by Elle Keaton
John was slightly taller than Chance, but where John was pasty white with boring sand-colored hair that instead of going gray had only faded with time, Chance had warm olive skin and incongruous blue eyes that were currently observing him with what appeared to be amusement.
John felt himself redden, and he hoped the dim lights of the lobby hid his reaction. He hadn’t managed to be subtle at all. On the plus side, it seemed Chance wasn’t thrown off by John’s perusal. Maybe he was gay, or bi? The spark of attraction flared, and John was unable to stomp it out.
He cleared his throat to help get the words out. “The long story is that my ex left a few months ago—which was probably good, except that he emptied all our accounts before he did, along with running up the credit cards in my name.” John shrugged. “It’s my own fault. I have terrible judgment.”
The kitten dug its tiny claws into his skin in response to the movement. John winced, and Chance reached out, reclaiming the beast.
“We’re probably both going to get fleas, or worse. It needs a bath.” John wrinkled his nose.
Chance tucked the little body between his forearm and body again. “With the exception of the bubonic plague, flea bites have never killed anyone.”
A laugh slipped out of John, the sound surprising him. It had been a long time since that had happened. Long before Rico’d left, the laughter and good times had been over. John just hadn’t wanted to admit it. Instead he’d hung on, hoping things would get better, ignoring the increasing signs of Rico’s unhappiness. Instead of letting him go gracefully. He shook his head. Rico was history, and John needed to quit reminding himself of him.
“Anyway, I’m packing up the place. Some dreams, you know,” he waved a hand, “aren’t meant to last. Since you asked, traditionally I’ve run a couple classics over the holiday, but not many people ever come, maybe ten or twenty if I’m lucky. Nobody’ll notice, or care. In fact, I probably won’t open again before the bank takes it back.” He shrugged again. “Sometimes life just isn’t so wonderful.”
“You can’t close down.” Chance sounded indignant.
John frowned. What did this guy know about running a theater . . . or shutting down a dream? “Well, I can’t keep it open, so . . .”
The kitten squirmed and meeped somewhat pathetically, although John thought he spotted a knowing gleam in its eyes.
“This little chap needs some attention. Is there a washroom?”
John motioned to the restroom sign behind Chance. Chance looked over his shoulder and back at John.
“Let’s wash him up a bit and then see if we can find something for him to eat. Is it possible you have something kitten friendly about?”
“I tried giving it some creamer earlier. I don’t know if it will eat that or not.”
“Ah right, you were already in rescue mode, and I interfered.”
John shrugged off the compliment and opened the restroom door. It was obvious the only way to get rid of the guy was to let him make sure the kitten was okay. Once that happened, he would get out of John’s hair. And John could quit thinking about him.
Chapter Four
Chance wondered what John Hall would do if he put the kitten down and kissed him senseless. He surmised, after what the handsome theater owner had shared about his ex, that out-of-the-blue advances might not be welcome. Which was too bad, because Chance thought John was one of the most handsome men he’d ever laid eyes on. It wasn’t so much his physical appearance—although there was nothing wrong with the way the man looked—it was something about his eyes. Chance couldn’t put his finger on what it was about them, but they appealed to him deeply.
He’d arrived in Skagit thinking the trip was a lark, something to appease his mother’s spirit, but even before he’d followed the other man into the lobby, Chance knew it was something more. Maybe it helped to have his mother’s spirit at his side, but there was no doubt in Chance’s mind that he’d met “the one.” Now he just needed to be patient and wait for everything to fall into place. It would, he knew.
But first he needed to help save a theater.
The men’s washroom was an older affair with pedestal sinks and floor-to-ceiling mirrors in gilded frames. It was quite lovely. Chance continued holding the kitten while John filled a basin with warm water. Chance saw John glance at him in the mirror but pretended he hadn’t noticed, though he smiled inside.
“Do you have a bath towel to wrap him in when I’m done here?”
“This is a movie theater, in case you’ve forgotten,” John grumbled. “Let me see if I have anything in my office.”
The kitten, sensing its impending doom, tried to squirm away, but Chance quickly dunked it in the half-full sink before gently scrubbing it with hand soap, loosening the dirt and grime from its fur. It did its best to slash him to pieces but was thwarted by lack of size. It settled for alternately hissing and pathetically mewing.
“An old T-shirt is going to have to do. Hand it here.”
Chance did so.
“Come to Daddy. Did the mean man make you take a bath?” John quickly wrapped the kitten in his shirt, holding it against his chest and rocking it back and forth. The kitten stopped struggling and nestled against him.
“Hey!” Chance protested, smiling. “Way to make me out as the bad guy.”
John grinned. Chance admired the laugh lines around his pale eyes; they were deep and sexy as hell. He wanted to put his lips against each one and then run his tongue along them, memorizing them. He wanted to help him make more. He wanted John to be his.
“You’re the one who dunked him in water. I get to be the hero.” The still-damp kitten shut its eyes and began to purr so loudly it sounded like an idling lorry engine.
“If you were open right now, tonight, what film would you show?” Chance had the thought that John might not be so against opening the theater if he had a bit of help. It was obvious the man needed someone at his back.
John led the way back out into the lobby before he answered.
“Oh, I generally show It’s a Wonderful Life before or on Christmas Eve, and then Christmas Day I do a Die Hard marathon: I show three of them starting around two in the afternoon. By that time people have opened presents and are ready to get out of the house. If they don’t celebrate the holiday, Die Hard is a good one for laughs.”
“Is it too late this evening?”
“What?” John scowled at him.
Chance spun a circle on his heel, taking in the splendor of the lobby: 1930s crimson wallpaper; thick golden rope draped along the wainscoting; beautifully painted ceiling with scenes from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, he supposed, of explorers and trappers traveling westward, possibly Sacagawea or another put-upon American Indian princess doing her best to keep the white men from dying from their own stupidity. The building was a piece of art in itself. It couldn’t be allowed to fall into the hands of a heartless banker.
“Is it too late to show a movie tonight? It seems a shame when you’re here already.”
“Did you see the weather out there? Snow of any kind, even tiny, mushy flakes, means Skagit is buttoned up tight and everyone is in front of their cozy fireplaces drinking hot buttered rum and enjoying their families.”
“Everyone?” Chance arched an eyebrow and pushed all his English upbringing into the single word. What would it take to get John to open the theater for the evening? How hard could Chance push this man he’d only met a few minutes ago? He needed to be careful, but a little voice whispered, Sometimes you need to take risks.
John huffed and rolled his eyes before walking over and twitching aside the curtain cloaking the box office window. From where Chance was standing, he saw the snow was still falling, backlit by the lovely old-fashioned streetlamps he’d noticed when he parked.
There was also a figure huddled against the front doors, typing something into a smartphone.
“Crap on a shingle. Here, hold it.” John handed Chance the kitten and circled around him to open one of t
he lobby doors.
“Reed? Is that you? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, uh, hey, Mr. Hall. I thought you were showing movies tonight.”
Chance could see the young man was shivering as he rubbed his arms and tried to get warm. He was wearing only a light jumper and dungarees with trainers—or whatever the American term was for athletic shoes.
“Well, I’m not.” He pushed the door farther open. “Come inside before you freeze.”
John shut the door behind Reed, muttering something under his breath Chance didn’t quite catch.
The young man shuffled inside. “Thank you, Mr. Hall.”
“I told you to call me John; Mr. Hall is my dead father.”
“My parents say I should call my elders Mr. and Mrs.”
“I’m not going to argue with your parents, but I would really appreciate it if you would call me John.” He turned to Chance. “Chance Allsop, this is Reed Martin. He was my intern this past summer. I’m not exactly sure what he’s doing here . . .”
Reed ignored the question and shook Chance’s kitten-free hand, glancing shyly at Chance before his gaze landed on the sleeping creature.
“Oh, wow, it’s so tiny.” Reed gently stroked the fluffball while John shut and locked the lobby door.
* * *
“I’ve never seen It’s a Wonderful Life,” Chance said (silently adding on the big screen), continuing the conversation they’d been having before young Reed’s arrival. It was important John not break with tradition. The citizens of Skagit would regret the theater closing, and the only way to keep it open was to have customers. Customers couldn’t come if John wouldn’t show a film.
“I’m sure you can find it all over TV tonight at whatever hotel you’re staying at. You are staying at a hotel, right? Who are you, and why are you invading my theater?” John turned to Reed. “And why are you here? Can’t a man have some peace and quiet?”
“Mr. Hall,” Reed started and corrected himself, “John, why are there all these moving boxes here? What’s happening?” Reed’s voice had a panicked tinge.
John threw up his hands in frustration. “Is no one going to answer my questions? You know what? Both of you can go now. Off, off to your little family celebrations. Leave me alone here to finish what I was doing.”
Reed had expressive eyes. They widened at John’s words, then Chance saw them fill with anxiety and fear. He had nowhere to go, or he wouldn’t have come to the NorthStar on a snowy preholiday weekend evening.
“John, I think the young man wouldn’t have come here this late if he’d had another alternative. Be that as it may, I’ve found what I came for. That leaves the kitten. Are you going to make it leave as well? As you pointed out, it’s still snowing.”
“What I need is a little peace and quiet so I can say goodbye to my life’s dream, all right? Is that too much to ask? God damn it.”
John stomped away, heading toward a hallway Chance hadn’t noticed earlier. He took a moment to admire John’s ass, which was encased in a pair of worn work trousers. John kept himself fit; Chance liked that. He turned to Reed. They were going to have to improvise.
“Is there somewhere close and open that might have some kind of cat food and perhaps some supplies? A wee box and the like?”
“There’s a minimart on the next block. I bet it’s still open.”
Chance took out his wallet and removed several twenty-dollar bills, handing them to Reed. “Will this be enough?”
“Um, yeah?”
Chance removed the down jacket he’d bought that morning, handing it to Reed as well. “Wear this. When you return, we’ll try to see if we can get John to show the movie.” He thought for a moment. “On second thought . . . do you think there are people who would come and see the movie tonight?”
“Totally. I can’t believe people haven’t been knocking on the door already. What’s going on?”
“John has run into a spot of trouble and thinks letting the bank close the NorthStar is the only solution. We need to prove him wrong. Is there social media and the like that John or the theater is on?”
Reed, bless him, did not ask any questions. “Facebook, Twitter—at least, I set accounts up this summer.”
“Can you post to the accounts from your phone?”
Reed nodded as he donned Chance’s jacket. “Unless he’s changed the log-ins. But he probably hasn’t.”
“Put out a call for a showtime of nine p.m. Announce it’s free; I’ll pay for all the tickets. It appears John threw out all the snacks.” He handed Reed more money. “Buy all the candy you can carry.”
Chance watched Reed disappear up the street, then shut the lobby door behind him. He had work to do. The kitten readjusted itself in the crook of his arm but stayed soundly asleep. Who knew how long the poor thing had been out on its own.
Much like John, it wasn’t alone any longer.
Chapter Five
John was staying in his office until both Reed and Chance left. Once it was safe, he would sneak back out to the lobby and continue packing. Tomorrow he would attack the storage rooms. For now he would brood and look at the books, check his bank balance. Remind himself that he’d lost everything.
To say he was surprised when there was a tap on the doorjamb was an understatement. He nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Your smashing Christmas Eve business plan is to turn your back on a tiny kitten and a young man who clearly has nowhere else to be tonight—or maybe at all?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Young Reed wouldn’t be here if his family wanted him at home. And the kitten should be self-explanatory.”
“That doesn’t explain you.” John was done with this—wanted to be done with this—and these two, three including the smidge of cat, were making it really difficult for him. He knew Chance was right about Reed. There’d been signals during the summer that Reed’s family was not supportive of him, but John never dreamed they would force him out on the holiday. He didn’t have to use his imagination to know Reed had probably come out or been outed and his family had been less than welcoming. People were fuckers.
Chance smiled at him, and it made John angry. Angry because he responded to it, wanted to bask in it, and he’d only met the man an hour ago. He checked his watch. Yes, it had been under an hour since they’d brought the kitten in from the alley.
“I told you I came here to find something, and I have.”
“So you can go now. See ya, buh-bye.” He made a waving motion with his hands.
Chance kept smiling and watching him, his eyes bright pools framed by eyelashes long enough to touch his cheeks. It really wasn’t fair. John felt exposed, like the man was seeing things John normally kept hidden away, secret dreams and heart’s desires. Things that were supposed to have happened with Rico or David or any other of the boyfriends John had had over his lifetime. It was too late now; he was a bitter, washed-up, nearly forty-eight-year-old man. He had nothing to look forward to but nappy sweater vests and PBS reruns.
Chance’s voice cut through his self-pity. “Over forty years ago a man came here, to Skagit, and decided on a whim to go to the movies. He’d missed his bus or it had broken down—the story changed over the years.”
He paused. John said, “If he left something in the lost and found, it’s long gone. And I’ve only owned the place for a decade anyway.”
“I’ll skip to the end.” Chance continued speaking, and John found himself wishing he wouldn’t, because he could listen to that voice all day and all night—something he couldn’t let himself wish for. “The man was my late father, and he met my mother here. Here at this theater. A month later they were off to England, where they lived happily ever after—and had me, of course.”
“That’s a nice story. Why are you telling me?”
“You asked why I was here, and I’m not done telling you yet.” Chance moved farther into the small office and all the available oxygen seemed to vanish, leaving John breathless. “My
mum passed a few months ago—nearly a year, actually—and she made me promise her on her deathbed that I would come here too. She worried that I would spend the rest of my life alone, or at least without a partner, and she believed that the NorthStar would be magic for me as it had been for her and my father.
“I didn’t believe her, but I promised I would come. It took me a while to get the estate settled, and even after that was done, I resisted. I finally booked my flight last week, thinking travel abroad would be a good distraction from the holidays. As soon as I saw you on your knees in the snow trying to entice something from underneath the bin, I knew Mum had been right to make me promise.”
“I think you lost your marbles somewhere along the way. Does your keeper know you’ve escaped?” John stood, intending to push Chance out of the doorway and lead him to the front walk where he could get in his car and drive away. Presuming he had a car.
John wobbled, momentarily lightheaded, and a look of concern crossed Chance’s face. He put a steadying hand on John’s shoulder. Chance’s palm was large and comforting and, even with a thermal shirt between them, almost scorching.
“May I?” Chance asked. John nodded, although later he couldn’t have said what he was agreeing to, not really.
Lips softer than he’d imagined pressed against his own. It had been so long since he’d been kissed that John had forgotten how much he enjoyed it, how much he craved the sensual touch of another man. The errant thought Not just any man: this man crossed his mind, but he shook it off.
Chance deepened the kiss and put a hand on John’s waist, pulling him closer. They each had a day’s growth of whiskers, which caught against each other, tangling suggestively before loosening and releasing as they kissed. For a moment, John forgot everything and let himself enjoy the contact.
A loud knock from the lobby followed by the front doors rattling brought him to his senses. John jerked away, shocked he’d allowed a complete stranger to kiss him, this compelling complete stranger. And not just kiss him, but kiss him well enough that he’d momentarily forgotten his own name. He discreetly wiped his mouth, pretending to himself his fingertips didn’t linger against his lips longer than necessary.