“Table’s here,” Logan said.
“Oh, thank goodness!” There had been an unexplained delay, and Seth had devised a backup plan. “Glad we won’t have to throw together an IKEA special.”
“Me too. It looks great. Boss lady’ll love it.”
Today was the big day when Angela came to dinner, and Seth had taken a few of his banked personal hours to pick up the groceries and start cooking. His stomach tightened. “I can’t believe Angela Barker is actually coming to my house for dinner.”
It was time to stick to business and remember their deal and why they were doing this in the first place. It was time to be professional and keep his head about him.
“You’ll do great. Jenna said that floppy-haired guy got the dirt on Angela’s fave food?”
“Matt, yeah. His girlfriend is the office manager, and she knows everything. And Jenna looked up recipes that should fit the bill.”
“Bet she gave you a very specific shopping list too.” Logan’s lips quirked into a smile.
Oh, how Seth wanted to kiss that mouth. Wanted to get completely naked with Logan and feel the whole press of his body, skin-to-skin from head-to-toe. He wanted to make Logan moan and sigh and be happy. Seth wanted to take that heaviness shrouded around him and make him smile all the time.
“Gee, how’d you know?” he joked, and Logan smiled wider.
And fine, maybe it was more than lust sparking in Seth. But he had to keep it in check, because affection and feelings weren’t on the menu. Logan identified as straight, and he’d made his boundaries clear.
Even if he’d ended up caressing Seth’s hair when Seth had gone down on him again, groaning before he’d reached out, as if he’d been giving in somehow. It didn’t mean anything, and Seth needed to remember that this was all simply part of their deal.
He nodded to the wine and grocery bags as he yanked his feet free from his winter boots. “Pricey Bordeaux and rib-eye steaks. Guess I’d better figure out how that grill out back works.”
“You ain’t used it before?” a gruff voice asked, feet shuffling toward them in cheap slippers.
“Mr. Derwood!” Seth felt nervous and embarrassed that he’d just been thinking inappropriately about Logan. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
The man grunted. His shoulders were stooped and his face lined, belly large and fingers stained with tobacco. He wore track pants and a striped sweater. Seth had been shocked to learn he was only in his sixties. Bill said, “Got yer wine rack in.”
“Oh! Thank you so much.”
Logan added, “Hope it’s okay. And I wasn’t sure how you wanted to do the decorations and tree, so I won’t be offended if you move stuff.”
“I’m sure it’s all wonderful. Thank you again.”
The sitting room now held two wingback chairs by the window with a small table between them, a glass coffee table separating a new beige couch that had been in stock at one of the local stores. The area rug was a fluffy white, navy, and tan.
These items had been delivered the day before, and it was nice to have the space filled. Seth honestly wouldn’t really use the room much, but the back of the couch served as a good separator between the front room and the kitchen.
A ceramic Christmas tree lit with golden lights now sat on the table between the chairs, a real pinecone and fir candle arrangement on the coffee table, red holly berries bright and cheerful. Seth had to touch the berries to see if they were real since the plastic was so convincing.
On the new dining table off to the right beside the kitchen, there was a similar holiday centerpiece. It suited the big rustic table, and Seth found himself smiling.
“The chairs really do fit well, don’t you think?” he asked Logan, heat rippling through him as he remembered standing in front of the store window, Logan’s hand on his rear and that sexy whisper…
“Imagine I’m saying something really dirty.”
Logan’s father was right there, and Seth was officially out of control. He didn’t even hear Logan’s reply, but assumed it was an agreement. The wine rack had been built into one end of the island, a criss-cross of wood painted white that matched the cabinets perfectly.
“Wow,” Seth breathed. “You built this?”
Logan shrugged. “Sure. Pop told me what to do. You’ve lost some storage space in the island, but with the cupboards and huge pantry, I don’t think you’ll miss it.”
“This is perfect. Thank you so much.” He turned to Logan’s father. “Mr. Derwood, I’d like to pay you for your consultation.”
“Sure. I’ll stay for dinner and have a steak.”
Seth froze. “Uh…” He glanced at Logan, who seemed equally at a loss for words. First there was Angela to impress, although maybe she’d appreciate the family aspect? But Seth and Logan also had to pretend to be a couple, and what would Logan’s father say about that?
Bill laughed, a rough, rasping bark, his shoulders shaking. “Just messin’ with ya. You don’t want me around at your fancy dinner. Besides, I don’t wanna watch my boy pretendin’ to be a fairy.”
Seth jolted. Wait, when had Bill discovered the plan? He stammered, “Oh, um—I… Well…” He looked to Logan, who shifted uneasily and jammed his hands in his pockets, his neck flushed red.
Logan mumbled, “I didn’t think Jenna was telling you about that part.”
Bill snorted. “Jenny didn’t need to tell me. I’m not deaf. My ears are one of the few things not breakin’ down. You’re all not as clever as you think you are.”
Seth had to chuckle ruefully. He certainly couldn’t argue that point. A line of tension between his shoulder blades made his neck ache, and he rubbed at the nape, wishing he could disappear.
He supposed “fairy” wasn’t the worst thing Bill could have called him. Logan was a wall of tension, and Seth needed to say something, but his tongue felt too thick.
“Look, you seem like a decent fella,” Bill said. “Been real good to my Jenny. And Logan.” He grunted. “None of my business what you get up to. Don’t make sense to me, but…” He grunted again. “In my day, folks didn’t…” He raised weathered hands and lowered them dismissively. “Look, you need to season that grill. Got oil?”
“Uh, yes.” Seth nodded and hurried into the pantry, relieved at the abrupt change of topic. He imagined that in Bill Derwood’s day, most “folks” stayed locked away in the closet. Still, at least the man hadn’t said anything truly hateful. Hadn’t called Seth an abomination.
He fetched his winter gear and headed toward the back of the house, carrying his boots so he didn’t track snow and salt on the floors. He jolted to a stop as he entered the great room. The decorations in the sitting room were nothing compared to the veritable explosion of Christmas here.
“Goodness,” Seth breathed.
Logan had strung colored lights and garlands across the back wall along the metal divider in the arched glass above the sliding doors and blinds. More candle/holly/fir displays sat on the side tables and coffee table, red bows neat and bright.
The pièce de résistance was a massive pine tree standing between the TV and black fireplace, strung with colored lights, garlands, and ornaments, dangling silver icicles making it positively shimmer. A lit silver-gold angel sat atop, and beneath, wrapped presents crowded.
Seth deeply inhaled the fresh, woodsy smell, gazing around in wonder. The room had never seemed so cozy and warm—so much like a home. And suddenly he was blinking back tears.
For so many years, he’d told himself Christmas wasn’t for him. That he didn’t deserve it somehow. Standing in front of the tree, surrounded by holiday glitter and color, he ached down to his bones for this home to truly be his and not only for show.
Yet it wasn’t.
The charmingly clumsily wrapped presents were surely empty. Only window dressing for the life he was pretending was real for Angela’s sake. It was all window dressing—the new furniture and decorations, and Logan himself. Come the new year, Logan would be gone, the
decorations would come down, and Seth would be alone again.
“Is it not good?”
Seth hadn’t heard Logan’s approach, and he jumped, managing an awkward laugh, glad that he’d kept the tears from falling. Not meeting Logan’s gaze, he forced a smile, looking all around the room. “It’s fantastic!”
“Yeah? Jenna told me what to do, so…”
When Seth made himself look at Logan, Logan was watching him warily. Seth was able to smile genuinely this time. “It really is wonderful. Thank you.”
“Okay. Cool.” Logan carried his own boots, his father shuffling up behind him.
Bill sat heavily on the far end of the sofa and groaned as he bent to tug on his boots. Logan made a step toward him, but his father snapped, “I can do it!”
So Seth and Logan stood awkwardly by the sliding door, waiting. Seth said, “I’ll shovel a path,” and escaped outside. He’d left a spare shovel on the porch and went to work gladly.
Even if this was all for show, at least his house would be finished. His grill would even be seasoned! And at least he’d gotten over his hang-up about casual sex. Hadn’t he? Even if he craved more with Logan, he wasn’t going to get it, and that was simply the way it was.
Yes, in the new year, Seth would start dating. He’d install the apps and go out with a bunch of men, and maybe he’d eventually meet someone who wanted more with him. Something real. In the meantime, he could enjoy the holidays with Logan, couldn’t he?
Well. After tonight’s dinner and the weekend retreat tomorrow. After they convinced Angela they were madly in love. Piece of cake.
Fortunately, Mr. Derwood was a wealth of information on barbecuing, and he seasoned the grill and taught Seth how to use it, giving him cooking times and techniques. Seth took out his phone and tapped notes, his bare fingers icy. Logan finished shoveling the rest of the back deck, even though there wasn’t really a need.
Time was marching on, and Logan drove his father home while Seth set the steaks marinating and prepped the creamy, cheesy scalloped potato ingredients. When Logan came home—came back—he mumbled an offer to vacuum and mop, keeping his gaze anywhere but meeting Seth’s eyes.
Brandon had wanted a sound system wired through the main floor, and Seth had reluctantly agreed. He’d never actually used it, but after a while, he went to the stereo set back in a little alcove between the dining room and great room and turned on a Christmas channel on one of the streaming networks.
Judy Garland’s rich, soulful voice filled the main floor. As Seth obsessed over the thickness of his potato slices and ensuring consistency, Logan fiddled with a fresh pad on the steam mop. It seemed very likely it was his first encounter with such a device, but he didn’t ask for help.
It was all very…domestic, and Seth tried to pretend it didn’t make his heart swell.
But this isn’t real. Logan is your fake boyfriend. Remember that.
“This is a pretty song,” Logan said. “A little sad, though.”
“Oh, the mention of ‘muddling through’ in this version is nothing compared to the original lyrics. Most depressing Christmas song ever.”
“Really?” Bent over the mop, Logan grumbled something under his breath.
Seth had to laugh. “Are you ready to declare defeat and ask me how to get the pad on?”
Logan glared, but there was no heat to it. He stood back with his hands on his hips. The black Henley that stretched over his chest and arms clung to his muscles. He looked like he belonged on the back of a motorcycle rather than steam mopping.
He’s doing it for me.
Seth reminded himself that it was all part of their deal as he showed Logan how to release the mechanism and slip on a new pad. To distract himself from Logan’s muscles, he rambled on.
“Yeah, the original version of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ posits that this Christmas might be our last, so enjoy it while we can. Which isn’t untrue, but it was less ‘seize the day and grab happiness’ and more a ‘life sucks and then you die’ vibe. They rewrote it, and then it was tweaked again for Sinatra’s version. That’s the most common one. All happiness and sweet nostalgia.”
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
Seth stood and handed over the mop. “You’re being kind. I used to love all things Christmas, and apparently still retain useless, boring facts in my brain.”
“It’s not boring.” Logan bent to plug in the mop by the edge of the kitchen, dark denim accentuating his spectacular backside. “Maybe you can love Christmas again.”
“Maybe.” He went to the pantry and stopped short. “What’s this?”
Logan looked embarrassed, scratching his head and fidgeting. He switched off the mop. “I know you bought a fancy dessert, but I thought the boss lady might like homemade. Might taste like crap. Probably does since I made it.”
Seth stared at the dark cake sitting on a stand under a glass dome. It looked like chocolate, and sure, it was a little lopsided, but that only made it more charming. “I… It’s perfect. Thank you. I didn’t know you could bake.”
Logan scoffed. “I can’t.”
“Clearly untrue since I’m looking at the fruits of your labor.”
“It’s an easy recipe.” He shrugged, toying with the mop handle, running his rough hands over the molded plastic.
Seth’s groin tightened. He wanted those hands on his body. Stop thinking about sex!
“It was our mom’s favorite. We always had it for Christmas. She said pie was for Thanksgiving, and cake was for Christmas, but not that gross fruitcake. She said chocolate was way better. I used to help her with it when I was a kid.”
Guilt for his inappropriate thoughts flared as Seth watched Logan smile, a sad little lilt of his lips, his eyes distant, looking lost in a memory. Seth said, “I’m sure it’s delicious.”
“Yeah. She’d always give me one of the beaters to lick while she kept the other. We’d get chocolate on our noses and chins trying to get it all.”
Stop thinking about Logan licking something else! This is an innocent story! Seth cleared his throat. “I can’t wait to try it. Thank you.” There was a battered metal box sitting beside the cake stand, which had to be Jenna’s. Seth stepped forward and picked it up, opening it to find lined index cards inside separated by tabs in neat block letters reading: Salads, Appetizers, Mains, Sides, Cookies & Bars, Various Desserts, and Cakes!
“Cake was her favorite,” Logan said from the door of the pantry.
Smiling at the exclamation mark, Seth thumbed through the cards. The recipes were written in neat, looping cursive, and some were stained with faded remnants of tomato sauce or drops of oil. He knew which cake recipe Logan had made when he came to it, the ink faded in places and chocolate stains abundant, the corners ragged from use.
Seth reverently held the recipe and imagined Logan bent over a mixing bowl creaming butter and sugar. For an insane moment, he thought he might burst into tears, and he didn’t really know why.
“Uh, sour cream is the secret ingredient,” Logan said.
“Right!” Seth replied too brightly. “It sounds delicious!” He scanned the ingredients. “My mom used applesauce in just about everything she baked.” His throat was too thick again. “Still does, I’m sure.” He hadn’t let himself even glance at the mailbox when he’d come home, though the flyers were probably littering the snowy ground now.
Seth carefully returned the recipe card to the Cake! section. He ran his fingers over the metal box, which was a dull silver with a faded, mishapen daisy painted on the side.
“Made it in shop class in ninth grade,” Logan said sheepishly.
“It’s lovely. Truly.”
He shrugged. “Mom stored the recipes she called ‘keepers’ in it. Her frosting’s the best. Oh, here.” He disappeared, the fridge door opening before he returned with a small bowl, which he thrust out. “There was extra. Try it.”
Seth stared at the bowl of chocolate frosting, swirled ridges hardening from the frid
ge. “Should I just…?” He lifted a finger.
“I can get you a spoon if you really want,” Logan said dubiously.
Laughing, Seth scooped up a finger-full and sucked it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Oh my goodness. That is incredible.” He licked his finger, opening his eyes.
Logan watched him with a hooded gaze, his voice gravelly as he said, “Yeah?”
“Um…” What would Logan do if Seth kissed him right now?
“You’ve got…” Logan motioned at Seth’s mouth, and Seth licked the side of his lips, his groin tightening. Then he dipped his finger in the bowl again and sucked it clean, his eyes locked with Logan’s, their breathing harsh in the quiet of the pantry, the air thickening as they leaned closer—
Beep-beep-beep!
They sprang apart, and Logan barely kept hold of the bowl. He backed out, and Seth followed to jab at the timer on the counter. “First part of the potatoes is done!” Seth exclaimed too loudly. “Better get back to work. Showtime’s in a couple hours.” He had to keep his wits about him.
“Right. You worried about it?” Logan asked as he returned to the mop, the bowl of leftover frosting back in the fridge.
Seth certainly had been earlier, and now it rushed back. He tried to shrug it off. “A little, I guess. It’s fine. I should get moving so I can change before Angela and Dale get here.” She’d invited her assistant along to make it a foursome for dinner, which made sense.
“Oh, shit. What am I supposed to wear?” The mop was hissing again, and Logan peered down at it suspiciously.
“Just a dress shirt and slacks? Maybe a tie?” Seth asked hopefully.
“Uh…” Logan experimentally pushed the mop, seeming pleased when the wet pad slid across the floor. “I have a set of nice clothes I wear to job interviews somewhere. Haven’t needed to dress up, so I probably shoved them in one of my bags. I put all my stuff in your room, by the way. Pillow and blanket too. Do you have an iron?”
The idea of not having an iron was like not having a refrigerator, but Seth only nodded. “I do. And a trouser press. I’ll show you after we finish here.”
The Christmas Deal Page 13