Page 5 of Must Love Christmas

“Are you, though?”

“Sorry?”

“If this was an accident,” Garen said, “it can still be a happy one.”

Simon shook his head. A mistake was a mistake, and best undone as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” He took a step back. “I need to see if the other flat’s available. My train leaves in a few hours, so—”

“That’s bags of time. And you’re here now, so you may as well—”

“Look, I never meant to contact you. I didn’t want this place.”

“Oh.” Garen blinked up at him like a scolded puppy. Simon felt a right dick for being so blunt.

The hurt in Garen’s eyes turned to defiance. “Something in my ad put you off? Do you not like gays?”

“For your information, Iamgay.”

Simon couldn’t believe he’d just said that aloud. He never came out to people after only a few minutes—sometimes not even after a few years. Maybe this lad’s motormouth was contagious.

Garen looked pleasantly surprised. “It’s the curling, then?”

“Of course not.” Simon edged toward the kitchen door. “I just need to live with someone tidy.”

“Needto orpreferto?”

“What’s the difference?”

Garen lifted his hands, palms up. “Often what one prefers is not what one truly needs.”

Simon paused on the threshold for a moment. “I’ll show myself out.”

He hurried down the hallway and had just reached the flat’s entrance when he heard Garen’s voice behind him.

“Before you leave…”

Simon stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What is it?”

“Just have a wee look at this view. It’ll improve your day no matter what.” Garen entered the lounge, then peeked at him round the doorpost. “’Mon, then.”

Simon sighed but followed him anyway. As he passed the bookshelf, he noticed a cheesy-looking statue of a snowman holding a small blackboard in one red mitten and a piece of white chalk in the other. The board readDays Until Christmas, with the numeral 70 scrawled at the top.

He rounded the dining table and joined Garen in front of the enormous window. Afternoon sunlight streamed through cream-colored, floor-length curtains. Garen swept them aside.

The park stretched out in front of them in all its autumnal glory: green grass, golden leaves, and red stone. On its far side rose the grand buildings of the ancient University of Glasgow, their towering spires forming majestic silhouettes against the racing clouds.

Simon took what felt like the first full breath since he’d arrived at this flat. “I’d never been to Glasgow before I came for the job interview. It’s much lovelier than I imagined.”

“Everyone says that. I suppose they’re all expecting a broken-down wasteland.” Garen gazed out over the park, his eyes now a vivid blue in the natural light. “They forget what was here before the Industrial Revolution, before the shipyards and factories. They forget it had a life before the smoke and grime, and they’re amazed it’s found a new life after.”

Simon looked at him. Maybe there was more depth to this man than he’d thought. “Have you always lived in the city?”

“Only since I can remember.”

He didn’t explain, so Simon didn’t pry.

Then Garen clapped his hands together once. “Solution! Email the urologist over in Royal Terrace, and I’ll order us a takeaway while you’re waiting for a response.”

A warning bell went off in Simon’s head. If he ate a meal here, this place might start to feel like home, and Garen might start to feel…well, normal.

---