Page 46 of Must Love Christmas

Garen jabbed his own fork into the pita and took a bite. “Oh my God, that’s so good. So how’ve you been? It feels like ages since I’ve seen you, though it’s been only four days.”

Apparently Garen was finished discussing his curling performance. Simon didn’t blame him for wanting to swerve the topic. There was a lot of pressure on Team Riley to return to the national championship, where they’d had mixed success the previous two years.

“Bit knackered from my workout,” Simon said, “but less than usual.”

“How’s the pain?”

“It’s different now.” Simon ran a hand down his own arm. “My muscles don’t hurt as much, but now I’ve got this thing called hyperesthesia, which is—”

“Wait, let me guess.” Garen turned his eyes to the ceiling. “Anesthesia means ‘no sensation,’ so hyperesthesia must mean…‘too much sensation’?”

“Basically. My skin’s really sensitive to light touch, like tags in shirts or wrinkles in bed sheets. Drives me bonkers. I think if a fly landed on me, I’d scream.”

“How awful.”

Simon shrugged off the sympathy. “It’s a sign the nerves are regenerating. My doctor said it’s normal, and it’ll pass eventually.”

“Is that why you’re wearing that tight shirt?” Garen gave him a sly grin. “I thought it was to impress me.”

Simon felt his face warm. They seemed to be flirting more and more often these days. It made him feel exquisitely human, exquisitely whole again. “Yeah, the less my clothes slide all over my skin, the better.”

“Ah, well…” Garen didn’t finish that thought, but based on his expression, it was fairly salacious. “It looks good.”

“I’m just over the moon I can finally dress myself. I still can’t do buttons or zips, so it’s pullovers and trackie trousers for now.”

“The casual look suits you.” He leaned forward and placed the takeaway container in Simon’s lap. “Here, I’ve already finished my half.”

Garen had eaten barely a third of the souvlaki, and Simon silently appreciated the extra food. He wrapped one hand round the container to secure it, then focused on holding his fork the correct way. His fingertips were still numb, though, so he quickly reverted to the fist-grasp.

“You’ve really improved since Wednesday,” Garen said.

Simon felt the glow of pride within him. “I look forward to walking again, but having my arms work feels like a much bigger deal. When my ma came Friday night, I was able to hug her for the first time in weeks.” He took a bite of halloumi despite the lump of emotion forming in his throat.

“That must have been amazing.” After a moment, Garen reached out to him. “Can you take my hand?”

Simon lowered his fork into the container, then focused on opening each of his fingers to release it. After a deep breath, he raised his right arm and stretched it toward Garen.

Their hands collided without connecting, but Garen didn’t lower his. Simon supported his elbow with his other hand, stabilizing his reach. Focusing on Garen’s fingertips, he tried again.

This time he grasped Garen’s hand and held on. Their eyes met, and Simon felt his begin to heat with tears. He thought of all the hours Garen had sat by his bed, holding his hand so Simon would feel a steady presence against his skin, so he wouldn’t feel like he was floating untethered in a lonely, sterile sea.

But this touch right now was different. This touch felt like more than simple reassurance. A heat spread upward from Simon’s neck, and his gaze dropped to Garen’s lips.

Without letting go, Garen whispered his name and moved forward until he was on his knees in front of the wheelchair’s footplates.

Simon could barely believe this was happening. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through Garen’s soft, flowing hair, but feared he’d end up poking him in the eye.

Trusting his mouth more than his hands, Simon leaned in for the kiss he needed more than he needed company or comfort.

“Oi!” Garen grabbed the takeaway container as it started to fall from Simon’s lap. “That was close.” He pushed it back where it belonged, then looked away, loosening his grip on Simon’s hand.

Simon blinked hard, the spell broken. “Yeah. Ta for catching it.” He let go of Garen and picked up his fork.

Garen cleared his throat and returned to the loveseat. “Oh, guess what? Poppy’s in blue.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a few times, then showed Simon a photo. The snake’s eyes had turned bright blue, a sign she’d be shedding her skin within the week.

“She’s right on schedule.” Simon ate another bite of souvlaki, glad the takeaway container on his lap hid his burgeoning reaction to Garen’s touch and their near-kiss.

“I’ll send you the photo.” Garen thumbed the screen, and a moment later Simon’s phone bleeped next to his bed. “I’ve increased her vivarium’s humidity to sixty-five percent, like your notes said to do.”

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