Page 99 of Must Love Christmas

John shook a finger at him. “You may regret that wish.” He turned to Garen. “Caterers’ll be here at ten to set up for the break at noon. If you could show me round the kitchen now, then I can keep them out of your road when they arrive.”

“Great idea, because at ten my head will be exploding with a million tasks. You can also help me put out the coffee, tea, and pastries.” Garen glanced at the clock and felt a surge of panic. “Oh God, people’ll start arriving any minute.”

“You’ve got this,” Simon said. “Just enjoy it.” He waggled the puffy ball at the end of his Santa hat. “It’s Christmas, right?”

“Right. Thanks.” Garen took a deep breath. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Simon sent him his most heart-melting smile. “Me too.”

John clapped his hands. “Okay, lads, moment of serenity over. There’s bags of work to do.”

Garen hurried after him into the kitchen, feeling slightly soothed by Simon’s reassurance. He showed John the boxes of pastries, as well as all the serving items, then poured water into the oversized electric kettle and coffee maker. Garen switched them both on and stared at them, as though his eyes could make the water boil faster.

“So how’s Simon’s recovery?” John asked.

“It’s been bumpy, but it’s progressing.” Garen gave John a brief update without going into more detail than he thought Simon would prefer.

“How areyoucoping?” John asked. “I know it’s not easy caring for someone you’re close to—I’ve done it with my dad. And if I’m reading things right, you seem to have got pretty close to Simon.”

Garen wanted to answer honestly. The strain of looking out for Simon without lookingafterhim—ensuring his safety but not suffocating him—was taking its toll. He could barely sleep at night, and not just because they were using their beds for more fun activities. Since Simon’s setback Monday morning, every twitch of his sleeping body set Garen on high alert, wondering whether Simon would be able to move the following day.

“It’s been hard at times, for both of us,” Garen told John in the ultimate understatement, which he followed with the ultimate truth: “But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

* * *

At about tenminutes to ten, the tournament’s participants began to flood in, demanding all of Simon’s attention. He was glad of the distraction, because otherwise he’d be worrying that Garen wasn’t truly happy he was here. All morning Simon had felt like he was just one more source of stress for his overstretched boyfriend.

When the queue lengthened, Gillian and Willow came over to help, the wee lass showing the teams to their designated tables and offering name-badge stickers from her own Christmas collection.

Finally everyone had arrived, filling the warm room with excited chatter that drowned out the carols blasting from the speakers.

Garen found him again. “They’re going to start curling soon, so let’s get the commentary set up.” He made a little happy-fist shuffle. “Time for your big debut!”

“I am so ready for this,” Simon told him as he wheeled himself through the warm room toward the wide window looking out onto the ice. A long table flanked the window, and in the center, a computer sat beside two headsets. “I watched four bonspiel commentaries yesterday, which means I now know five percent more about curling than I did the day before.”

Garen handed him a headset. “Why am I not surprised you’re over-prepared—I mean, heroically prepared?”

Simon didn’t feel prepared. The commentaries he’d watched seemed to assume viewers already knew the basics of curling. He supposed that made his contribution today all the more important.

Together they ran through the software that controlled which images showed up on the livestream. Simon was impressed with the setup: Not only were there cameras facing both ends of each of the six sheets, but there were also overhead shots of each house, displayed on the warm room’s six wall-mounted televisions.

“Here are the two most important buttons,” Garen said, pointing to theZand theMon the computer keyboard. “They mute my microphone and yours, respectively.” He gave a sheepish grimace. “I’ve learned the hard way how important it is to switch that off at sensitive moments.”

“No sex talk with the mics on. Got it. And remember, I’m not out to everyone in my life, so on the off chance my distant cousins are listening…” Simon had told his parents about the livestream, and by now they’d probably emailed every last relative.

“We are just friends and flatmates as far as the wider world is concerned,” Garen said with a hand over his heart. His phone bleeped then. He pulled it out and checked the screen. “Hm. Talking of family, my sister wants an urgent video chat tonight. Ooft, I really hope I didn’t break up her and her new boyfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Simon’s imagination went in a dozen different directions. “How would you have done that?”

“By inviting him for Christmas without asking Karen first.” He put his hands to his cheeks. “And I should’ve asked you, as well. It’s your flat too. Sorry.”

“The more, the merrier,” Simon said, though he didn’t subscribe to that platitude.

Garen looked up at the wall clock, then jumped to his feet. “Speech time!” Simon watched him head toward the warm room’s Christmas tree, where he rang a bell on the wall with a loud clang that made a few people jump. “Hiya everyone! Just a few words before we get the fun started.”

“When have you ever said just a few words?” Luca called out.

Garen laughed with the crowd. “Fair enough. I first wanted to give a shoutout to the founder of our feast, the wee lassie whose brilliant idea this was. Willow Boyd, gonnae say hi to your adoring fans!”

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