Stockings and Sugarplums (Hearts of Snow Lake)

by Ashton Cade

  Stockings and Sugarplums

  Ashton Cade

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Phineas

  I’m not looking forward to heading out into the cold and snow, but I do have some good motivation to get me out the door.

  “Leaving early?” Paul asks as I close the office door and head toward the coat rack.

  “Yeah, I’m helping with the Nativity scene, remember?”

  My twin’s lips spread into a wide, sly grin. “Oh, right. With Pastor Liam,” he teases, a twinkle in his eye that irritates me for no reason.

  I roll my eyes, shrugging into my coat.

  “I don’t know why you say it like that.”

  Paul grins. “Of course you do. Because every time I’ve seen you talk to Pastor Liam you get weirdly talkative and friendly.”

  “Gee, thanks. Great to know you’ve got such a high opinion of me, bro.”

  Paul huffs. “You know what I mean. You’re just being difficult.”

  He might have me there, but I’ll never say so.

  “You’ve got a crush on him, admit it,” he says, still teasing and smiling. It’s so easy for him, especially now with Alton. He’s all smiles all the time. Always trying to spot other people falling in love or whatever.

  I’m still not sure I trust that fiancé of his, but Paul’s weaseled a truce out of me, so I’m barred from giving any more lectures on the subject. I really hope Alton’s true this time. I hope he doesn’t break my brother’s heart and they can have the happily ever after that Paul’s convinced they’re gonna have.

  I can’t help if I’m a little cynical after all the harm he’s caused, though. Alton broke my brother’s heart a couple of times and I’m supposed to just treat it like water under the bridge?

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, never answering his teasing about Pastor Liam. There’s no way I’m giving him any encouragement.

  Outside, cold air rushes to greet me, snow falling slowly from above, landing on the wreaths and garland decorating the lampposts for the holiday season. It’s only midafternoon, but the sun’s been hiding behind clouds all day, leaving it colder than usual and gray, with the wind sharp as it blows through. I pull my coat tight and hunch against the snow, making my way down Main Street toward the First United Church of Christ.

  Church isn’t really my thing, and I’ve never been here for a service. I know Pastor Liam is a pretty new addition; he got the assignment a few months ago and moved into the parsonage attached to the church, but that’s about all I know of the church and what they do.

  I’m not against religion or anything. I guess if I were pressed I’d say I’m a Christian, but it’s not something I think about a whole lot. Not something that was ever very prominent in our family life. Mom tried for a few years when we were younger, but Dad never cared about going to services—his high school girlfriend cheated on him with a boy she met at church choir and he never stopped being suspicious of the whole thing—and Mom eventually didn’t care to go through the hassle of getting us up, ready, out the door, and quiet for a couple of hours every Sunday all by herself.

  Even though I’m not against it, I feel really out of place just standing outside the building. It’s a sweet little chapel, with a steep angle to the roof, big double doors at the top of the steps, and small Christmas trees flanking the entry. The doors are glass, letting me see into the little entry hall that then leads to the larger sanctuary.

  Nerves flood through me before I even reach for the handle, palms sweaty inside my gloves. I’m pretty sure Paul is right that Liam’s denomination is a progressive one, but that only goes so far when it comes to homosexuality, and I’m well aware of that.

  Luckily, I don’t burst into flames when I walk inside.

  It’s warm and filled with the sounds of people—mostly kids—talking. From the entry I can’t see them, but stepping into the main part of the church, I find Liam directing a whole mob of kids and trying to get them in some semblance of an order.

  “Everyone auditioning for Joseph over here, all my Marys over here,” he calls out.

  “What about the camels?” one of the kids asks.

  “The camels can… Camel’s not a part, you stinker,” he catches on, getting a laugh out of the kids.

  “What about me?” I ask, approaching with my hands in my pockets even though I’m starting to overheat in my coat.

  Liam whirls around, eyes going wide before he breaks into a smile.

  “Phineas! You made it,” he says warmly, that smile just for me. At least that’s how it feels, and it’s enough to send my heart racing.

  “Of course I did,” I say, smirking back. “Think so little of me already that I’m going to bail?”

  His smile grows a fraction. “Not at all. We’re going to be doing our auditions today. Hopefully that won’t be too distracting?”

  I shake my head. “Just hand me a brush and show me what to paint.”

  He beams. “Some of these camels will help you out,” he says, teasing the kid who was giving him a hard time. There are probably twenty to thirty kids here, ages ranging from elementary school to middle school, and Liam’s the only one here to manage them. It looks like a lot of work for one guy, but he seems up to the task. There’s no signs of him being nervous or overwhelmed by the situation.

  “Why don’t you guys start on the barn set? That’s probably the most important,” Liam says, looking over to the haphazard array of set pieces.

  “You got it.”

  “Okay, anyone that doesn’t want a part in the play, go help Mr. Molleni with painting,” Liam says, and a couple of the kids break off from the group to join me.

  I wasn’t expecting babysitting to be a part of this gig, but I guess I’ll find a way to manage.

  “All right, do we all know how to paint?” I ask the three kids in front of me. I’m not good at judging these things, but I’d guess they’re all somewhere between eight and twelve, not little kids, but not quite nearing teens yet either.

  “Seriously?” one of them asks, brow arched, arms folded over his chest. “We’re not babies,” he says disdainfully.

  “Cool, I just wanted to make sure,” I say quickly, before I get on their bad side. Yes, they may be children and a third—fine, let’s be honest, a quarter—of my age, but they still have me outnumbered, and I’m not a big fan of those odds.

  “Looks like Pastor Liam has these drawings of what colors he wants where, so it’s just up to us to paint the right parts the right colors. Easy enough, huh?”

  “Unless you’re a baby,” says one of the other boys, making his friends laugh. I don’t really get the joke, but I’m not sure I’m meant to.

  “Let’s get going then,” I say brightly, laying out the drop cloths, opening up paint cans, doing more supervising than working for the first half hour, but eventually we get to a place where I feel like I can take my eyes off of them.

  …And they immediately go to Liam.

  Paul’s not wrong about my crush on the pastor. How could I not be into him when he’s seemingly got it all? He’s a good guy, nice, with a big heart and a killer smile. He’s not the cool, sophisticated type I normally go for. He’s more open, a little more brash and rough around the edges, but in a wholesome, homey kind of way.

  And he’s hot. There’s no overlooking that. Right now Pastor Liam’s in a
pair of jeans that fit him perfectly, and a flannel shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, tanned forearms.

  “Okay, who wants to be an angel?” he asks, and predictably a few of the younger girls jump up and down, hands waving along with their ooh, ooh, me’s. “Perfect,” Liam says. Apparently that audition is completely done.

  Audition might be a generous term for this process, but it’s cute nonetheless. The kids hang on Liam’s every word, and he’s focused on getting through what needs to happen, but he leaves plenty of room for joking around with them and being silly.

  It’s something I’m not sure I’d have the first idea how to do. With kids running around, losing interest, fighting amongst themselves, he somehow makes sense of the chaos and gets everyone refocused. He’s a grand conductor of this circus, and it’s fascinating to watch.

  Whenever I’m able, I find myself glancing his way, heart racing with a fresh wave of attraction. This is more than the little crush my brother accused me of. I’m not just attracted to Liam. I don’t only think he’s a great guy who I want to spend more time with. There’s more to it. Feelings I have never felt toward any guy, no matter how much I wished I would.

  As crazy as it sounds, Liam’s the total package. I didn’t even believe in this kind of nonsense before him, but I feel like he might be The One.

  Yeah, insane. I know.

  I never bought into that fairy tale, soul mates bullshit before, but there’s this indescribable tug to be nearer to him, to get to know him better, that has never existed for me before. What else could it be?

  Just one little problem with that though: I’m positive Liam’s not gay.

  “All right, everyone ready to hear their parts?” Liam announces after a few more derailments with the kids. I don’t know how he manages to keep his cool with all of them dragging his attention in a dozen different directions, but he’s unflappable. He’s always smiling and laughing with them.

  “Our wise men are going to be Freddy, Ally, and Sam—”

  “What?” one of the boys cries.

  “Got a problem?” Liam asks, his voice harboring a warning.

  The boy scoffs. “She can’t be a wise man,” he says.

  “It’s acting, Freddy. If she’s good enough she can be anything,” Liam says.

  “Yeah, Freddy,” chirps a little girl, Ally I assume.

  “Can I continue?” Liam asks, arching a brow at Freddy, who just mumbles something under his breath.

  “Ella’s going to be Mary, and Bryce is Joseph—”

  “You guys are married,” another girl taunts, making it clear she thinks that’s one of the grossest things she’s ever heard.

  “It’s just pretend,” says another girl, probably Ella.

  Liam barrels on, announcing every part, handing out scripts to the kids, some of the parents already gathering in the pews to collect their children. The kids who are helping me book it the moment their parents appear, without a word spared for me.

  I keep painting while he finishes up with what he’s doing, looking for any excuse to talk with him once there’s an opening.

  Some of the parents approach him about rehearsals, and I leave to wash my brushes out. I’m probably not going to get a chance to talk to him alone. I should probably get out of here instead of lingering around like a weirdo.

  After cleaning all the brushes out, I return to the sanctuary to start picking up the drop cloths.

  “Hey, you’re not hurrying out of here are you?” Liam asks. I look up, then around, realizing he is talking to me.

  “I’m cleaning up first, don’t worry.”

  He makes a face I can’t quite read. There’s no one else here, all the kids are gone, and I figured he’d be glad to be done with all of this for the day.

  “I really appreciate your help,” he says. “There’s no way I could supervise this and all that at the same time.”

  “I don’t know how you managed to handle as much as you did…”

  He smiles. “Practice.”

  There’s a flutter in my stomach at that smile, but I try to force it away. He’s not flirting with me. He’s not even gay.

  “You wanna grab some pizza?” I ask, blurting out the question before I have a chance to think better of it. Why? Why would I torture myself with what I can’t have? This guy is everything I could possibly want all rolled up into one perfect bundle, but he’s off-limits. I should keep my distance instead of letting myself fall for someone who’ll never feel the same way.

  Liam’s taken aback by the question, and I’m sure he’s looking for a way to gently let me down when he smiles and says, “Sure, sounds great.”

  “Really?” The word’s out before I can stop it, and Liam chuckles.

  “Yeah, a guy’s gotta eat. Nero’s?”

  “No other place in town,” I answer with a shrug.

  He nods, still smiling, my stomach still full of butterflies while he’s looking at me with that intensely deep gaze. “Let me grab my coat and lock this place up.”

  Out on the sidewalk the frozen air greets us. The walk to Nero’s is just a couple of blocks away, but it seems ridiculously far in this weather.

  “You’ve got lots of practice with kids, huh?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the cold with conversation. Liam seems quite a bit younger than me, but not too young to have a kid. I think I’d have heard if he has a wife, but the town gossips might not know about an ex-wife.

  He nods, hands in his pockets, scarf thick around his neck. He doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by the cold as I am. Lucky.

  “My position before this one was as a youth pastor. I spent a few years there. It was a great experience. I love working with kids, but I was ready to branch out to something bigger.”

  “And you found Snow Lake,” I snort, shaking my head.

  “And I found Snow Lake,” he agrees, chuckling. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the smallest town I’ve served. And honestly, it seems pretty welcoming and open.”

  “Oh yeah, a lot of openness in Snow Lake. Just be careful who you’re open with if you don’t want the whole town knowing your business,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  “As a man of the cloth, I’m well-acquainted with busybodies and gossips. I know how to keep my business private,” he says, a warmth in his voice that seems to be implying something. But I’m sure I’m just reading too much into it. I don’t exactly have the best gaydar, and the fact that I like this guy seems evidence enough that he couldn’t possibly reciprocate.

  “You’re a step ahead of most transplants then,” I say, opening the door to the restaurant, the warm scents of yeast and marinara hitting me right away. The place isn’t very busy tonight so we have our pick of the tables, and I let Liam pick, already in my head about what message my choice would be sending if it were too dark or too secluded. I’m not trying to make this awkward and force a date.

  To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing here with a guy I’m ridiculously attracted to but have no intention of pursuing. I guess I really am just torturing myself.

  But he’s newish in town, he’s only been here a few months, and I suspect he doesn’t have many friends around here. I certainly don’t, so maybe that’s all this is.

  Even though the voice in my head is encouraging and bright, my gut still sinks at the thought.

  “Oh, hey, they’ve got a Christmas-themed pizza,” Liam says, looking at the specials menu.

  I pluck it from his hand, shoving it to the other side of the table, far, far away.

  “I had the Thanksgiving one. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

  Liam laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Can’t go wrong with a classic cheese pizza if you ask me,” I say, wondering what his church’s position on drinking is.

  “Sounds good. I’m easy to please,” he says, still smiling at me, making my stomach do cartwheels. It’s absurd how fluttery a look from him can make
me feel.

  “I’ll go order. Drink?”

  “Water will be perfect,” he says, giving no clues to the drinking question. It’s enough information for me to place the order though, and that’s what really matters.

  I glance back over to the table while waiting to place our order, and he catches me looking his way and smiles back at me. It feels really flirty, but is that just because I want it to?

  “So, Phineas, are you a Snow Lake native?” he asks once I return with our number.

  “Yep, lived here my whole life.”

  “Ever thought of leaving?” he asks, head tilted slightly.

  I shrug. “Not really. Never felt any need to. Snow Lake’s a great place to live… nine months out of the year,” I add, glaring out the windows.

  “That’s a pretty common sentiment around here,” he says. “Unusual for a small town. A lot of times people can’t say enough about how much they’d rather leave if they could.”

  “That’s sad,” I mutter, shaking my head. “How do you feel about Snow Lake so far?”

  Liam straightens up, pushing his shoulders back like he takes this answer very seriously. “It’s surprised me, to be honest. I wasn’t expecting a lot from what I’d learned before I got here, but this town has a lot more to offer. It’s hard to understand without being here.”

  “I agree,” I say, shoving down the bright spot of hope. Just because he likes this town doesn’t mean he likes me. “What got you into the ministry?” I ask, throat going dry. It’s a touchy subject because I’m not all that clear on his beliefs. What if he says he wants to preach the dangers of sinful living or something? No doubt what that’s code for.

  There’s a reason church has never been a part of my life. Most of the worst comments I’ve ever gotten about my sexuality have come from the most devout churchgoers. I know it’s still a small portion of the population, but why put myself in that situation?