Christmas Delights 3 (34 page)

“I’m sorry.” Rhys gave Liam’s hand a squeezed. “Do you still
want to look at shirts?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Might as well.” Liam grabbed a couple
sweatshirts and tossed them in his cart when he perked up. “Oh, so I can’t
believe I forgot to tell you.”

“What?”

“I got a fifty dollar store gift card since I was caught in
a fight and pushed into the Matterhorn of pots,” he said as he smiled.

“Lucky! I wish someone would have hit me!”

Liam tossed one more shirt in the cart and then stole a kiss
from Rhys when no one was looking. “So is there anything else you wanted to
look at here?”

Rhys shook his head. “No, let’s go pay.” Rhys started to
walk to the back of the store but when Liam didn’t follow he stopped and turned
to him. “Are you coming?”

“Aren’t you going to the check out?” Liam pointed to the
front of the store.

Rhys pulled a face. “The line actually starts in the back
and wraps around the store.”

Liam lowered his eyes to the floor.

“What?”

“Just trying to decide if the floor is too dirty to collapse
onto and cry. It is.”

Rhys laughed and led Liam to the line. After fifteen minutes
though, they were back outside where they walked to the car.”See, the line
wasn’t that bad.”

“Compared to being hit and tackled? No, not bad at all.”

“You weren’t tackled…”

“You don’t know that, you weren’t there!” Liam said with a
grin as they struggled to push their shopping carts across the snow-covered
parking lot.

“So where do we go next?” Liam asked once he was buckled up
and the heat was blasting from the vents.

“Honestly, this was the only place I wanted to go,” Rhys
said as he turned to face Liam in the dark car.

Liam glanced at the green clock that shone from the
dashboard. “But it’s only one thirty. Shouldn’t Black Friday just be getting
started?”

“I love Black Friday, but I’m not one of these out all night
shoppers. I usually go home after one store, sleep for a few hours, and then go
a few other places the next day to see if they have anything left.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I mean, if you want to keep shopping…”

“No!” Liam blurted out and they both laughed.

“Let’s go home and get you some Tylenol for that eye,” Rhys
said as he backed the car out of the spot.

“Where’s the rest of your family?” Liam asked when Rhys
pulled his car in the driveway.

“I’m not an all-night shopper. They are.” Rhys explained as
he turned the car off.

“So did you need some help getting this stuff in before I
head back home?” Liam asked as he climbed out of the car.

“Home is two hours away, you aren’t driving back tonight.”

“I can’t sleep here with you,” Liam said in a hushed voice

Rhys rolled his eyes. “It’s not nineteen sixty-six. Yes, you
can. But if you really aren’t comfortable doing it, you can sleep in the guest
room.”

Liam shrugged. “Okay.”

“Well, it used to be the guest room,” Rhys said as he
unlocked the front door. “But turns out we never had any guests, so it got
turned into the cat room. But they’ll probably share the bed.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “I guess I’ll sleep in your room
then…”

“Excellent!”

Liam chuckled. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You
probably don’t even have any cats, do you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re implying,” Rhys said as
he led Liam upstairs.

A few minutes later they were in bed, Rhys in his pajamas
and Liam in a pair of borrowed sweat pants. Across the room, the TV was
illuminating the shadows with a Yule log that flickered across the screen. “So
we’ll get up at eight and then go get breakfast and hit a few more shops to see
what kind of left over sales they have going on,” Rhys said.  Liam looked up at
the ceiling while Rhys looked at him, lying on his side. “I love your
enthusiasm for the holiday,” Liam said.  Out of the corner of his eye he could
see the red from the light of the miniature Christmas tree on the night stand.
“It brings back some of the magic that the holidays lose over the years. When
you stop believing in Santa and elves and everything…Christmas is more just a
day now, compared to when we were younger.”

“The thing is,” Rhys began, sounding nervous.

“Yeah?”

He sighed. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but…the thing is…I think
on some level, I do believe in Santa. Like…not that he has a workshop in the
North Pole – but maybe he does, I don’t know. But somewhere, deep in my heart,
I do believe that Santa exists somewhere in the world.”

Liam rolled over to look into Rhys’ eyes.

“I’m really not crazy,” Rhys said as he forced a smile.

“I think I believe too. Now.” Liam said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Liam nodded. “I can see the Christmas spirit when I
look in your eyes. I never realized that’s what it was, but since I met you
there’s always been something in your eyes that sparkles, that I’ve never seen
before. But yeah, that’s what it is. I’m sure of it.”

Liam continued to look into Rhys’ eyes until Rhys moved
forward and gently kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Liam said.

“Good night,” Rhys pulled the flannel sheets up to his chin.

“Merry Christmas,” Liam said before rolling over to watch
the Yule log until he fell asleep.

THE END

John Wiley

Bio: John lives in Ohio where he
forces his cats to watch Christmas movies with him all year. So far he has one
published book, Rooftops, available at amazon.com.

Email
[email protected]

Twitter
www.twitter.com/heckyesitsjohn

Facebook
www.facebook.com/heckyesitsjohn

Other Published works:

Rooftops by John Wiley, published by
CreateSpace

Rex pulled the door open in answer to the gentle knock.  On
the street, a horse and cart rumbled by over the cobblestones.  On the steps of
the saggy mansion stood an unassuming man, rather short, with neatly combed,
straight hair the color of straw.  He had large eyes that were neither blue nor
gray but a bit of each, and he wore faded jeans and a flannel shirt that was
much too big for him with frayed cuffs.

"I'm here for the repairs?" he said, raising his
brows.  He had a tentative look about him, and not in the least a workman's
build. His shoes showed scuff marks, though.

"You are?"  Rex surveyed him skeptically.  This
short man didn't look like he could shift a sofa without help, much less help
repair a mansion that was practically falling down around one's ears.

"Yes, from Mason and Sons?"  He fished out a card
and presented it.  A hint of red was creeping up his face, and he shuffled a
bit in place. 

"You're—"

"I'm a magician," he said, almost apologetically. 
"You wanted a bit of extra care taken with the moldings, and I'm here for
that.  My brother and father will be by to help with the more heavy duty things
after a bit."

"But I need the building secure before I worry about
the design of it." He sighed.  "All right, you may as well come
in."  He held the door open reluctantly.

"They're busy with another job.  Thank you."  The
nearly-blond, not-quite-blue eyed man stepped over the threshold gingerly.  He
even walked delicately.  Rex decided not to read anything into it. 

Rex had always been attracted to a slightly-built type of
man, even though he had more than one friend who'd made it clear they thought
he shouldn't want anyone but beefy types.  "If you want to date someone
delicate and pretty, just date a woman!" one of his friends had crassly
put it.  Rex hated trying to make excuses for his body type preferences, and
wished his friends would be a little less judgmental.

At any rate, this nearly-blond magician was far from
unattractive to him.  But this was business, and he needed to settle on getting
the mansion ready for the Christmas ball his family was hosting in a few short
months.  They wanted to have it in this city, and he'd been the one assigned to
go and find a suitable venue.  In the end, most of the good places near here
were booked, and it appeared to be cheaper to buy this faded, sagging mansion
and do it up than it was to rent.  If all went well, he could sell it
afterwards and make a profit. 

It had been a snap decision, and he hoped not a bad one:
he'd invested a good deal of capital into it, so he needed to make this work. 
And he was supposed to have workmen helping him round the clock…

Mason and Sons was one of the best, according to his
research, but he was far from happy with them so far.  What were they thinking,
only sending a magician?  He needed help making the building safe before he
could worry about the moldings.

"What's your name?" he asked the nearly-blond
magician.

"Gene Mason," was the soft reply.  A beam of light
cut through one of the dusty windows, lighting up his soft-looking hair, making
it look paler.  Dust motes danced in the air above him, and he stood very
still, just past the door, staring up at the huge ceiling, the dusty chandelier
and the tall winding staircase. 

Rubble, bits of brick and plaster, and naked, aged wood
decorated the dramatic architecture now, but when he'd first seen it, Rex had
felt like he could see how it had been, and how it would once be again, a
beautiful, happy, elegant mansion.

Standing here, watching Gene stare at the house, he had the
sudden feeling that this man could see it just as he had.  It gave him an
unexpectedly warm feeling inside.  He shoved the feeling down and moved
forward, interrupting the moment.  Best to stay on an all-business footing as
much as possible.  Even if Gene was his type—although not at all neatly
dressed—he didn't need any distractions right now.  Rex cleared his throat. 
"Ahem.  Why don't you take a look at the moldings, and I'll get back to
what I was doing?  Shout if you need anything."

Gene turned a distracted expression on him and nodded.  He
looked overwhelmed and a bit lost.  "It's a very big house.  I usually
handle smaller details."

"You'll do fine," said Rex gruffly, and then
wondered why he'd felt the need to reassure the man.  After all, he didn't know
if Gene was either a skilled magician or a skilled workman.  But Gene looked so
very lost for a moment that he'd had to say something.

The nearly-blond man shook his head, snapping out of it. 
"Of course.  I'll get right to work."  He moved away, his shoulders
slightly hunched, his steps quick.

Rex watched him for a moment, then hurried away to get back
to his own work.  He'd been trying to replace a decorative pillar, but it was
difficult without enough extra hands to help.  This early in the day, the
laborers he'd hired weren't even here yet; he hated waiting around for others,
and had started extra early that morning to try to get a head start.  He stared
at the column like it was his nemesis, planted his hands on his hips, and moved
forward.  He probably should wait, but a decorative column wasn't about to
defeat him.  No sir.

He braced his shoulders again and shifted it slightly, a
long wooden prop in one hand ready to shove in to place.  A loud cracking,
ominous crumbling sound started up overhead.  Plaster and bits of wood rained
down on him.  He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught, spitting out
bits of the dry, foul-tasting architecture.

"Watch out!" cried Gene, rushing forward. 

Rex felt a quick rush like wind, and his skin prickled
harshly, and abruptly the ominous creaking and the crumbling stopped.  He
opened his eyes and stared in shock through the dust at Gene Mason.

Gene stood there, his face pale and his eyes huge, holding
his hands up over his head as if he was Samson keeping up the weight of a
building.  Absolutely nothing shifted.  When Rex looked up, he saw pieces of
plaster suspended in midair.  They stared at one another for a moment. 

Gene's arms wobbled.  He bit his lip.  "Perhaps you
could put it back and move out of the way," he suggested in a
nearly-steady voice.

"Um.  Yes.  Sorry.  I thought I could handle it
alone."

He eased the column back and stepped away.  Gene let his
arms drop to his sides, and the rest of the rubble and dust fell.  The ceiling
creaked ominously, and then settled. 

They stared at one another.  Gene looked even more shaken
than Rex felt.  "Please don't do anything like that while it's just me
here.  I'm not sure I have enough magic to protect you."  He said that
like it was a shameful thing, as if he should've been able to do much more.

"You did amazingly," said Rex.  "But you're
right.  I'll wait till the workmen get here.  Come on, the kitchen is more or
less working.  Let's have a cup of coffee while we wait."

Gene nodded.  "I could use it."  He ran a hand
back through his hair, disarraying it and knocking bits of plaster and dust
free.  He coughed a little and waved his hand in front of his face as he
followed Rex to the kitchen.

Here it was safe and neat, if not exactly furnished.  The
walls had been stripped of the old, unsafe wallpaper with its dangerous
chemicals to get the coloring, but not yet re-papered or painted.  They looked
bare and uncomfortable.