zodiacal sign.

Garen pulled the 1p coin from his pocket and closed his eyes.I wish for a good flatmate before the end of the month.He opened his eyes, then added,Preferably not a morning person.

He tossed the penny into the fountain so it would plop into the water beneath the centaur. But as he let go, a gust of wind blew the coin leftward. Drawing an imaginary line toward the fountain, he discovered the penny had landed in the section belonging to the goat of Capricorn.

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