“Sometimes up north,” Karen said, “but here in Glasgow it’s usually a wet Christmas, so you and Simon both got lucky.”
“Brrrrrr.” Garen set down his shopping bags, then hurried over to the fake fireplace and held his hands in front of it. His sister joined him, shivering and rubbing her palms together.
Nikolaj and Simon exchanged a they’re-so-weird look, then Simon said, “A wet Christmas would’ve felt more like home. Home like Liverpool, I mean. Not like Greece.”
His parents had already texted him several photos of themselves and his three grandparents on the beach near Lindos, where it wasn’t warm enough to sunbathe but still fair enough to stroll in the sun. Seeing their happiness had confirmed to him he’d done the right thing by convincing them to go.
As Karen and Nikolaj went to set up the drinks in the kitchen, Garen started his “Christmas Bangerz” playlist, then bopped over to Simon in time with the bouncy beat of the first song.
He gasped when he saw the gingerbread house. “It looks amazing!”
“It’s not much different than when you left,” Simon pointed out.
“I know, but there’s something about leaving and coming home again that makes it that much more striking.”
They took a dozen or so selfies with the gingerbread house, as Simon doubted it would survive the party intact.
Half an hour later, their friends began to arrive, each adding to the cornucopia of refreshments. Soon Garen’s playlist could barely be heard over the din of merrymaking. For once, Simon didn’t want to retreat to a quiet room during a gathering.
He did, however, park himself on one of the couches, as it was the only way to ensure his stamina would last.
“I feel like I’m defying my own mortality,” Gillian said as she approached the sofa, ready to bite into the gingerbread headstone with her name on it.
“I telt ya!” Sitting beside Simon, Garen nudged his shoulder. “Did I not tell you?”
“Did Garen ask you to say that?” Simon asked Gillian.
“Yeah, but I would’ve thought of it anyway.” Gillian took a bite of the headstone. “Mmm, my death is delicious.”
“Finally we agree on something,” said Luca as he approached behind her, his dark hair still snow-dappled. He held up a bag of what was likely booze, based on the clinking sound it made. “Garen, show me where to set these?”
“There’s a sign on the wall next to the coat rack,” Simon said, “explaining where to put everything.” He’d made it himself.
“Besides, you know where we always—” Garen’s eyes widened suddenly. “Oh! Yeah, I’ll show you.” He jumped up from the couch and ushered Luca out the living room door, their heads bent together in conference.
“Do you know what that’s all about?” Simon asked Gillian.
“Yup, but I’m not allowed to say. Everyone will know in a few minutes.” She picked up her wine glass from the side table and sat beside Simon. “Now what’s this delicious drink called? Garen said you made it.”
“It’s krasomelo,” Simon said. “Greek mulled wine—it’s sweeter than the kind most people make here, because of the honey.” He held up a hand. “That stuff stains, like, everything, so mind your clothes.”
Gillian peered at the front of her jumper. “Good job I’m wearing red. Mostly, anyway.” She dabbed at one of the jumper’s green sparkly horizontal stripes.
Simon saw Heather Wek from the curling club enter the hallway from the front door, accompanied by John Burns and a very tall ginger man. They stopped to read Simon’s helpful sign. Heather heeded the instructions and continued down the hall, but when John spied Simon, he grabbed his partner’s hand and pulled him into the living room.
“Congratulations in person!” John shouted over the Christmas carols. When he reached the sofa, he swiftly introduced Simon and Gillian to his husband, Fergus. “Gillian was one of the main forces behind the Jingle Bell Rocks event, and Simon…” John swept his arm in a dramatic arc. “Simon is New Shores’ brand-new acquisition.”
“Whaaaaat?” Gillian said. “Since when?”
“Since yesterday.” Simon shared a warm handshake with John and Fergus. “Thanks for making it happen, John.”
“You made it happen,” John said, even as he puffed out his chest with pride. “I merely made the intros. I still cannae believe we pinched someone of your caliber.”
“Congratulations,” Fergus said, removing an impeccable black wool coat that Simon immediately coveted. “What’s the new job?”
“Sort of a Chief Information Officer,” Simon said. “New Shores needs a bit of an overhaul of their information systems and website.”
“‘A bit’?” John put both hands to his heart. “We’re a fucking car crash. We need to make it easier for asylum seekers and refugees to access the forms they need online. Too many people have had their housing and legal assistance delayed due to our ancient system, which was cobbled together by well-meaning technophobes.”
“Congrats,” Gillian told Simon. “Didn’t you work for a giant bank or something?”
“I did.” Simon knew what she was really asking: How will you afford to work for a non-profit? He’d lain awake asking himself the same question.
But he’d worked out the figures, and with his new salary Simon could still pay for living expenses, though he’d no longer be able to squirrel away thousands of pounds a year in “disaster savings.” The thought made him nervous, but his parents had assured him their own financial security was sorted, that they’d worked hard all their lives so he could afford to find a truly fulfilling job—“within reason, of course,” his mum had said.
“So what inspired you to make such a drastic change?” Gillian asked. “Was it your illness?”
“Kind of.” Simon took a moment to find the right words. “I wanted to do something to help people who feel helpless. Because now I know what it’s like to be helpless—and what it’s like to be helped.”
“Aww.” Gillian patted his hand. “I wish you didn’t have to know.”
“It’s okay—I mean, not okay, but I wanted something good to come out of my ordeal.” He gestured to Garen, who had just reentered the room. “Apart from getting this one to wait on me hand and foot.”
“Hah! As if you’d ever let me do that.” Garen greeted John and Fergus. “Coats go in my room at the end of the hall, food and drink are in the kitchen, and sweets are on the dining table over there.”
“I know, I read the sign.” John pulled off his blue puffy coat. “Glad to see Fergus isnae the only one who writes overly specific edicts for party guests.”
“Simon made it,” Garen said.
Fergus gave Simon an approving nod. “Pro tip? Laminate the instruction sheet so you can reuse it.”
“Ta!” Simon called after him as Fergus and John moved toward the door.
Garen sat beside him again, handing him a fresh glass of seltzer. “Gillian, your brother needs you in the bathroom.”
“That’s a sentence I’ve not heard in about twenty-five years,” she said as she got up, “but I think I know what this is about.”
“So what’s the big secret?” Simon asked Garen.
“You’ll see.” Garen looked him up and down as he sipped his krasomelo.
“I feel pure sound,” Simon said, trying not to seem irritated.
“It’s not that.” Garen tugged Simon’s collar. “Have I mentioned in the last hour that I’m proud of you for taking that job?”
“Thank you.”
“I love a man who follows his principles, especially in these troubled times.” He tapped the jingle bell at the end of his Santa hat. “Also, it would’ve been awkward if we’d watched A Christmas Carol tomorrow with you working for a modern-day Ebenezer Scrooge.”
“Which version of A Christmas Carol will we be watching?”
“I’m thinking, in order, Finney, Scott, Muppets, Murray, Stewart.” Garen counted off on his fingers. “What are your thoughts?”
Simon ga
ped at him, then realized Garen was joking. “I predict I’ll be very tired tomorrow.”
“Fine, fine, we’ll do one classic Christmas Carol—which will be your choice—and one modern, which will be the Muppets’.” He looked past Simon at the living room door. “Ooh, it’s time.” Garen pulled out his phone and used the wireless sound system’s app to change songs.
A flourish of trumpets came from the speakers. Gillian swept in from the hallway, with the regal posture of an awards presenter. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said in a posh accent, “it is my honor, as the senior member of the Riley clan currently residing on this great island, to announce the union of—”
“Oi!” Luca rushed in, tugging Oliver by the hand. “Gill, you’re meant to introduce us, not spill the secret yourself.”
Gillian dropped her hands. “I wanted to rehearse this, but no, you said we should—”
“Hey, everyone.” Oliver raised his voice over Luca and Gillian’s bickering. “We’re getting married!”
As the other guests cheered and rushed forward for hugs and backslaps, Garen let out a huge breath and sank into the back of the couch. “Thank God I don’t have to keep that secret anymore.” As the vaguely ceremonial song ended, Garen switched the sound system back to Christmas music using his phone app. “I’ve known for weeks they were gonnae ask each other. Aren’t you impressed I didn’t tell you?”
“Actually, I am. Well done, you.” Simon looked around the room and realized that apart from two work pals, nearly all of Garen’s closest friends came from the curling club. It really was like a family. They’d made Simon feel more welcome than anyone else in this city, even his (now former) coworkers. Despite his general distaste for parties, he found that having these people in his flat didn’t feel like an invasion at all. In fact, they made it feel more like home than ever.
When the next song began, Garen and Luca let out simultaneous yelps.
“Uh-oh,” Oliver said. “Brace yourselves.” He came over to the couch as Garen leapt up to join his former flatmate in the center of the room.
“What are they…” Simon trailed off as Garen and Luca began to sing alone with Run-DMC’s “Christmas in Hollis,” each taking one rapper’s part.
“It’s a thing with them.” Oliver sat beside Simon. “Your ears have not lived until they’ve heard two Glaswegian white boys cover East Coast eighties rap. Also, they have a dance.”
Simon watched the painfully hilarious spectacle in disbelief. “Those two are a pair.”
“I used to be jealous of the bond between them,” Oliver said, trying to rub congratulatory lipstick off his cheek, with little success. “But now I’m just jealous I’ve never had a friendship like theirs. It’s their chemistry that makes them such a great curling team, after all.”
“Here, let me get that for you.” Simon pulled out a tissue, dipped a corner in what was left of his seltzer, and started working on the lipstick stain. “Garen worries he’s letting Team Riley down. He’s thinking of quitting in order to save you.”
“I know.” Oliver squinted at the pressure on his cheek. “Luca and I need to convince him that no matter what happens, we’ve got his back and we want him to stay on the team.”
“Is that true? I think I got all the lipstick, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Oliver took the tissue and used the dry end to blot his face. “Of course it’s true. Every curler goes through rough patches sooner or later. Garen’s always been immune to it somehow. The fact that he’s struggling now just means he’s finally joined the club of neurotic curlers—which is all of us.”
Simon considered this. If curling was a sport for neurotics, maybe he should give it another go sometime.
Later, after all the guests had left and the food was put away, Karen took Nikolaj out to do last-minute Christmas shopping and show him her favorite pubs, proclaiming they would be home “very late or very early, whichever comes last.”
Garen dragged the love seat in front of the fake fireplace—promising Simon he’d fix the scuff marks on the floor in the morning—and changed the holiday playlist to a more romantic one, suggestively titled “Down My Chimney.”
Simon sat on the love seat and opened a heady red dessert wine he’d bought on his way home from yesterday’s job interview. Then he slid his phone over to the base of the fireplace, playing campfire noises on its white-noise app.
“Nice touch.” Garen sat close beside him. “Trade you one of these for a glass of that.” He held out Simon’s headstone biscuit on a reindeer plate.
Simon took the plate and handed Garen his wine.
Garen raised his glass. “To our first Christmas together.”
Simon clinked and sipped, then said, “To our second Christmas together, when we’ll have a perfect artificial tree.”
“As I said, I’m totally willing to have two. Perhaps on Half Christmas.”
Simon coughed on his wine. “Sorry—Half Christmas?”
“The twenty-fifth of June.”
“You’re having me on.”
“Aye, I’m only messing.” Garen glanced away as he took a sip of wine. “One tree is plenty for Half Christmas.”
“Bloody hell…”
“You know, this wine is absolutely luscious. It’s a dessert in itself.”
“But we still need to eat these.” Simon held up his headstone. “For good luck, right?”
“Good luck and long life.”
They tapped their biscuits together in a toast. Simon took a bite, then smiled with pride. His weeklong experiment with gingerbread dough had produced a biscuit with just the right amount of crunch. And forever more, the taste of icing would remind him of Garen’s skin.
Long or short, Simon could imagine a life with Garen. It would be as messy as the man himself, and they’d both need to open their minds to accommodate each other’s way of doing things. But if their minds occasionally got stuck, fettered by long-ago events beyond their memories, they’d be okay, as long as they forgave each other and loved without fear.
In that spirit, Simon risked a bit of honesty as he looped his arm over Garen’s shoulders. “I’m too knackered tonight to do anything but sit here.”
“That’s all I want.” Garen snuggled in closer, bringing a deeper warmth than even a real fireplace could have done. “To quote the strongest man I know: ‘I just like being with you, and I don’t want it to stop.’”
Thanks for reading!
I hope you enjoyed reading my first Christmas romance as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The Glasgow Lads on Ice series crosses over with the original Glasgow Lads football/soccer books in terms of both timeline and characters. In fact, John Burns from the New Shores charity has his own novel, Playing for Keeps!
If you enjoyed this book, please consider introducing the Lads to others—online, offline, or anywhere in between. Thanks.
Review Must Love Christmas on Amazon
Review Must Love Christmas on Goodreads
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Glasgow Lads series
Each stand-alone novel features a new couple, with prominent appearances by other characters we’ve come to know and love.
Play On, Duncan & Brodie novella
Playing for Keeps*, Fergus & John novel
Playing to Win*, Colin & Lord Andrew novel
Play It Safe*, Fergus & John short story
Playing with Fire*, Liam & Robert novel
Play Dead, Colin & Andrew novella
Playing in the Dark, Evan & Ben novel
Play Hard, Liam & Robert novella
Playing by Ear, Jamie & Peregrine novel, coming 2
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*included in Glasgow Lads: Books 1-3 box set - almost half off the price of buying all four titles individually!
Glasgow Lads on Ice (spinoff series featuring curling)
Throwing Stones: Luca & Oliver novel
Must Love Christmas, Garen & Simon novel
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Author’s note: Guillain-Barré syndrome
Like Simon, I had the very rare Guillain-Barré (ghee-YON ba-RAY) syndrome when I was three. Like him, I barely remember being sick but I remember well the recovery and subsequent coordination issues (I am also very bad at any sport more complicated than running in a straight line).
Unlike Simon—as I cross all fingers and toes before typing the rest of this sentence—I’ve never had it as an adult. The specter of a recurrence haunts the back of my mind whenever I’m recovering from a virus, because someone who’s had GBS once is much more likely to develop it again than someone who’s never had it.
So I try really hard never to get sick, and I deal with my fears the same way every other author does: I write books about them!
What is Guillain-Barré syndrome? The most common subtype, which affected Simon, is called (takes deep breath) acute inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy. Basically, the immune system gets confused and starts attacking parts of the nervous system—specifically, the myelin sheath of the peripheral nerves, i.e., those outside of the brain and spinal cord. With the myelin sheath eaten away, signals can’t easily travel between the brain and the extremities such as feet or hands. The result is tingling, numbness, and eventually paralysis.
GBS usually occurs after an infection or some other challenge to the immune system such as surgery or a flu vaccine (though nowadays the flu itself is more of a risk factor for GBS than its vaccines are).
Must Love Christmas (Glasgow Lads on Ice) Page 28
