Happy and Merry: An M/M Holiday Romance Collection

by CJane Elliott

  “What?”

  “You were laughing.”

  “Oh. That. You… you’re kind of outrageous—” Brad gestured at Michael’s sweater. “—and it amuses me.”

  “Laughing at my fashion choices, huh? I’m hurt, man.” They reached the table, and Michael pulled out a chair with a flourish. “Here you go. What’ll you have to drink?”

  Brad remained standing. “Oh, no. You got my drink the last time. Let me return the favor. Can I get a round for the table?”

  “Wow, sure. Guys, this is Brad. And he’s going to buy us a round.” The group burst into applause.

  Brad smiled. Oh, to be young and enthusiastic.

  A woman with dreadlocks said, “He’s a keeper, Michael.”

  “Stop.” Michael’s cheeks got red. “Brad, this is the gang. Let’s see, you’ve met Jordan before.”

  Brad nodded to Jordan and asked, “What, no Tomer?”

  “Karaoke isn’t Tomer’s vibe.” Jordan pointed to the dreadlocked girl. “This is Katrina, one of my partners.” She gave Brad a friendly wave. Then he touched the shoulder of a man next to him. “And this is Juan, my other partner.”

  Juan inclined his head serenely. “Hello. Welcome to our world of karaoke.”

  “Hello. Thank you.” Feeling increasingly old and square, even for a gay guy, Brad glanced at Michael, but he was talking with another man at the table.

  The guy noticed Brad looking and said, “Hey, jerk, introduce me to your friend.”

  “Rude. Brad, this jerk is my best bud, Bao. I only put up with him because his family owns the best Chinese restaurant in the city.”

  “Hi.” After Bao greeted him, Brad asked Michael, “So, what’re you drinking?”

  “IPA. But I want to try another one. I’ll come with you to order.”

  “Okay.” Brad addressed the table. “What does everyone want to drink?”

  After he’d sorted out the general clamor into a list of orders, Brad went to the bar while Michael… well, he wouldn’t call it “walked” beside him. More like bounced. His energy was a thing to behold.

  “What should we sing?” Michael’s bouncing settled into swaying to the music as they waited for the drinks.

  “Sing?”

  “Karaoke, dude.”

  “Oh. Right. Whatever you want. I’ll join you.”

  Michael pumped his fist. “Excellent. There’s some Christmas tunes I wanted to do.”

  “Of course.” Brad laughed for the second time that evening. “Lead on.”

  The group at the table cheered when Brad and Michael got back from their Christmas duet.

  “You guys rock.” Bao saluted them with his beer bottle as they took their seats.

  “Truth.” Michael opened his mouth as though he was going to say more, then caught Brad’s eye and merely nodded. But then he burst out like he couldn’t help himself. “What’ll we sing next?”

  Katrina and Bao laughed. “That’s our Michael,” Katrina said fondly.

  “You’re the Christmas tune expert,” Brad said. “I’ll let you choose.” He sipped his Scotch, surprised at how much fun he was having. When was the last time he’d experienced pure joy? That was what singing with Michael had been.

  “Oh, you’re giving him free rein, are you? Be prepared for anything,” Jordan warned.

  Brad chuckled. “Not a problem. I’m looking forward to whatever Michael comes up with next.”

  “Aw, jeez. The pressure.” Michael gulped some beer. Then he set down his glass with a decided clunk. “Fine. You asked for it.”

  Much later, after more drinks and karaoke, Brad stifled a yawn. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  “So soon?” Katrina raised her head from Juan’s shoulder, looking disappointed.

  “It’s midnight. It’s been a long time since I’ve partied this late.” He turned to Michael. “Thanks for inviting me out tonight. I enjoyed it.”

  Michael’s smile slipped away and he blushed. For a moment he seemed almost shy. “Um, sure. Yeah. I’m glad… um, that you hung out with us.”

  “Me too.” Brad stood. “I’ll… be in touch.”

  “Sure.” Michael nodded but didn’t get up. All his cheerful energy had dimmed. “I hope so.”

  Brad exited into the San Francisco chill, wishing he’d invited Michael out. It was his turn. But then he thought about Michael and his friends, so lively but so damn young, and doubted himself. What was he thinking? He’d never wanted to be someone’s “daddy,” and inserting himself into this group of kids felt presumptuous—and, frankly, kind of pathetic.

  What did Michael even see in him? Maybe he was after Brad for his money. Brad rejected that notion out of hand, but tightened his jaw when Dave, his ex, came into his mind. “Gotta watch yourself in this world, B. Lots of people out there trying to catch a ride. You don’t owe anyone anything. Be careful of all those dewy-eyed boys who want to get a piece of you.” Brad had snorted at the time, given there hadn’t been a noticeable number of boys waiting in line to get “a piece” of him.

  But Michael? Brad didn’t know what about him had attracted Michael. It couldn’t be his scintillating personality. Music, though. They had a connection there.

  That gave him an idea.

  Chapter 3

  Brad stopped staring out the window and returned his attention to the legal pad on which he’d been jotting notes for the upcoming trial. He picked up his pen with a sigh. Trial prep usually interested him. He enjoyed gathering all the details and formulating the case. It was like putting puzzle pieces together, and he’d always been a fan of puzzles. But lately he couldn’t seem to get his head in the game.

  The time of year had something to do with it. The stretch from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day depressed him as a rule. His mother had called, checking to see if he was coming home for the holidays. He wasn’t sure why she even bothered, given he hadn’t gone back to DC for years now, not since his father—The General—had told Brad his opinion on “homosexuals and their sick ways.” Mom reported that the General had softened his viewpoint in recent years, but until Brad heard that from the old man himself, he wasn’t going to break his back to return home for more lectures.

  Then there was his upcoming golfing trip to Napa. When he and Dave had first started dating ten years ago, Brad had been happy to go along to the luxurious Silverado Country Club, an annual Christmas tradition for Dave and their buddies from the firm. After he and Dave had cooled from romantic partners into friends with benefits, Brad’s interest in the trip had waned, but he continued to tag along every December—probably because he had nothing better to do.

  Michael Blair. He stared down at his pad, realizing he’d just doodled Michael’s name like a teenager with a crush. He drew a heart around it, then covered the whole thing with a series of lines, neatly crosshatching until it was obliterated. Then, before he could chicken out, he pulled up Michael’s contact on his phone and pressed Send.

  Michael picked up after the first ring. “Wow, is this Brad?”

  “Hello there.” Brad’s nerves calmed at the excitement in Michael’s voice.

  “Brad. You’re calling me.”

  “Um, yes. It appears that I am.”

  “Oh, sorry. Sorry. I usually text, so it’s kinda novel that…. Um, I’ll shut up.”

  “That’s fine. You don’t have to shut up. I’m calling to invite you to something.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. There’s a Messiah sing-along. Have you ever done that?”

  “Have I? Only every year. Are you talking about the one at Grace Cathedral on Friday? Because I was already planning to go.”

  “Oh. Yes, that’s the one. I haven’t been to one in ages, but your Christmas-music enthusiasm has gotten me in the mood.”

  “Oh? The mood? I like the sound of that.”

  Brad almost held the phone out to stare at it. Flirting? He could do that. But Michael was talking again.

  “Anyway, Jordan is playing in the
orchestra, and a bunch of us are going. Do you have a ticket? You have to get them in advance, but I think we have an extra one. Meet us there.”

  This wasn’t exactly the date Brad had been gearing himself up to suggest, what with Michael’s gang of friends going. But still… it was nice that he and Michael were on the same wavelength. “Sure. I’ll see you Friday.”

  “Cool. We’re getting there at 7:30 so we can get seats. Do you have a score?”

  “Um, no, but they provide them, right?”

  “I’ll bring you one. Wow, I’m really stoked you’re coming, Brad.”

  “Good. I mean, me too.”

  “Oh, and… um, thanks for thinking of me and inviting me and all.”

  The trace of vulnerability in Michael’s voice touched Brad. “Of course. See you Friday.”

  He disconnected with a sense of anticipation. Sure, he was too old, and Michael was practically a kid, but Christmas only came once a year, and this year… this year he needed something to celebrate.

  Michael peered down the street, bouncing on his feet. Brad still hadn’t shown, and he was getting antsy.

  Juan, a slim Bolivian beauty, lounged against the side of the church, calmly inspecting his nails. But then, Juan was always calm, one of the reasons Michael liked to hang out with him. Brad was calm too—and he had a great voice. Michael couldn’t wait to sing the Messiah with him.

  Despite Jordan’s warnings to let things take their course, Michael’s hopes and fantasies had zoomed into overdrive after Brad’s invitation. That Brad had reached out to him, well, it had to mean something. Something great! At least Michael hoped so. He readjusted his garish Santa scarf. He’d only forgone the bells because he didn’t want their jingles clashing with Handel.

  “Well? Where is he?” Katrina had come outside to join them on the sidewalk. “Tomer’s in there saving the seats.”

  “You guys go on in. I’ll wait here for Brad.”

  Juan and Katrina grinned knowingly at him, then strolled away, leaving Michael to freak out in peace. He wished he wouldn’t get all twisted into knots, but he did it every time. As soon as he was into someone, he became pathetic and needy and insecure. There was no real reason for it either. He’d had a good childhood with loving parents who had accepted his being queer with no problems, and his past relationships had been pretty good too. Yeah, he’d had his heart crushed a few times, but so had everyone else. When he kept things casual, he had no shortage of people to play with. But as soon as a person began to mean something to him, Michael lost all his easygoingness, which he considered one of the best things about himself. Ugh.

  He was saved from getting more deeply into his head by the sight of Brad hurrying down the sidewalk, looking handsome in his trench coat and dark blue scarf. Brad’s face brightened and he waved when he saw him, which was enough for Michael’s good spirits to return.

  “Hey there,” he called. “You made it.”

  Brad reached him, breathing hard, his cheeks rosy and alluring. “Sorry for being late. Whew, I’m more out of shape than I thought. I’m all out of breath from running up these hills.”

  “No problem. You’re fine. We’ve got seats saved inside, and it hasn’t started yet.”

  “Oh, good.” Brad paused and scanned Michael’s face, then smiled. “Hello, by the way. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You too.” Brad’s simple acknowledgment had driven all the casual patter out of Michael’s head. He stood there like a doofus and grinned back at him.

  “So… shall we?” Brad gestured to the door.

  “Oh. Right. Let’s go.” Michael led the way in.

  Candles flickered, casting shadows in the poinsettia-filled sanctuary. As he walked down the aisle with Brad, Michael spied Jordan up front with the small orchestra and his friends waiting in the pew. His Christmas spirits rose. He loved the Messiah sing-along. And Brad was here for it. Wasn’t life great?

  The instrumental music for Handel’s Messiah rang out in the lofty space, filling Brad with well-being and reminding him of Christmases past. He’d loved singing in the choir and choral groups in college. Music made him happy—he’d forgotten how much.

  He was acutely aware of Michael sitting beside him, his leg touching Brad’s ever so slightly. They’d chatted before the sing-along started but hadn’t had time to talk about much. He wanted to ask Michael about what he did with his days; being a legal videographer was probably a sideline. Michael had mentioned filmmaking, and a number of his housemates had talked about working at a food co-op and bakery. How they made enough to survive was beyond Brad. But money wasn’t everything. He glanced down the pew at Michael and his friends, all full of life. Money wasn’t anything, really.

  When the first chorus came, the audience stood as instructed and began to sing. These parts weren’t simple. Handel had a real love of sixteenth notes. Brad didn’t remember a lot of it, but his sight reading wasn’t too bad and he managed to stay on track, made easier by Michael’s strong baritone. They got lost at one point, and Michael giggled, so Brad jabbed him in the side. They were both laughing when they sat down. “Stop,” Juan mouthed at them with a mock stern gaze, and Brad covered his mouth with pretend chagrin.

  When the next chorus came up, he met Michael’s eyes, which were twinkling with merriment. “Come on,” Michael murmured as they stood, “let’s see how badly we mess up this one.”

  This was fun. Standing next to Michael Blair in a cathedral at a Messiah sing-along, blending their voices in beautiful surroundings, was the definition of a good time. All too soon they were belting out the Hallelujah Chorus, Brad raising his voice with a gusto he didn’t know he had inside him.

  “Wow. Good times.” Michael stretched, then looked happily at Brad. “We weren’t half bad, huh?”

  “Yes, for the half of it where we weren’t missing the notes.”

  “Hey. We missed some notes, but not half, you perfectionist.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “Yep. Which is a good thing for a lawyer.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  They were walking up the aisle when Bao appeared. “Hi, guys. I was in the back. Come to the restaurant, okay? My parents want to feed us.”

  Now? Brad glanced at his watch—it was almost ten. He’d usually be in bed with his book and his Scotch by this time.

  “We can’t,” Katrina said. “We’re helping Tomer make signs for the protest rally tomorrow.”

  Bao frowned. “When does the rally start?”

  “Noon.”

  “Why not do it in the morning, then?”

  Jordan spoke up. “We’ll be getting the house ready for the holiday party that Michael insists on throwing every year.”

  Brad said, “Wait. Is this the party where the fabled Christmas cookies show up?”

  Michael gave an emphatic nod. “Yes. And there’s Christmas caroling if I can get anyone to sing, which means you have to come help me out.”

  This was going too fast, but Brad didn’t want to stop it. Not just yet. “I’d love to.”

  “Awesome.”

  As they beamed at each other, Bao said, “Ahem. Back to tonight. Anyway, Michael, my mother said you are to come and eat dumplings, no matter what. And you should bring Brad.”

  Michael gave him a skeptical look. “She said that? About Brad?”

  “No, dummy. I’m saying that.”

  Still Michael hesitated, glancing at his housemates, but they all made shooing motions. He addressed Brad. “Will you come?”

  Michael’s puppy-dog eyes melted any excuse Brad was about to give. “Um, sure. Why not?” Being spontaneous was unlike him, but really—why the hell not? He’d been feeling all old and uninspired lately. If these kids felt like generously including him in their antics, best to run with it.

  Brad sat back and rubbed his stomach as Mrs. Chen, Bao’s mother, urged him to have more. “So sorry, Mrs. Chen. It’s great food, but I’m completely full.” Michael had been right, though.
The food was amazing, and what a gift to be seated in the almost-empty restaurant, being served a feast by Bao and his family.

  Mrs. Chen leaned over Michael’s shoulder. “A little more dumpling for you, I think.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Chen.”

  She nodded. “Good boy. You need strength.”

  Bao laughed. “Mom, you’re stuffing us. We won’t be able to move.”

  She remained stern. “No arguing, son. I’ll get Michael more dumpling. And noodles.”

  Bao and Michael exchanged amused glances as she walked back into the kitchen. “That’s my mother for you. Trying to kill us with food on the regular.”

  Brad took a last bite of his Singapore noodles. “It’s delicious. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this place.”

  Bao made a face. “Promotion isn’t my family’s strong suit. But we have a steady bunch of regulars.”

  Mr. Chen came out of the kitchen and stood by the table, his face grave. “Michael tells us you’re a lawyer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever deal with immigration issues?”

  “Dad,” Bao said in a warning tone. “Give it a rest.”

  “How can I? When we know what this administration is doing?”

  Michael leaned close and murmured, “Bao is a DREAMer. He’s undocumented. We were so jazzed when Obama made them protected. And Jerk-in-Chief said he wasn’t going to go after them, but we all know how that turned out.”

  Brad nodded. “I’m not all that familiar with immigration law,” he said to Mr. Chen, “but I have some good friends in the ACLU here. If you ever need help, I can put you in touch with them.”

  Mr. Chen inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Thank you for dinner. It was very good.”

  “You’re welcome.” He retreated into the kitchen.

  Bao sighed, looking nettled. “Sorry about that. My dad worries too much.”

  “It’s completely understandable. My friends are doing great work with these issues, so please call on me if you need to.”

  “You won’t need to.” Michael sounded confident as he knocked his shoulder into Bao’s. Bao made a funny face at him in return.