by Elle Keaton
“I know,” John replied. “I’m just a softy. Cat used to go everywhere with me.”
“Cat was your previous . . . cat? This one will not be named Cat Two.”
“Oh yeah?” John retorted with a sexy grin, “Says who?”
Chance growled, “Says me. Do you happen to have an extra parka? I gave mine to Reed.”
* * *
There was indeed a tree lot down by the marina. Chance had John drive the rental. After hardly any sleep, driving on the wrong side of the road seemed like a bad idea. Although, he chuckled to himself, he was going to have to start thinking of it as the right side of the road, wasn’t he?
They parked in a gravel car park next to the fenced-in trees. A couple of puffy humanoid shapes—bundled against the wind coming off the water and what John had said were unseasonably cold temperatures—greeted them with waves but left them to look around the lot.
John was right, most of the trees looked like rejects.
“I don’t know about England, but Skagit folks tend to buy their trees right after Thanksgiving so they can enjoy them longer.”
“Mmm. Let’s look at the taller ones.”
“The ceiling is only ten feet.”
The trees were stacked by height and type. There were rows of trees that looked like pincushions, some that looked fairly traditional, some that were so puffy Chance couldn’t see their trunks.
“What kind do you like?”
Christmas carols were playing over the speakers, and Chance started humming along. John walked ahead of him, touching tree branches as he went, making comments like, “Too scrawny,” “Not enough needles,” and “Branches are all wonky.” Then he stopped in front of one and cocked his head.
The label said it was a Norwegian pine. It also quoted a price that should have been enough to reforest the entirety of Norway. Chance grabbed the top of the tree and pulled it out of the stand, twirling it. It was still here for a reason; he wanted to know why.
Sure enough, the back side had a huge spot where there were no branches.
“Dang,” John said.
“We could turn this side against a wall?”
“I guess.”
But Chance could tell that this was not “the tree.” “Let’s keep looking. Are there other lots?”
Three lots and over an hour later, Chance was beginning to regret suggesting a tree. John was very particular. And most of the lots’ trees appeared to have barely survived a zombie apocalypse. At this rate the damn thing wouldn’t be up by nightfall, or even tonight.
Just as he was thinking this, John let out a gasp and tugged at a tree tucked tightly in between two other rejects. He lifted it out and banged it against the ground to loosen the branches, then he twirled it.
Chance raised his eyebrows, nodding. “We may have a winner. I don’t see anything wrong. Here, let me hold it, and you look.”
John declared it the perfect tree. A lanky teenager approached, asking if he could help. Chance handed him the tree. “And can you put it in that netting stuff for the top of the car?” The kid nodded and trotted off with the enormous tree. Hopefully it would fit in the house.
Chance watched John. He was clearly delighted with the tree, regardless of his initial protestations. A beautiful smile graced his face. Chance couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing him right there in the Christmas tree lot. John’s lips were cold; their breath mingled, ghosting against their cheeks. He bussed John’s nose with his own. “You are delicious.”
Chapter Eleven
They left the Christmas tree at John’s house to warm up before they decorated it. Having released the disgruntled kitten from its captivity, Chance drove toward the NorthStar while John held the kitten in his lap. It seemed quite content there. John was quiet, obviously thinking about something, and Chance was reasonably sure he knew what.
“Quit thinking so hard over there.” Chance kept his eyes on the road while he gestured toward the kitten. “Aren’t they supposed to ride in a carrier or something?”
“My cats have always ridden in cars without a box. Would you like to ride in a dark box where you couldn’t see anything?”
Chance supposed he wouldn’t.
John directed him around a corner he recognized and let out a gasp of shock. There was a huge line in front of the theater. “What the hell is this?”
“This,” Chance used his chin to gesture at the crowd waiting to get inside to watch a holiday classic, “is the people of Skagit wanting to go to the movies.”
“What have you done?” John peered out the passenger side window as Chance slowly drove past the theater. The line extended from the box office around the corner to the alley where they’d rescued the kitten. “There must be two hundred people here.”
“I may have networked a bit.”
John whipped around to stare at him, narrowing his eyes. Chance saw him trying to think who Chance could have talked to, and when he figured it out.
“Gloria. She’s the only one who has this kind of influence. Hurry up and park. I need to get in there and help Reed; he’s got to be freaking out.”
“Reed is fine. His friends Kevin and Angel offered to help out. It’s not rocket science, John, it’s the movies. Reed even said he knows how to run the booth, but I thought you’d want to do that.”
John continued to stare out the window, not moving to get out now that they were parked. “Why would they all come? They have families and friends to be with. It’s Christmas Eve.”
“John,” Chance said softly, “these people, many of them, are your friends too, and they came here with their families and friends to support you. You don’t need to do this alone. But it is nearly five and the show must go on, so hop to it.”
“Right. Okay. Here, take the kitten. It really needs a name, by the way.”
Chance took the kitten from John as he opened the door and got out of the car. Without a backward look, he made his way through the crowd and around the corner to the front doors. Chance couldn’t see him but knew that was where he was headed. Carefully, with the kitten tucked into his chest, Chance got out, locked the car, and followed John inside, realizing as he did so that he would follow him anywhere.
* * *
Not surprisingly, given the size of the line, both shows sold out. John greeted folks at first but ended up hiding in his office toward the end of the night, overwhelmed by the show of love and generosity. Chance thought he’d shed a few tears and didn’t want anyone to see.
Reed was over-the-moon giddy, high on helping his friend and mentor and from being a part of something amazing. The community united and gave John and the NorthStar hope again. Most didn’t merely buy tickets to the show; they donated ten, twenty, even one hundred dollars to help keep the theater afloat.
The building finally emptied out around nine-thirty, Reed giving them a happy wave as he left with Kevin and Angel. His parents still hadn’t come around, although his mother had at least texted to ask where he was.
“I told her I was with friends. I don’t think she deserves any more than that. Merry Christmas; I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Merry Christmas, Reed.”
“Merry Christmas, Chance, good luck!”
“Good luck with what?” John joined them.
Reed blushed and stuttered, “Oh, uh, nothing—look, I gotta go. Kevin and Angel are waiting.”
They watched as Reed rushed down the street to hop into a waiting car.
“You told him, didn’t you?” John asked, though it was really more of a statement. “You told Reed you were honoring a promise to your mother.”
“I did,” Chance confirmed. “I also told him I was doing my best to stay.”
“It’s been two days.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not ready to fall in love.”
Chance shrugged. “I can wait.”
John pulled the doors closed and locked them. Chance followed. Together they shut off the rest of the lights, put the t
rash in the alley, and collected the kitten from the office. John was quiet, and Chance knew he was thinking again about them and what was growing between them. John was a smart man. He knew what they had was real; he just needed a little time to accept it.
“Has anyone told you how irritating and arrogant you are?” John asked as they got into the rental.
Chance let a grin spread across his face. “All the time.”
Chapter Twelve
John unlocked his front door and pushed it open. He was exhausted but also exhilarated. The heady scent of fresh pine wafted to him, reminding him they had a tree to decorate. Even with all the commercialism surrounding the holiday, he loved a fresh-cut tree. It had been two years since he’d decorated; last year he and Rico had been on the outs, although John had been in denial and Rico had demanded they go on a cruise for the holiday instead of staying home.
The ship should have been called a plague ship, as norovirus swept through and many of the crew and passengers fell ill, John and Rico included. Somehow that had ended up being John’s fault.
The kitten took a flying leap out of his hands, landing on the back of the couch where, after being momentarily stuck, it half fell, half climbed down and headed to the pantry, where its food was.
“Let’s get started, then.” Chance rubbed his hands together, heading for the tree.
Together they opened the boxes, then John arranged them in cascading order of how they went on the tree: lights, garland, heavy ornaments, then finally the lightest and most fragile. John didn’t have a theme, but he liked his tree to glow; he loved the gleam and glitter. The Pacific Northwest was dark in the winter. Lights of any kind made it easier to bear.
Chance left the room. John heard him rummaging in the kitchen and talking to the kitten before he returned with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. John recognized them from a friend’s wedding but had no idea where he’d had them stashed away. They stood back and admired their handiwork.
“Is it all right if I open the champagne?” Chance asked.
He grinned. “Yeah.”
Chance put the glasses down so he could pour the bubbly, then handed John his.
“Here’s to not letting a good chance pass you by.” He clinked John’s glass and downed the contents of his own while John stood there with his mouth gaping. “Aren’t you going to drink?” he asked after a moment. “Now I’m going to have to do it again. It’s bad luck not to drink after a toast, you know.”
“How,” John sputtered, “how long have you been waiting to do that? No, wait, how many times have you done that? Please don’t tell me that was your pick-up line?”
“Drink your champagne.”
This time John did. Chance immediately filled it again.
“How about, here’s to grabbing life by the horns?”
They both drank this time, John enjoying the elegant line of Chance’s throat as he swallowed. Yes, he was in deep. No matter how many times he told his heart to knock it off, that he couldn’t know something was real in mere hours, his heart rebelled against logic. His heart wanted Chance body and soul. He knew he could have him too, if he was brave enough.
That morning in the kitchen and then in his bed, it was as if Chance knew every sexual fantasy John had ever had. There was no shame in anything they’d done together. Then when they went looking for a tree, he hadn’t let John settle for an okay one; he’d insisted that John find the one he really wanted. Maybe others would find a Christmas tree a silly thing to focus on, but to John it mattered. Chance listened.
This past evening . . . so much emotion, John was still reeling. He hadn’t had a chance to tally the receipts, but the turnout had been a shock. It still was. Chance and Reed had put out the call that John needed help, something he’d been too proud to do, and because of them John had a little more hope than he’d had yesterday.
“Honestly, I’ve never used that line before. I’ve wanted to since I was about eighteen, but the opportunity was never quite right. It’s all about timing. There’s not much left; shall we kill the bottle?”
John nodded, holding his glass out.
“To the NorthStar,” Chance said. “To friends: old ones and those I haven’t met yet. To taking chances.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
After drinking, Chance carefully put his glass down on the sideboard before doing the same with John’s glass and taking John’s hands in his own.
“I meant what I said about taking life by the horns,” he said. “Both of us are damned lucky to be standing here together today. So much could have happened before we had the good fortune to meet; there was a great deal going against us. Yet here we are. My mother’s wish had a lot to do with it: If I hadn’t promised, I wouldn’t be here. And now that I am here, I don’t want to be anywhere else.” He tapped his chest with his free hand. “In here, I know I’m home. I have a lot to get to know about you and you about me, but that’s merely an extra, added on to the home part.”
Chance was rubbing his thumbs along John’s fingers, possibly a sign he was more nervous than he was letting on. John stared into his impossibly blue eyes, searching for the lie, but he didn’t see it.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
“Please tell me we are not parting ways at the top of the stairs?”
John smiled. “My room.”
* * *
His bedroom was a wreck from the morning and the night before, when he’d tossed his clothes on the floor instead of putting them into his hamper. If he was going to be completely honest, he’d let a lot of things slide in the past few months. Housekeeping was just one of them. Chance had already seen the bedroom, but John said, “I’m not actually an enormous slob. It’s just been a hard couple of days.”
“S’all right. I am an enormous slob.” John jerked around to look at Chance. The man was laughing. “Kidding, kidding. But I am going to add to the pile on the floor.”
Without further warning he proceeded to strip naked, tossing his clothing atop John’s. Smirking, he went and lay on the disheveled covers, waiting for John.
“Do you need an invitation?”
John snapped back to awareness, only slightly embarrassed he’d been ogling instead of getting ready for naked fun times.
Chapter Thirteen
The light in John’s bedroom was brighter this morning. Chance rolled over onto his back, glad he’d finally slept past four a.m. John was curled up on his side and muttered a protest when Chance moved away. Chance scooted over, molding his body along John’s back, humming with pleasure.
Waking up in John’s bed, with his arms wrapped around John’s waist, was what he’d been waiting for his entire life. A wave of emotion threatened Chance; he had to bury his face in the back of John’s neck.
“Mdfefs,” John whispered.
“What?” Chance murmured back.
“Merry Christmas.” Much clearer this time.
“Right, believe it or not I forgot. Merry Christmas.”
John turned onto his back, looking up at Chance with clear eyes. They were much more blue this morning than Chance remembered. “I can’t believe you made me put up a tree and decorate it when we don’t have anything to put under it.”
“Mmmm, is that so?” He stared at John meaningfully, hoping John was imagining the same thing he was.
“Oh.” John’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. “Yes, well, I suppose.”
Chance didn’t try to resist the urge to lean in for a kiss. He wanted to be able to do so every day for the rest of their lives.
Suddenly John sat straight up. “Holy shit!”
Chance sat up as well, heart racing, and looked around. “What’s wrong? Is it the blasted kitten?”
John shoved the covers back and leapt out of bed, naked as the day he was born, to go and peer out the bedroom window. “Holy, just, wow.”
“What?” Chance slipped out of bed to join John at the window.
The world outside was white, and snow was still falling stea
dily and fast.
John turned to Chance. “Maybe three or four times since I was born has there been a white Christmas in Skagit. Maybe.”
Snow had a way of making everything beautiful and quiet. Because it was a holiday, most people who lived on John’s street were still inside, probably tucked into their warm beds, not even realizing the gift Mother Nature had delivered.
He rubbed his arms. He could feel the cold through the windowpane, and the heat was turned down.
“Where is the kitten?”
“I put it back in the pantry last night before we,” John let a small smile play across his face, “came upstairs. And we have got to stop calling it, ‘it.’”
* * *
The second time they got out of bed it was because Chance’s stomach rumbled and they both realized at the same time they hadn’t eaten any dinner the night before. In fact, they hadn’t eaten since before they’d gone tree shopping.
“I make a mean oatmeal?” John said.
“I would eat just about anything right now.”
John threw on a pair of loose cotton pants and a sweatshirt before he headed down to the kitchen. Chance’s spare clothes were in the guest room. He found his bag and picked out a comfortable tracksuit bottom and jumper. Yeah, he looked like a complete wally, but he was warm.
Back in the master bedroom, he gathered up the previous day’s clothes and the rest of the pile to stuff in the hamper, automatically going through pockets as he did so. He’d put far too many pens through the wash. In one of John’s pockets he found an envelope. He didn’t start out intending to snoop, he just unfolded it to see what it was.
The bloody letter from the bank.
Deciding to ask forgiveness later, Chance examined it before folding it carefully back up and tucking it into a paperback on the bedside table. Gathering the hamper, he took it and himself down to the kitchen.
“Where’s the washing machine?” he called out.
