Page 82 of Must Love Christmas

“So was yours. You were basically asking what we are to each other, right?” Garen covered the dough with the cling film, then flipped it over on the table, so close to the edge Simon feared it would fall onto the floor. “I’d like to introduce you as my partner, but if you’re not ready—”

“I’m ready.” After all their hours together at the hospital, their new status seemed almost overdue.

Garen released one of his hundred-watt grins. “Wa-heyyyy!” He leaned over and kissed Simon, hot and hard, his palms pressed against Simon’s chest. As Garen pulled back, his smile turned into a laugh. “Oops.”

Simon looked down to see two floury handprints on his dark red T-shirt. “You know I can’t bear to wear a dirty top. You’d best take this off me.”

Garen pulled it over Simon’s head in one move. Then he reached back into the pile of flour and hurled a handful against Simon’s bare chest. “Indoor snowball fight!”

“Are you kidding me?” Simon plunged one hand into the open bag of flour and the other into his glass of water. “You’re assaulting a disabled man?”

“All’s fair in love and—oi!” Garen gaped at the wad of paste that had just hit the center of his apron. “When did you get your hand-eye coordination back?”

“Just now. It’s a Christmas miracle.” Simon rolled another flour ball between his wet palms.

Garen grabbed the bag of flour and lifted it above Simon’s head. “Drop your weapon.”

Simon looked up at the bag, from which a few bits of flour were already wafting down into his face. “That’s poor sportsmanship, totally against the spirit of curling.”

“We’re not curling just now, mate.”

“A true curler would follow the spirit at all times.”

Garen hesitated. “I know how this plays out. I back down and then end up with this bag of flour poured over my own head, maybe in the middle of the night.”

“But are you a hard enough man to dump it on me right now, in cold blood?”

“It’s the only way to be sure,” Garen said. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” Simon shielded his head with his hands. “Are you seriously—”

“Close your eyes.”

Simon squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. He heard the crinkling of the paper flour bag, followed by a softwhump.

Garen started coughing. “That was a mistake.”

Simon opened his eyes to see his partner’s head covered in white, with bits drifting off his shoulders onto the floor. “Why did you flour yourself?”

“That’d be a great question for my therapist, if I had one.” Garen grimaced as he brushed the snowy substance from his hair.

Simon gazed up at him. “You’re so weird, and I—” He cut himself off before the wordslove youcould pop out.

Garen swiped a chunk of flour from his left eyebrow. “Go on, finish your sentence. You what? You can’t take it anymore?”

In one steady motion, Simon got to his feet and pulled Garen close, drenching himself in flour. “I can take it.”

Chapter 18

11 Days UntilChristmas

“Careful, it’s raining!” Garen strained to hold the umbrella over Simon’s head as he rolled down the three wide stairs outside their block of flats.

“I know it’s raining,” Simon snapped. “I won’t melt, and my chair won’t rust. It’s stainless steel.”

Trying not to imagine Simon slipping and face-palming on the wet pavement, Garen yanked open the rear door of the waiting taxi. “Let me help you in.”

“You really don’t need to.” Simon moved up to the taxi, engaged his wheelchair’s brakes, and got himself into the car.

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