Cold Feet (5 page)

“The whole point is keeping each other warm, right?” Sam said as he curled around Ryan—the big spoon to Ryan’s little one.

Ryan didn’t reply, but he took Sam’s arm and wrapped it around his middle. Sam wriggled closer, and his breath caught the short hairs at the nape of Ryan’s neck and made him shiver.

“You still cold?” Sam asked.

“Warming up now.”

Having Sam so close warmed Ryan in more ways than the physical. Emboldened by alcohol and a rush of affection, the words escaped before he had time to think about what he was saying and whether it was a terrible idea. “I wanted to kiss you earlier, you know… under that mistletoe.”

Ryan’s heart raced as he waited for Sam to respond. There was a long pause, and for a moment Ryan wondered if Sam had gone to sleep on him. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

But then Sam finally whispered, “I did too.”

Silence reigned again, broken only by their breathing and the hoot of an owl outside. Ryan’s head was racing. Dare he roll over and kiss Sam now? What would happen if he did? But courage failed him, and the longer he waited, the more afraid he was of the consequences. And so the moment passed.

Ryan’s overexcited heart finally slowed as tiredness and red wine won out over terror and infatuation, but he fell asleep, cursing himself for wasting the perfect chance to make a move.

Sam lay awake for ages, long after Ryan’s breathing became slow and even.

He was reeling from Ryan’s words. Maybe it had been the alcohol talking, but even so. Straight guys didn’t usually go around admitting they wanted to kiss their gay best mates simply because they were a bit pissed. In Sam’s experience, alcohol might loosen the tongue, but it only made you say stuff that was true—and maybe admit stuff you’d normally keep to yourself.

In that moment after Ryan’s admission and Sam’s reply, Sam had been so sure something was about to happen. He could feel the tension between them like a physical force, and he’d been ready and waiting for Ryan to roll over and make the idea of the kiss a reality.

But nothing happened.

Sam knew if anything was going to change their relationship from friends to something more, it had to come from Ryan. Sam had wanted him for so long, but he wasn’t going to push Ryan into doing anything he’d regret. He couldn’t bear the thought of things being uncomfortable between them and the pain of a rejection from Ryan would be too much for Sam to bear. Pining after his unobtainable straight mate was bad enough, but he’d found a way to handle it. He’d survived this long, after all. But fucking up and losing Ryan’s friendship over some sexual experimentation was quite another.

He was dying to know, though. Was Ryan gay? Bi?
Or just curious?
If Sam wanted answers, he needed to ask him.

Maybe he would.

Tomorrow.

Sam thought about bringing it up over breakfast, but Ryan was quite uncommunicative. He’d slept in longer than Sam and finally stumbled down around half past ten when Sam was drinking his second cup of tea.

Ryan grunted something that passed for a greeting and went straight past Sam into the kitchen.

When he emerged with tea and toast, he sat in the armchair rather than in his usual spot next to Sam on the sofa.

“Ugh, my head.” Ryan frowned. “How much of that bloody wine did we drink last night? Did we finish both bottles?”

Sam nodded. “More or less. I think there’s a tiny bit left in one. Feeling it, are you?” He didn’t feel too bad himself. He’d felt a bit dehydrated first thing, but he’d already perked up. He was surprised Ryan appeared to be suffering.

“I hardly even remember going to bed.” Ryan picked up his mug and cupped both hands around it, blowing at the steam that rose from it.

Sam’s heart sank, and a spark of irritation flared and burned. So that was how Ryan was playing it. Sam didn’t believe for a minute that Ryan didn’t remember what he’d said. Sam reckoned he remembered it all too well and was obviously freaking out about it.

“Really?” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You didn’t seem that bad to me.”

Ryan’s face flushed an uncomfortable-looking shade of pink. “Yeah. I don’t know. I was pretty out of it, I think.”

Sam remembered what a gay crisis felt like, and he had some sympathy for Ryan, even though he was a bit pissed off with him for being such a coward. “Lightweight,” he teased, playing along and lifting the mood. He changed the subject. “There’s been more snow overnight, I think. Not loads, but it looks like another inch or so.”

“Blimey. I wonder how long we’re going to be stuck here for.”

“Mum reckoned it was supposed to thaw by Boxing Day,” Sam said. “It’s gonna get warmer then. So we should be able to make it home by the twenty-seventh at the latest.”

They ventured outside in the afternoon.

The snow was crunchy underfoot where it had melted and refrozen, leaving some lethal icy patches on the road. They got off the tarmac as soon as they could and took a path across the fields again. A different loop took them up to the crest of a hill, before dipping back down into the valley where they’d been yesterday. A few sheep wandered on the slopes today, digging through the snow to get to the grass beneath. They raised their heads and watched warily as the boys passed them, shuffling away quickly if they got too close.

“Their eyes are so weird,” Sam said. “They give me the creeps.”

As they got down into the valley, Sam realised it was the same part of the field they’d rolled into yesterday from the opposite direction. He could still see the scars they’d left in the snow, despite the new layer that had fallen overnight.

A bird chirping overhead made Sam look up, trying to spot it, but he was distracted when he caught sight of icicles hanging from the branches, shining like shards of crystal where the sun caught them.

“Look!”

Ryan tilted his head back to see and smiled. “Oh wow, that’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?”

They both stared for a moment, entranced by the rare sight. Living in the south of England, they’d grown up with mostly greyish green Christmases rather than white ones. Even in the colder months of January and February, snow was rare where they lived. Then the bird—a robin—chirped again as it hopped from branch to branch, finally alighting on the same cluster of mistletoe as yesterday, almost exactly over where they stood.

Sam’s stomach flipped, and when he tore his gaze away from the evergreen leaves and strange white berries, he found Ryan staring at him.

There was an odd expression on Ryan’s face. He looked almost fearful. Sam began to turn away, but Ryan’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Sam, d’you remember what I said to you last night?”

Sam nodded, his throat tight. “Thought you couldn’t remember last night, what with all the wine you drank,” he challenged.

“I lied.” Ryan tightened his grip, his thumb digging into Sam’s collarbone through his jacket. “I might have been a bit pissed. But I remember exactly what I said. And I meant it.”

Sam swallowed,
then
raised his chin a little before saying clearly. “Go on, then.”

He wasn’t expecting Ryan to actually
do
anything.

But Ryan did.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss. It was clumsy and a little awkward as their lips snagged where they were dry and chapped from the cold. Ryan was hesitant at first, almost drawing back after the first brush of lips, but Sam brought his hand up and curled it round the back of Ryan’s neck, keeping him there and parting his lips to encourage him. Ryan made a muffled sound of what was probably approval. Whatever it was, it was good enough for Sam and he moved closer, wrapping his other arm around Ryan’s waist. Ryan raised both hands to Sam’s face, cupping his cheeks with gloves that were cold and damp. Sam hardly noticed. He was much too lost in the sweet intensity of the kiss to care.

A series of miaows came from a nearby holly bush, abruptly interrupting their Hallmark moment.

Sam came up for air, noticing with satisfaction that Ryan looked rather dazed.

“What the hell’s that?” Ryan asked.

But Sam didn’t care what was making the noise, kissing was more important. He grabbed the collar of Ryan’s jacket and held him there, leaning back in for more.

But the miaowing came again, louder and more insistent.

Sam cursed silently and tried not to look too sulky as Ryan pulled away and went over to the bush, parting the prickly leaves carefully so he could peer in.

Sam followed, lips tingling and heart still pounding from the kiss.

“Look,” Ryan said.

The pale green eyes were the first thing Sam spotted, and one white paw on an otherwise pure black cat. “There, right in by the trunk. Can you see it?” Ryan asked.

“Just.”

Bloody cockblocker
, Sam thought. Couldn’t it have kept quiet for a few more minutes?

The cat miaowed again and started scrambling towards them through the branches.

Ryan could reach it first, cursing as the spiky leaves caught at his sleeves and gloves, and he scooped the cat—kitten? It was hard to tell, but it had that lanky look of the not quite
fully grown
—into his arms, crooning and stroking it as it scrabbled a little, clearly nervous of its rescuer.

“Shhh, there.
It’s okay
,
I’ve got you
. What are you doing out here? This isn’t a very good place for a cat to be. You should be curled up indoors on a day like today.”

The cat settled, miaowing again, but sounding more conversational than panicked now.

“Oh, you’re gorgeous, aren’t you?”

Ryan tickled it under its chin, and the cat put its head back, purring. Sam glared, trying to push away a ridiculous stab of jealousy towards the cat for taking Ryan’s attention away from him. “What on earth are we going to do with it?” he asked.

“Well, I guess we should try and find its owner.” Ryan turned, scanning around. “Cats don’t usually have huge territories, do they? It must live quite close.”

The cat had no collar to give them a clue.

“The only other house near here is the one up the road from ours.” Sam pointed to the slate roof visible on the horizon. Smoke curled from the chimney, so it was obviously inhabited.

“Well, that’s a good place to start. Even if it doesn’t belong there, if the people who live there are local, they might recognise it.”

They trudged up the hill with the cat nestled comfortably in Ryan’s arms. When Sam glanced across at it, it looked back with its gooseberry eyes and an expression of smug satisfaction.

Sam wanted to ask Ryan about the kiss, what it had meant, whether he wanted more. But Ryan was utterly focused on the cat, still murmuring sweet nothings to it and stroking it as they walked. It was as though the kiss had never happened. Maybe Ryan wished it hadn’t. Maybe he was already regretting his moment of bi-curiosity. Sam’s stomach was churning with nerves as questions and wonderings tumbled around in his head.

Sam knocked on the door of the cottage.

The cat started wriggling in Ryan’s arms and mewing again, but Ryan held onto it. “No you don’t, matey. Hang on while we find out for sure if this is where you live. I don’t want you running off and getting lost again.”

The door finally opened, and an old lady peered out. She was small and frail looking. She frowned with confusion when she took in the two boys on her doorstep, but then the cat miaowed again, loud and insistent, and her face broke out into a smile as she noticed the little creature, scrabbling to escape from Ryan’s firm hold.

“Oh, you brought back Nerys. I was so worried about her!”

Ryan finally released the cat,
who
shot straight inside the house without pausing to greet her delighted owner.

“She’ll be starving.” She chuckled. “Gone straight for the food, she has. Little bugger.”

Sam bit back a chuckle at her language. The swearing was unexpected, coming out of the mouth of this little old lady.

“We found her down at the bottom of the valley over there.” He pointed. “Hiding in a tree. Has she been gone long?”

“I didn’t see her all day yesterday. I think she was out when the snow came the night before. I would have gone to look for her myself, but I can’t risk a fall in the snow, not these days.”

Sam noticed she was leaning on a stick.

“Well I’m glad we found her for you, Mrs…” He paused. “Ma’am.”

“It’s Mrs Evans, love, but you can call me Mari. But what am I thinking, leaving you on the doorstep in this weather? Come in for a minute. Let me make you both a cup of tea. You must be freezing.”

They tried to protest, but she was very insistent.

“No, no, really. I don’t get much company, and I’ve got a yule log that needs eating. I bought it because I was supposed to have company tomorrow for Christmas, but they won’t be coming now.
Such a shame.
Now hurry, and close the door behind you. I’ll go and pop the kettle on.”

She’d already turned and was shuffling off purposefully, leaning on her stick. Sam looked at Ryan, who shrugged and whispered, “You heard the lady, and I don’t think she’s going to take no for an answer.”

Sam sighed, wanting to be alone with Ryan again so he could ask him what—if anything—the kiss meant. “Yeah, okay.”

They went in, toeing out of their trainers and leaving them by the front door.

“Bloody hell,” Ryan hissed. “Look at all her cats!”

A glance around the living room revealed a furry occupant on almost every available surface.
Two shared
space on the sofa while another sat on a rocking chair. A tortoiseshell had an armchair to itself, a Siamese perched sphinx-like on one of the chairs by the dining table, and a giant ginger tom stretched out on the rug in front of the fire.

Following the sounds of an electric kettle and the clattering of crockery, Sam and Ryan went through to a little kitchen at the back, where they found Nerys eating ravenously from one of several bowls on the floor. Yet another cat—a black-and-white one—sat on the kitchen surface eyeing them suspiciously as they entered.

Mrs Evans—Mari—was carefully cutting thick slabs of the delicious-looking yule log onto a willow-pattern plate. Chocolate icing was oozing as she cut into the cake and Sam’s mouth watered at the sight. Meanwhile the kettle came to the boil, filling the kitchen with steam.