Page 6 of Must Love Christmas

But he wasn’t normal. This guy was the very incarnation of chaos. Anyone who’d freely admit to being “slobby” wasn’t likely to change. If Simon lived here, there’d be no end to the battles over tidying up and keeping the place free of cockroaches.

It was then that Simon’s stomach betrayed him by offering an audible growl.

“Sounds like a yes,” Garen said, “or at least a strong maybe.”

Simon put a self-conscious hand over his belly. He’d not eaten since he’d stepped off the train at half past nine this morning. None of the other prospective flatmates had offered him so much as a snack, much less a meal, and they weren’t nearly so friendly as Garen. Perhaps he should give this flat and its occupant a second glance.

Also, he was rather dying to see Garen with his hair down.

Simon turned to him. “When you wrote, ‘pets welcome,’ did you mean any sort of pet?”

* * *

Garen staredwith dismay at his image in the bedroom mirror. Had he really answered the door looking like this?

“Och, the absolute state of you,” he whispered. His topknot was sagging to one side, with strands of hair sticking out in all directions, making him look like a deranged Dr. Seuss character. His forehead held a layer of dust, and his left cheek was smudged with…God only knew what. Simon must think him a complete bampot.

Garen pulled off his shirt and flung it across the room, giving a whispered “Yas!” when it landed in the laundry basket. Then he fished a forest-green pullover jumper and a pair of jeans from the clean-washing pile.

After dressing, he yanked the elastic out of his hair and let the unruly mane fall to frame his face, the ends dancing just above his collar. A few brush strokes later, he was decidedly VOP (verging on presentable).

Before Simon’s arrival, Garen had planned to display his real self, warts and all. There was no point pretending to be someone he wasn’t, especially as that required alotof energy.

But planning to meet Simon-in-the-Abstract was one thing. Actually meeting Simon-in-the-Flesh had turned Garen’s strategy upside down. Now he desperately wanted to win this man over. So Garen would still be himself, just a more appealing version thereof.

He slipped his wallet into his pocket and headed down the hall to the lounge, where he propped his hands on either side of the door frame and leaned in. “Ready?”

Simon turned from the window and stopped short, staring at Garen—which was the desired effect. “You look…different.”

“I scrub up all right.” Garen slid a hand through his hair and tucked it behind his ear. “The Indian place is just two streets over. We’ll go and pick it up so you can have a look at the area.”

As they reached the pavement outside his block of flats, Garen said, “I would apologize for being a mess earlier, but if I said sorry every time it happened, you’d never hear any other words from my mouth.”

“It’s all right. Cleaning is a messy job.” Simon shivered at the wind, which stirred only the short dark hair near his temple, leaving the rest of the thoroughly pomaded strands in perfect formation. He zipped his black leather jacket and slid his hands into the pockets.

They walked side by side up the pavement toward the restaurant. Despite Simon’s long legs, his gait was measured and even, allowing Garen to keep up with him without breaking into a jog.

It wasn’t obvious how old Simon was. His olive-complexioned, clean-shaven face was youthful, but he carried himself with that combination of caution and self-assurance that seemed to pervade those in their thirties. And unlike most men Garen’s age, he seemed at home in a dress shirt and tie.

As they headed across the wide and bustling Sauchiehall Street, Garen noticed Simon scanning the shops and pubs with what seemed like approval. Garen was grateful for the early evening sun, which shone at a flattering angle over the buildings, lending a golden hue to their tawny stones.

“So what’s your deal with Christmas?” Simon asked as they neared the restaurant. “I saw your countdown snowman.”

“That was my gran’s. A lot of my decorations used to be hers. I mentioned Christmas in the ad because I’m kind of bonkers about it.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“But what do you love about Christmas?” Simon mounted the slate steps outside the restaurant two at a time. “Why’s it such a big deal to you?”

“Dunno. I’ve never really analyzed it.” Garen lowered his voice as they entered the quiet establishment, which at half past five had yet to fill with diners. “I like how every year it’s the same, but slightly different. I like the predictability. And also the parties.”

Garen paid for their food while Simon bought a bottle of pinot noir to accompany it. As they exited the restaurant, Garen remembered his recurring resolution not to dominate every conversation. “What about you? Are you a fan of Christmas?”

“I like it well enough,” Simon said. “Not as much as when I was a lad.”

“Have you got a big family with all sorts of traditions?”

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