by Josh Lanyon
But they made it safely to the flat, where it turned out Santa and his elves had been very busy. The rooms were fragrant with cooking smells: roasted meat and freshly baked pastries. It was very warm—Colin’s heater must have been cranked to maximum for hours on end to achieve that summery temperature. The small kitchen table was piled with delightfully wrapped parcels of food and gourmet goodies. Bottles of wine and cheese and nuts and…just so much stuff. Bûche de Noël—a buttercream frosted Yule log on a decorative white platter—and a small herb-braised turkey swaddled in tinfoil, sitting in an old-fashioned roasting pan. Where had they come up with a roasted turkey at such short notice?
There was a little Charlie Brown-sized Christmas tree too, sitting in front of the window that looked out over the gray slate roofs and rain-shiny chestnut trees. There were many—too many—gaily wrapped red, green, and silver packages surrounding that tiny tree.
This was Mason’s work, of course, aided and abetted by Thomas, but Colin felt only resignation. His grandfather should not have done all this, and Thomas should not have allowed it, but he understood that the gifts, all of it, were motivated by love. His grandfather was trying to make amends, ironically by doing all the things that had made Colin feel he must put some space between them in the first place.
But…he loved the old man, and seeing how frightened he still was at what he perceived to be Colin’s close call, Colin did his best to reassure and comfort. After all, had he made it back to the States as planned, it would have gone pretty much the same way. So he faked hunger for food he had no appetite for and delight in presents that made him feel overwhelmed and cornered.
Thomas knew. Thomas knew how Colin really felt about this. Thomas knew Colin so well—and yet he didn’t know him at all. Why did that hurt so much? But it did. And every time Colin looked at Thomas—usually to find Thomas watching him with a serious, hard to interpret expression—Colin had to look away. He didn’t know what to do about Thomas, didn’t feel strong enough to sort through his troubled feelings. And Thomas knew that too because he stayed very much in the background, hadn’t kissed Colin, didn’t attempt to touch him except to offer unobtrusive and impersonal help with getting in and out of taxis and climbing stairs.
Colin was grateful for Thomas’s understanding—and it made his heart ache.
After their small but sumptuous feast, his grandfather walked around the tiny apartment, studying Colin’s paintings. Colin was braced to hear any number of concerns and criticisms. The right teachers, the right training might make the necessary difference. Or…Paris was a dangerous place these days, and Colin spent too much time wandering back alleys and lonely streets, sketching the encroaching shadows.
The words he dreaded didn’t come.
When Mason said quietly, “This stay has been good for you, Colin. Good for your painting,” it felt like a huge concession. A corner had been turned, a milestone had been passed.
It almost made up for the fact that things were probably over with Thomas.
At last Mason said it was time for him to leave. Thomas said he would see Mason back to his hotel, helping him on with his coat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, my boy,” Mason said, hugging Colin very tight.
“See you then,” Colin said. He felt Thomas’s gaze and looked his way.
Thomas said, “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
Colin said—and even now it wasn’t easy, “I think I’m just going to go to bed. I’m pretty tired.”
Thomas eyed him thoughtfully. “All right.”
He hadn’t misunderstood, hadn’t missed what Colin was actually saying. He accepted it without argument. Colin wasn’t sure if he was genuinely glad about that or not.
It felt like days later, though it was only a bit before midnight when Colin woke to the sound of knocking at his door. He sat up and snapped on the light.
He knew who it was. Had been expecting this, had in fact been dreaming of the coming confrontation. An awful dream where he and Thomas said awful things to each other.
But dream or reality, it had to be faced. And now was as good as any time. Colin untangled himself from the nest of blankets and pillows, made his way barefoot across the wooden floor.
Thomas had a key, but he always knocked, always gave Colin plenty of warning. It irritated Colin a little, but mostly because he knew in his heart that Thomas was right. If he woke to find someone in his room, he would experience a moment of paralyzing panic before he recognized, realized that it was only Thomas.
Thomas, who made a point of not interfering with Colin’s wandering the streets of Paris at night, was absolutely determined to protect him from a few preventable seconds of terror. Therefore Colin had to suffer the minor annoyance of being dragged out of bed to admit his lover. Which was never really an annoyance. Not even tonight when he was dreading what they would say to each other.
He unlocked the door, opened it, and yes, no surprises. Thomas. Tall, ruggedly handsome in jeans and brown leather jacket, unsmiling.
“I know you’re tired, Col, and I know you’re not feeling well, so we don’t have to talk long. But we do have to talk,” Thomas said.
Colin hung on to the door frame. He really didn’t feel up to this. He didn’t know what he felt, beyond hurt and confusion and disappointment. He knew he didn’t want to deal with it now. Knew he was liable to say things he didn’t mean.
“Thomas—”
“I know you’re hurt. I know you’re angry.”
Colin sighed and turned away from the door. Thomas entered the apartment, closing and locking the door. The heat was fading, and Colin was too cold and in too much pain to try and sit at the table. He went into the bedroom, climbed into bed, and, braced against the pillows and brass headboard, pulled the blankets up around his shoulders.
Thomas did not remove his jacket. He sat down on the foot of the bed. This silent respecting of the new boundaries eased some of Colin’s tension.
“I’m sorry, Col. I misread the situation, and I misjudged you.”
Colin nodded. That was pretty much it. Thomas zeroing in on the heart of the matter so fast it was disconcerting. He had yet to work through what he was feeling, and Thomas was already summarizing.
“I didn’t listen, and I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I apologize. Sincerely. I’m very sorry.”
And he was. That was obvious. There were new lines in his face, and his eyes were shadowy with regret and guilt. He felt bad. Clearly.
So…all better now?
Colin didn’t feel all better. He appreciated the apology. But he still felt…chilled and sick.
Thomas was waiting for him to say something, and he didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t even that he was still mad. The apology defused a lot of the anger. But there was still this big painful emptiness.
He said, “I don’t know. I don’t understand—”
Thomas waited. That was one thing about Thomas. He really did listen. He listened to what you said. He listened to what you didn’t say. That was part of why he was so good at his job.
Colin’s mouth was unexpectedly dry. The words sticking in his throat. “What feels wrong to me is that you think I would do that. That I would give my word and then back out.”
Thomas seemed to think his reply over. “I knew you were worried and nervous about the trip. I did think you might come up with a reason not to go.”
“To back out. To break my word.”
Thomas’s gaze was troubled. “Yes.”
Colin gave a short, humorless laugh. “And that’s why I think this is…not easily fixed. Because you don’t know me. The person you think I am is someone neither of us would like.”
“No. That’s not true.”
“Yes.” Colin’s sense of the injustice of it all swept him up again. “You think that I could break my promises to you. You think I could hurt my grandfather like that.” He stopped. There was probably more, but
that felt insurmountable enough.
Thomas didn’t rush to reassure him either. He continued to regard Colin with that dark, troubled gaze. His face was grave.
“You don’t trust me,” Colin said. That was the full realization hitting him. That was why this hurt so much. Why it felt they probably weren’t going to be able to get past it.
“I do trust you,” Thomas said. But it wasn’t very convincing.
Colin shook his head and stared out the window. Through the glass he could see the moon caught in a net of colored Christmas lights strung through the neighboring chestnut trees. A very old ornament handed down through the generations.
“I do trust you,” Thomas repeated. “But I’m also a realist.”
Colin turned his gaze back to Thomas. “Which means you don’t trust me.”
“No, Colin. It means that I know everyone has their vulnerabilities, their breaking point. And I thought this trip might be difficult for you.”
“Difficult enough that I would break my word and let you and my grandfather down.” Colin’s resentment, his sense of having been wronged was hardening.
Thomas admitted, “Maybe. That’s what this job does, I guess.”
Colin shivered, pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders.
“All right,” Thomas said with sudden crispness. “But I’ll tell you what. I did think you might panic, but not for one second did I consider that a…a deal breaker.”
That surprised Colin. He hadn’t considered this angle. And his surprise must have showed because Thomas said with renewed confidence, “I underestimated you. I judged you unfairly. But it did not for one second change my feelings for you, change my certainty that together we have something worth fighting for.” He added, “That’s the other side of being a realist.”
He smiled with a wry diffidence Colin had only seen once before: the morning Thomas had missed his plane, stayed behind to tell Colin he might be falling in love.
Thomas said, “I know you could screw up because I screw up sometimes. Like the day you phoned.”
And it should work both ways. Right? Couldn’t Colin accept that Thomas might screw up occasionally?
“But that’s a big one,” Colin protested, still feeling aggrieved, wounded. “If you think I’m someone who could let you down like that—”
Thomas moved—the bedsprings squeaked and pinged—closed the distance, wrapped his arms around Colin. Colin told himself he wasn’t sure he wanted to be held, wasn’t sure they had reached that stage of negotiation. But the fact was, it felt better with Thomas’s arms around him; even if they were going to keep arguing, it felt better to argue like this, in the warmth and safety of Thomas’s arms. He could be angry and still find refuge here; that was Thomas’s unspoken promise.
Thomas said against his ear, “Sometimes the age difference frightens me. Sometimes I think you don’t see me like I really am. A middle-aged guy with a job that takes up too much time and too much energy that should rightfully be yours.”
“I don’t think that.”
“And I worry that one day you’re going to wake up and notice that you got the short end of the stick.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I don’t think it all the time.”
“You shouldn’t ever think it.”
“But it could be a little bit of why maybe I was too quick to believe you were backing out on a commitment. Because I wasn’t sure if it was a commitment I had maybe pushed you into making.”
They weren’t just talking about the trip back to the States. Colin said, “I wasn’t backing out. I’m never backing out. I love you, Thomas.” He raised his head, found Thomas’s glinting gaze and repeated, “I love you.”
From across the frosty, chilly distance floated the silvery chimes of Christmas bells.
Bûche de Noël (Yule Log Cake with Coffee Buttercream and Ganache)
This is another really complicated recipe—you have to start a day in advance—but it’s gorgeous. This one comes from Saveur.com.
Ingredients
For the Sponge Cake
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus more for pan
¾ cup cake flour, plus more for pan
⅔ cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar, divided
4 eggs
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting
1 tablespoon dark rum
For the Ganache Icing, Coffee Buttercream Filling, and Finishing
14 ounces 70-percent dark chocolate, finely chopped
1 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons honey
1⅓ cups sugar, divided
6 egg whites, divided
2 teaspoons green food coloring
24 tablespoons (3 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 tablespoon strongly brewed espresso
Cocoa powder, for dusting
Edible gold dust, to garnish (available from nycake.com)
Directions
Make the meringue decorations: Heat oven to 200°F. Place ⅓ cup sugar and 2 egg whites in a bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water; stir mixture until egg whites register 140°F on an instant-read thermometer. Remove bowl from saucepan and beat with a hand mixer on high speed until cooled. Place 1 cup meringue in a bowl, and stir in food coloring; transfer green meringue to a piping bag fitted with a ⅜-inch star tip. Working on a parchment-paper-lined baking sheet, pipe two 1½-inch-wide stars; pipe a 1-inch-wide star on top of each larger star, and then pipe a ½-inch-wide star on top of each middle star to form a three-tiered Christmas tree. Transfer uncolored meringue to a piping bag fitted with a ⅜-inch-round tip; pipe four 1½-inch-wide mounds to resemble mushroom caps, and then pipe four ½-inch-wide x 1½-inch-tall sticks to resemble mushroom stems. Bake meringue shapes until dry and crisp, about 2 hours. Turn off oven and let shapes cool completely in oven.
Make the ganache icing: Place chocolate in a bowl; set aside. Bring cream and honey to a boil in a 2-quart saucepan over medium-high heat; pour over chocolate and let sit for 1 minute. Using a rubber spatula, slowly stir cream and chocolate until smooth and shiny; let cool at room temperature until set and thick, at least 6 hours or overnight.
Make the coffee buttercream filling: Place 1 cup sugar and 4 egg whites in the bowl of a stand mixer and set it over a saucepan of simmering water; stir mixture until egg whites register 140°F on an instant-read thermometer. Remove bowl from saucepan and place on stand mixer fitted with a whisk; beat on high speed until meringue is cooled and forms stiff peaks. Replace whisk with paddle and add butter to meringue; beat until smooth, stir in espresso, and set aside.
Make the sponge cake: Heat oven to 400°F. Grease and flour a 13x18-inch rimmed baking sheet, lined with parchment paper, and set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whisk, beat ⅔ cup sugar and 4 eggs on high speed until mixture falls back in thick ribbons when lifted from the whisk, about 6 minutes; fold in butter and flour. Spread batter into an even layer on bottom of prepared baking sheet and bake until golden-brown on the bottom, about 12 minutes. Place a clean kitchen towel that is larger than the baking sheet on a work surface, and dust it liberally with confectioners’ sugar. Invert cake onto towel; dust with more sugar. Starting with a narrow end of the rectangle, immediately roll cake up into a jelly roll, letting the towel roll inside the cake. Let cool to room temperature.
Make the rum syrup: Bring 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 tablespoon rum, and 1 tablespoon water to a boil in a 1-quart saucepan over high heat; cook until sugar dissolves, and set aside to cool.
Assemble the cake: Once cooled, gently unroll and remove towel from cake. Brush the inside with the rum syrup; allow to soak in for about 2 minutes. Spread buttercream evenly over cake; reroll cake and set the roll seam side down on a serving platter. Slice about 3 inches off one end of the cake roll at a 30° angle; cut the other end to make it flat. Spread the flat end of the angled slice with a little buttercream, and set the slice on top of the cake roll to create a “stump.” Stir ganache until smooth
and, using a small offset spatula, spread ganache over cake, leaving the ends of cake, and cut top of the “stump” exposed. Drag the tines of a fork along the ganache, making markings to resemble bark; refrigerate until chilled.
Decorate the Bûche de Noël: Using ganache as glue, place meringue “caps” on top of “stems” to form mushrooms. Dust cocoa powder lightly over the mushrooms, and sprinkle gold dust lightly over the entire Bûche de Noël. Place meringue mushrooms and Christmas trees decoratively on and around the Bûche de Noël before serving. (There are videos on how to do this properly—I’d watch them if I were you.)
STRANGE FORTUNE: Aleister Grimshaw and Valentine Strange
In the afternoon they had come upon a series of caves in a red-rock canyon. Enormous, unsettling black and red drawings marched down the length of the cave. The creatures depicted there were nothing Strange recognized, not man nor beast. They made the back of his neck crawl.
Aleister was fascinated by the ancient scrawls—delighted, in fact—and had made extensive notes and sketches in his journal.
By the time Strange dragged him away, the sun had begun to slip from the sky. The sky was clear for the first time in days, though everything was still wet from the biting winter rains.
He would have liked to put greater distance between them and those damned caves, but these lands were unfamiliar and he preferred to face the night with his back against the wall and a goodly fire. Plus Aleister had developed a worrying cough. Which was to say, it worried Strange. If one of them fell really ill or was badly injured, there was no help to be had out here on the wrong side of the White Mountains.
No, not true. If Strange fell ill, Aleister would probably be able to do something for him. Aleister was dosing himself with a horrendously unappetizing juice he’d made from poisonous-tasting berries, continuing to blather away about the caves, cheeks flushed and eyes shining fever-bright. His confidence in the future remained as undiminished as it was bewildering.
