Snow on the Roof

by Sean Ashcroft

  Snow on the Roof

  Sean Ashcroft

  Copyright © 2017 by Sean Ashcroft

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  1

  “How many times do you want me to say I’m sorry?” Grant asked, staring out of his office window. “I can’t make an airline put another flight on. I just can’t.”

  He hated himself for forgetting all about Thanksgiving, but he’d been so buried under work lately that he’d been wearing the same shirt for three days. He wasn’t coping with anything.

  “I’m not mad,” Julia said, sighing on the other end of the line. “Just disappointed. And it’s not me you need to apologize to.”

  “I know,” Grant flopped down at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

  “She’s dying to talk to you,” Julia said. She was trying to sound disapproving, but there was still fondness in her tone. Still warmth.

  That was why it’d been so easy to love her. She was the most caring, patient person Grant had ever met. Even with him. Even though he was kind of a walking disaster sometimes.

  “Are you gonna let me talk to her?” Grant asked.

  He knew Julia would never, ever take his child away to punish him, but he was on edge. He wanted to be as patient as she was, as composed and able to face anything without so much as blinking, but he didn’t have it in him.

  Stress had left Grant going grey at forty-two, Julia could still have played a teenager on TV at the same age. Nothing ever seemed to touch her.

  Not because she didn’t care. Because she had better coping skills than Grant could ever hope for.

  “Of course. I’m just letting you squirm,” Julia said. “I’ll put her on.”

  Grant breathed a sigh of relief, tapping his fingers against the dark wood of his desk, the leather of his chair creaking under him as he shifted his weight.

  Explaining to Julia was one thing. She understood how the adult world worked.

  Explaining to Hope…

  “Daddy?”

  “Hey, baby,” Grant said, a smile spreading across his face as he heard his daughter’s voice. As nervous as he was about how she was going to take the news, it was impossible not to be happy to talk to her.

  Hope was the person Grant loved most in the entire world, which he figured was how it should be.

  “Mom says you need to tell me something,” she said.

  Grant wasn’t sure whether or not that was intended to help him, but it was good not to have to bring it up on his own or dance around it.

  “I need to apologize to you,” Grant said. “I can’t make it to Thanksgiving this year. I’m sorry, I screwed up, and I will make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Good apology,” Hope responded.

  Despite his own disappointment, he found himself smiling again. Julia had been big on teaching Hope how to apologize, and how apologies were supposed to sound.

  She’d taught Grant how to apologize, too. She’d put up with a lot of his crap. More than he deserved.

  “You’re not mad?” Grant asked, unsure how to react now that Hope didn’t seem upset.

  “I wanted to see you,” Hope said, her voice tiny.

  Sometimes, he forgot she was only twelve. Other times, it felt like yesterday that she’d been small enough to hold with one arm.

  “I know, honey. Believe me, I wanted to see you, too,” Grant responded, tears stinging at his eyes. Hope was the person Grant loved most in the world, and he missed her so much.

  The last eighteen months had been tough. Grant had been so used to living close by, to being able to see Hope every day.

  He’d also been used to having people around him to remind him of things like Thanksgiving coming up, or to bring him a homemade lasagna when they got the feeling he hadn’t had time to eat properly for a while.

  Now he had… a really nice apartment and a better job, but no one to share it with.

  The tradeoff was starting to feel less and less like a good one, even though his old job had disappeared from under him.

  He needed to work to give Hope the best chance in life. She deserved that. He just wished he didn’t have to do it so far away from the people he loved.

  “Hey,” Grant spoke up before Hope could respond. “You know I’m gonna make this up to you, right?”

  “Okay, daddy,” Hope said.

  Like she didn’t believe him. Like she was just… disappointed. Not mad.

  Like her mother.

  It was even worse coming from his daughter.

  “I’m serious.” Grant paused to decide how he was going to make it up to her, and then remembered something she’d said years ago.

  “You always wanted snow at Christmas, right? Well, this year, I’m gonna give you snow, okay?”

  “In California?” Hope asked, as incredulous as Grant would have expected her to be.

  “No, I’m gonna take us all somewhere really nice, where it snows, and we’re gonna have a real tree and hot chocolate by the fire and a snowball fight. Seriously. This is a promise.”

  Grant didn’t promise things lightly. It was his policy to never break a promise, no matter what it took to make them happen.

  He’d get Hope snow for Christmas. He had to.

  She deserved a better father than him. She deserved the world and the moon and all the stars. But this was something he could do, and he was going to.

  “Really?” Hope asked, her tone changing a little. She sounded as though she almost believed him.

  “Really. I never break a promise.”

  “I know,” Hope said. “I love you, daddy.”

  A weight lifted off Grant’s shoulders. He was forgiven. He might not get to see his little girl for another few weeks yet, but at least she didn’t hate him for this.

  “I love you too, sweetheart. You wanna tell me about your day?” he asked.

  If he couldn’t see her, at least he could talk to her. He talked to her almost every day, but he’d been letting that slip lately, too.

  He needed help. He couldn’t manage his job and his life on his own. Pretty much everyone else at his level had a PA.

  Grant had held out against it, not wanting to admit to needing anything, but this incident was forcing his hand. A PA would have gotten him a flight.

  He smiled as he listened to Hope describe what she and her friends had done at school, laughing whenever she did, glowing with joy at getting to talk to her.

  Accepting help would give him more of this, so he needed to accept some help.

  2

  “You look like someone stole your puppy,” Clare said as she walked into the living room, stopping in front of Sunny
and raising an eyebrow.

  He’d flopped down on the couch when he’d come in and not bothered to move since. He’d spent the whole time playing with his phone.

  Sunny realized now that he’d been sitting there for over an hour and a half, moping. His phone battery was nearly dead. The shape of his butt was probably imprinted on the couch cushions.

  “The agency said they’re unlikely to find anything for me before the new year. Which is, like, six weeks away. I don’t think I have enough savings for six weeks, which means I have to find a holiday job, and I just… I thought I’d left that crap behind. I thought I was getting somewhere.”

  Clare sighed, sitting down beside him. “Got any leads?”

  Sunny snorted. “If I had leads I’d already have emailed them. I was thinking about applying to be one of Santa’s elves.”

  “How’s the pay?”

  “Not nearly good enough for the number of screaming children who throw up on you over the course of the season, but it’d probably pay my rent.”

  “I can cover you if you’re short. I know you’ll pay me back,” Clare said.

  “Thanks, but I’ll go nuts with nothing to do until next year, anyway.”

  “You could take a break,” Clare pointed out.

  They’d had this conversation before. Sunny got restless if he went more than three days between temp jobs. He wasn’t good at taking time off.

  “I think we both know that I’m not cut out for breaks,” Sunny said. “But I do really appreciate the offer.”

  “Okay, well, I might have a job lead, but it’s a full-time position.”

  Sunny’s eyes lit up.

  He’d started out as an admin temp because he’d told himself it’d be nice to have the freedom and not have to deal with long-term office politics, but he was just old enough now to crave stability and predictability.

  He’d been ready to make the leap to full-time next time one of the companies he worked at made the offer, as long as it seemed like a nice place to work.

  Now that he had nowhere else to go, though, it sounded like a good idea.

  “Please tell me it’s a nice, quiet mailroom job.”

  Clare chuckled. “It’s as a PA to one of the upper management guys. But, uh, word is that a cute young man would have the best shot at getting it, if you know what I mean.”

  “He’s gay,” Sunny said. “You can just say he’s gay.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Clare asked. “No one’s entirely sure, he’s kinda new. New-ish, anyway. And he doesn’t have a PA yet.”

  “I’ve never worked as a PA,” Sunny said.

  “You did once. I remember. To that terrifying lady with the white skirt suit.”

  Sunny shuddered at the memory. No one had ever made him feel less like a competent adult than her. He’d almost blocked it out entirely.

  He wasn’t cut out to be a PA if that was what it was like.

  “I don’t have any real experience. I… file paperwork. Organize things. Bartend, occasionally. And I have experience being an elf.”

  “You have experienced the joy of having strangers’ children throw up on you,” Clare said. “Working with an adult has to be better than that. At least let me forward your resume?”

  “They’re not gonna hire me,” Sunny said, sinking further into the couch.

  “Then it can’t hurt to apply, because you’ll never actually have to do the job.”

  Clare had him there. Applying couldn’t hurt, and even if he hated it, he could work it from now until he found something else.

  If they even looked twice at his resume.

  “Fine,” Sunny huffed.

  He hated it when Clare was right, which she almost always was.

  He was lucky to have a best friend like her.

  “Good boy. Send me your updated resume.” Clare took out her phone, standing and pointing it at Sunny. “Smile.”

  Sunny smiled automatically at the command, used to Clare taking pictures of him to send to people she was trying to set him up with. She’d eased off on that lately at Sunny’s request, but as a result, he was in the middle of the worst dating dry spell he’d ever experienced.

  Not that Clare’s setups were always good, but it was better than nothing. He was just too proud to say so, and instead was pretending that he needed to be single and not looking right now.

  His problem was that his standards were impossible, though they seemed reasonable enough to him. All he wanted was a man who behaved like a grown-up, instead of an overgrown frat boy. He was twenty-seven. That was way too old to think getting blackout drunk was the best time anyone could have.

  There was a time and a place for that, and it wasn’t every single weekend.

  “What was that for?” Sunny asked once Clare had taken the picture.

  “If you get an interview for this job, it’ll be because you’re cute,” she said. “Executive-level men don’t hire PAs for their skills. They hire them for their looks. I doubt a gay guy’s gonna be any different.”

  “You’re not even sure he’s gay,” Sunny pointed out.

  “Right, which is why this isn’t a sure thing. If he is, though, you’ll get the job. You’re young and beautiful. He won’t be able to resist you.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with that idea,” Sunny said.

  He knew how the world worked, he just didn’t like to think too hard about it. Besides, as a man, he was usually safe from being objectified. The idea that someone might hire him just because they liked the way he looked didn’t sit right.

  But on the other hand, a job was a job, and if all he had to do was be pretty… he could do that. Even on his worst days, Sunny didn’t really hate the way he looked. People always told him he had a nice smile.

  They were always thrilled to learn that he was called Sunny.

  “I mean, he’ll obviously hire you because of all your related experience and glowing references. Totally not because he wants to get into your pants.”

  Sunny sighed. He probably wouldn’t even get an interview, anyway.

  “You know what? Screw it. If I can get a job because I’m cute, I’ll take it. If he’s a total creep, I’ll quit.”

  Clare grinned at him. “Awesome. I’ll send that email as soon as you send me your resume.”

  Sunny unlocked his phone to send his resume to Clare. There was no point in stalling, and she wouldn’t drop it until he gave in.

  It didn’t mean he’d even get an interview. It didn’t mean he had to take it. He was just casting a wider net.

  In all likelihood, nothing would come of it, and Clare would be happy. That was a win-win situation, as far as Sunny was concerned.

  3

  The longer Grant stared at the shirt in his hands, the less sure he was of the color. He’d thought up until now that it was a blue shirt, but the way it caught the light in front of the window made it look more on the purple side.

  He was the last person who should have been judging the color of a shirt, but he didn’t even remember owning a purple shirt. Maybe he’d accidentally washed it with something red? He’d dyed a few t-shirts a splotchy pink that way.

  Was this shirt splotchy? It looked blue again, and he wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was, but someone else probably could.

  Grant looked up at himself in the mirror and sighed. He looked old, his grey hairs starker than ever in the unflattering bathroom light. He needed to do something about that, for the sake of his vanity if nothing else.

  If he went into work wearing a shirt with splotches of purple on it, people would laugh at him. Maybe not to his face, but they’d do it behind his back. He sighed and shrugged it off, resolving to get another one from his closet.

  There were already rumors going around about him, he didn’t need to add to them.

  The fact that the rumors were true didn’t make it okay. He’d come to terms with being out a long time ago, but he hadn’t actually told anyone in the office yet. They’d heard
it from somewhere else.

  No one was being cruel about it, but that wasn’t the point. This job was harder than he’d expected it to be in ways he hadn’t even imagined. People looked for fault with him now, whereas before he’d been invisible.

  There was a knock at the door, startling Grant out of his thoughts.

  Shit.

  The interview. He’d forgotten all about it.

  He turned and headed for the door, his stomach twisting as he opened it, nerves making him feel sick.

  He’d accepted that he needed a PA, but it was all happening a lot faster than he’d expected.

  Grant opened the door to see a dark-haired young man standing on the other side. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it.

  The guy was cute, though, and he was smiling brightly at Grant, which made his heart skip a beat.

  Pretty young men didn’t smile at him like that.

  Of course, this one wanted something, but he could let himself be flattered a little. It was the only way anyone was going to pay him any attention.

  After a moment, the other man’s face fell, one perfectly-arched eyebrow raised, his lips pursed.

  Grant had forgotten to put another shirt on. The maybe-purple one was still in his hand.

  He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure what to say. Should he apologize? Or act like this was totally normal and it wasn’t weird at all to answer his own door without a shirt on?

  He should have held the interview in his office. A smart person would have scheduled office-hours time to do this, but Grant had so much to do that office hours were something that happened to other people right now.

  “Hi,” he said eventually. “I, uh. You’re… you’re here for the job interview, yeah?”

  “Yes,” the other man said. “I’m Sunny.”

  Grant blinked. Sunny? What the hell kind of a name was that?

  “I, uh… I’m not wearing a shirt,” he said, his brain still working through what was happening and how he was going to solve it. “I was… this one… look, come in.”

  He stepped away from the door, giving Sunny room to move past him.