***
It’s the cold that wakes me, and I open my eyes to the blinding white glare of sunlight pouring through the bedroom windows. Someone drew back the heavy lined curtains, giving the perfect view of the pristine white snow-covered tree branches outside, some of which have already begun to melt. I lie awake for a moment, watching tiny droplets accumulate at the tips of bare branches before falling to the ground below.
While I don’t enjoy the cold or the inconveniences that come with winter, I love the overall effect, the way the world seems to be insulated, as if wrapped in a heavy blanket in which sound doesn’t penetrate. It’s this that I luxuriate in, that I take time to absorb and allow to comfort me…because it’s Christmas Day.
Eventually, my growling stomach and curiosity as to where the guys have disappeared to pull me from bed and I get dressed in more borrowed clothing that I find in Niles’ dresser—a simple long T-shirt that falls to my knees and a pair of black boxers that threaten to fall from my hips—and a thick robe that I find on the back of the bedroom door.
My bare feet tell me that the heat is still off, the house bitterly cold, especially with the wall-to-wall hard flooring that ranges from wood to tile. The moment I reach the bottom of the staircase, I hurry toward the kitchen and living room area where I know there is a small swath of carpet to sink my toes into. As I get closer, I hear the collective male voices in the kitchen, chatting casually, along with the savory smell of food cooking.
“What are you guys up to?” I ask as I emerge into the kitchen, clutching the robe tight against my neck in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. My nose is already feeling the winter’s frigid kiss.
“Hey, good morning, sleepyhead!” Dean is once again behind the island cooking up something that smells heavenly.
It’s Shane that steps up to me with a warm smile and an even warmer embrace. “More like Sleeping Beauty,” he says as he kisses my cheek and steps away again to rejoin Dean. It appears they’re cooking breakfast together.
It’s Niles’ turn to approach me next, and he does so with a familiarity that heats up far more than my skin when he touches me. His gaze meets mine as he steps into my personal space and he cups my face in his large hands, then he bends and gives me a lingering kiss. When he pulls away again, he murmurs, “Merry Christmas, Elle.”
My knees feel weak and I’m no longer cold as Niles steps away and resumes his stance a few feet away with his buttocks pressed against the counter and his arms folded across his chest. He’s observing rather than participating, which leaves me to decide if I want to chip in, stand beside Niles, or curl up on the couch in the living room and wait for everything to get done.
As nice as curling up and relaxing sounds, I feel strange with the idea of leaving the room and the guys to make breakfast alone, as if I’m behaving entitled. I’m not, so staying put seems like the only sensible and courteous thing to do.
“Merry Christmas, guys,” I say as I prop myself up against the counter beside Niles, who looks down at me with a faint smile that lights his eyes more than his face as he looks me over. I hope he’s okay with me wearing his things. I hadn’t asked, since he’d been okay with it before and I have no change of clean clothes of my own. My concerns are washed away when he lifts his arm and hooks it around my shoulders, pulling me up against his side and tucking me against him.
I smile, enjoying the welcoming feeling and greedily soaking up his warmth.
“Merry Christmas,” Dean and Shane say in unison.
Shane sticks his head in the refrigerator and emerges with a bottle of real maple syrup and a carton of fresh, plump blueberries. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”
I lift my chin toward the stove and the pan Dean is standing over. “What are you making?”
“French toast.”
Nice. I love French toast. My mom used to make it every Sunday, along with a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice. I wonder if she did that this morning for her and Dad. Maybe even Grandpa and Grandma, who weren’t strangers to staying over for the holidays.
Who am I kidding? I know they’re enjoying a delicious meal together, and I wish I could be there. It’s just not Christmas without tradition, and as much as I’m grateful for these guys including me in theirs, it isn’t the same.
“There’s that look again.” Dean is surprisingly observant, and I duck my head and bite my lip in a vain attempt to hide my face and the hurt showing there.
“Are you thinking about your family?” Niles’ tone is filled with concern, and he gives my shoulder a little squeeze.
“Yeah, but I know there’s nothing I can do right now to change the situation.” I lift my head and draw in a deep breath. “I’ll just have to make up for it later.”
“If there’s anything we can do to help, let us know.” Shane’s offer is sweet, and I smile at him.
“Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”
“I mean it. I think we all do.” He glances around at his friends and Dean and Niles nod their agreement.
I pat Niles’ stomach. “What do you say we shelve the depression stuff and enjoy this day?”
“I couldn’t agree more. Food is on!” Dean shouts as he piles the last of the toast onto a serving platter and turns off the stove’s burners. “Shane, bring the coffee!”
Niles breaks away from me and starts gathering the dishes, and I join him, taking the tub of butter, syrup, and silverware. We gather around the dining table that’s positioned in the area between the kitchen and living room and set out everything before taking our seats.
“This is quite the spread,” I admire. “You really outdid yourself, Dean.”
He beams with pride. “Thank you.”
Everyone grabs a plate and helps to serve each other, Shane pouring coffee while Dean piles each plate with toast, I add a pat of butter, and Niles pours the syrup. It feels like a true family meal as we dig in, quiet ensuing as we each enjoy our first bite.
“This is delicious.” I suck a drop of runaway syrup from my bottom lip and am immediately aware of the eyes watching me, which I ignore. “Do you cook a lot, Dean?”
“As much as time allows.” He sips his coffee, which is pale from all of the creamer and sugar he dumped into it. “My mom had me in the kitchen from the time I could walk, so I’ve picked up some stuff. It’s nice to have a home-cooked meal, even if it takes time and energy to prepare it.”
“Ditto,” Shane concurs. “I don’t know shit about cooking, so I’m extremely grateful for our Little Suzie Homemaker here.” He pats Dean’s shoulder, and Dean feigns irritation and offense when he shrugs it off, making us all chuckle a bit.
“You don’t appreciate me,” he scoffs.
“Oh, honey, we all appreciate you. Don’t we, Niles?”
Niles is busily eating, but pauses with his fork in front of his lips long enough to say, “Yes, dear. Of course.”
I cover a laugh behind my hand. These guys are too much. I love how they play off one another and have fun together. I could definitely get used to waking up to this kind of dynamic each day. It would certainly set my days off on the right foot. It certainly beats waking up alone and grabbing a quick bagel on the way out the door. Normally, my biggest source of interaction comes in the Starbucks line while waiting for my morning Joe and my mostly one-sided conversations with Colleen, who’s as dry as a piece of unbuttered toast.
Thinking of Colleen, I shake my head and smile to myself. Oh, how her head would spin if she knew just how straight Niles really is.
“Now she’s smiling.” Dean’s pointing accusingly at me with his fork, his expression comical. “Well, fess up, toots. What are you thinking about?”
I swallow, caught, and my eyes dart from one man to another. When my gaze settles on Niles, I know this isn’t anything he hasn’t already heard from me before, and I’m sure it will get back to Dean and Shane eventually.
“I was just thinking that Niles, and you guys too, aren’t gay.”
Th
ere’s a surge of testosterone in Dean and Shane’s burst of disbelief as they vocalize their denial and offense.
“You thought we were gay?”
“I’m personally offended right now.” Dean clutches his chest.
Niles continues to eat, shaking his head with a slight smirk on his face as he continues to eat. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard, so he apparently doesn’t feel the need to engage this time.
“I thought our bedroom antics would have destroyed any question,” Dean continues, then looks to Shane. “This is all your fault. I told you that wearing women’s perfume would give off the wrong impression.”
“It’s vanilla spice,” Shane defends. “It’s not a woman’s perfume. Plenty of men wear vanilla.”
“Don’t even get me started on those leather braids you call jewelry either.” Dean is scoffing, stabbing his French toast with his fork as if he has something personal against it. Still, as much as he’s puffing his chest and acting upset, I get the distinct impression he’s just teasing.
“You’re an idiot.” Shane isn’t happy, but again, I get an impression from him and while I sense that he’s genuinely upset, it’s not with what I said. I feel as if they’ve had this argument before and he’s tired of defending himself.
“I think vanilla is nice. Warm and spicy,” I interject and shrug my shoulders. “Kind of reminds me of the holidays with freshly baked cookies…”
My words are enough to distract them and stop the bickering.
“So you thought we were gay?”
I meet Dean’s eyes. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure at first. A coworker said that Niles was, and when I found out that he lived with you two, I had to question it.”
“And now?” he asks. “I hope we’ve changed your mind. If not, we can take this upstairs right now and get some stuff straight.” He emphasizes “straight” as if to drive the point home that he is.
“No, I got it. It’s clear.”
He narrows his eyes briefly and finally breaks his stare down once he’s satisfied, muttering, “Damn, that could have been fun.”
While I enjoy the sex, I’m feeling it this morning, and I’d like to walk without a distinct limp when I leave. Talk about giving Colleen more fodder for her grapevine. I’m not interested in giving the woman more ammunition, especially when it’s about me.
After we finish our breakfast and place our dishes in the dishwasher for later, I return upstairs for a quick shower, while the guys venture outside to start clearing the snow from the driveway in preparation for whenever the roads open up, which should be soon, I hope.
My phone is ringing on the bed when I step into the guest room in my borrowed robe. I pick it up and sit on the edge of the bed while reading the screen to see who is calling. It’s my mom.
“Hey, Mom. Merry Christmas.” I attempt to sound chipper, but I’m sure she can pick up on my disappointment over not being there.
“Merry Christmas, sweetie. Wish you were here.”
“Me too. Be sure to save me some pie.” She makes the best cherry pie with a cute lattice top, all handmade. The creative gene must have skipped a generation because I can’t make a pretty anything to save my life.
“You bet. I already have a slice in the freezer so your dad doesn’t eat it all. You know how he is.”
I laugh. “Did Grandma and Grandpa make it before the snow hit?” They live in Reno, while my parents are in Minnesota, and here I am all the way out on the East Coast. Sometimes, the miles between us feel insurmountable, like today.
“They sure did. It’s too bad you missed your flight. It’s not Christmas without you.”
“Thanks, I know. But as soon as they clear the snow and open the roads and the airport back up, I’ll book a new flight and be there before you know it. At least we should be able to spend the new year together.”
“The airport? What do you mean?”
I frown at her question. “I told you, we got a lot of snow. The airports closed down because of the storms.”
“Are you sure? Because Uncle Tom made his flight with no problem, and you know how crazy JFK is, and they had over a foot of snowfall this week. He said the crews were working overtime to get and keep the main roads clear.”
My frown deepens. My uncle lives a few miles from me, which means we use the same roads much of the time, not to mention we would have flown out of the same airport. How could he have made it and I didn’t?
A thought occurs to me that I push away. Surely, the guys wouldn’t have lied to me…
“Huh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe he got lucky.” Maybe the crews had cleared the roads nearer to him first and he had an earlier flight, before they closed. It could happen, right?
“Yeah, you’re probably right. He did win five hundred dollars on a scratch-off last week.”
We carry on talking for a bit longer, but I don’t listen as closely as I normally would. My head is too busy trying to make sense of what she told me. The more I think about it, the more things feel off. I never checked the reports myself. I just took the guys’ word for granted.
Could they—would they—have misled me? And if so, to what end? To keep me around longer? I don’t like where my thoughts are going or the way it’s making me feel.
“Mom? Can I call you back later? I have something I need to do that can’t wait.”
“Of course, sweetie.” She sounds curious and a touch worried, but I don’t offer any explanation to alleviate her worries because there’s nothing available to resolve my own yet.
We say our good-byes, and then I pull up the search engine on my phone and look up the local weather report. There should be an emergency notice for the area if it’s as bad as they said it was out there, but as I scroll through the page, I don’t find anything.
In fact, it seems that, while considerable amounts of snow did fall, making it a winter wonderland out there, the city’s crews had been working overtime to clear the roads and lay salt enough that they never became impassible, as they’d speculated early on.
So it only looks bad in a snapshot out the window. It’s not actually bad out there beyond the driveway. Still, I want to give the guys the benefit of the doubt. It never makes sense to convict someone before having all of the facts.
I put my clothes back on, ignoring the discomfort of having no clean panties still, and then return the borrowed clothing to Niles’ room before making my way back downstairs to confront him and his roommates.
13
“We’re going to have to invest in electric blankets if this heat stays off much longer.” Shane is sitting on the floor in front of the TV alongside Dean, and they’re playing the same video game they were the first day I arrived, which now feels like a lifetime ago.
Niles is nowhere to be found, so I ask where he is.
“In the basement,” Shane says over his shoulder, too caught up in playing the game to look at me. “He’s tinkering with the furnace again.”
“Our boy fancies himself a handyman,” Dean adds. “Personally, I think the thing is shot. It looks like it’s from the fifties.”
“The house was built in ninety-two.” I can almost hear Shane’s eyes roll.
I don’t stick around to hear the rest. Instead, I decide that, rather than ask if they’d lied to me, I’ll see for myself.
I slip into my coat and shoes still beside the front door, and quietly let myself outside as to not draw attention to myself. The snow is deep, piled into mountains at either side of the steps where it’s been shoveled and cast aside. The driveway has a narrow path cleared starting at the bottom of the stairs and running the length of the drive to the road that lies ahead. My car is still parked where I left it, of course, streaks of snow remaining where one of the guys tried to clear it but the brush missed, creating crescent shapes across the hood, windshield, and roof.
I clutch my coat closer and huddle in as I take the steps slowly and then walk the length of the driveway. I don’t even reach the street before I can see clearly that it’
s perfectly clear, and it appears it has been for a long time, as the black of the asphalt shows plainly and wet, what snow remaining reduced to a dirty slush.
My heels, which are terribly impractical in hindsight, slip dangerously as I march my way back toward the house.
“Where’d you go?” Niles asks the instant I step back inside. “It’s freezing out there.”
“Did you lie?” I throw the question out so fast, his expression is colored with confusion.
“What?”
“About the roads. Did you lie? Because they’re clear and my uncle is in Minnesota.” The reference isn’t something he could possibly understand, but I’m upset and the words are spewing forth unchecked.
Niles’ hands rise in front of him, palms out. “Slow down. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shane and Dean appear behind him wearing matching concerned expressions.
“I think you do. Did you lie to me about the roads being closed? About the airport? Did you make me miss my family on purpose?”
Niles is starting to look just as upset as I feel, and I start to question myself, when Dean speaks up. “I think I can shed some light on this.”
I turn to him and so does Niles.
Shane approaches slowly, fearfully. “It was nasty outside, and I heard the newscaster talking about the possibility of closing everything, and you’d just gotten here. We’ve spent so many holidays alone…” He spreads his hands out before him. “I didn’t know you had anywhere to be. If I had…”
Anger flares hot and wild inside of me. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“I know it was selfish—”
“You’re damn right it was.” I’m fuming.
“Jesus Christ.” Niles closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“I should have said something sooner,” Dean mutters.
My attention snaps to him. “What do you mean by that?”
He looks pained as he stares back at me. “I knew what was going on and I didn’t say anything. You were so sweet and I liked you a lot already. I wanted to spend more time with you, to see if there was a potential to build something.”
Under the Mistletoe: A Reverse Harem Christmas Novel Page 9