Page 48 of Christmas Spirit
“I can’t believe it.” Next to him, Georgie stared out wide-eyed. “How can that much snow just — go? And the car… I just can’t believe it,” he said again.
Roland draped his arm around Georgie’s shoulders and pulled him close.
“Sometimes you just have to believe. You don’t question, or push, or pull. You just believe. Isn’t that so, Nicholas?” Roland said, turning.
Nicholas was nowhere to be seen. Roland shivered. The fire had gone out, leaving nothing but ash in the grate. The steady tick of the ornamental clock was silent, the hands on the dial frozen. Straining his ears, Roland heard nothing other than his own heartbeat.
“You know there are no trains today, so maybe you can give me a lift to my friend’s flat when we get back to London.”
Roland’s whole body jerked.
Georgie didn’t think—? But Georgie’s lips were straining hard not to grin, and Roland shook his head and began to laugh.
“You’re coming home. With me.”
Home. For the first time in what was probably forever, his house would be a home. His heart clenched and contentment hugged him close.
“Come on,” he said, his voice rough, “it’s time to go.”
In the doorway, they picked up their bags.
“Hang on, we can’t forget these.” Georgie rushed back into the lounge. “Our hearts,” he said, holding up the pair of silver locks.
Their latches hung loose, and Roland took them from Georgie. They were beautiful in their simplicity, but they needed a little help to be perfect. Roland linked their latches, and clicked them both closed, locking their hearts together.
“I’m ready. Are you?” Roland said, smiling into Georgie’s eyes.
Georgie nodded, his expression calm, content. He leaned forward, brushing his lips to Roland’s.
“I am. Come on, it’s time to go home.”
Epilogue: One Year Later
“I’m shattered. I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard.”
As soon as Georgie locked the door and switched the sign toclosed, he flopped back against it. Yes, he’d worked hard, but as he looked around at the empty restaurant, cleared of the evening’s customers, a heady mix of pride and satisfaction surged through him.
They had done so much over the past year, he and Roland. For them both, there had been a change of job, a change of location. A change of life. From kitchen boy to sous chef, Georgie’s knowledge, skills and confidence had flourished under Roland’s firm but patient tutoring. He smiled, wider than he’d ever smiled before, as Roland, dressed like him in his chef’s whites, wandered in from the kitchen, holding a chilled bottle of champagne in one hand, and two flutes in the other.
“Champagne, ohh, yes please,” Georgie said, making his way across to one of the cleared and empty tables.
“You’ve developed quite the taste for it. Do you think I need to check on our stock?”
Georgie rolled his eyes at the same time heharrumphed, but he couldn’t help grinning.
“Cheeky git.”
Roland laughed as he removed the foil and cage, before popping the cork and pouring them each a glass. He handed one to Georgie.
“Happy Christmas, love.” Roland pressed a small, soft kiss to Georgie’s lips.
Love. The endearment warmed Georgie’s heart, and tingled and fizzed along his backbone, just like the champagne’s gentle sparkle always tingled on his tongue.
“I—I don’t think I could ever get tired of you calling me that,” Georgie murmured.
“Good, because I’ll never get tired of saying it. Ever.”
They chinked glasses, each sighing as they took their first sip.
