Hart of Winter

by Parker Foye

  “Then why are you hiding it?” Eloise teased.

  “Piss off! I’m not—Argh!”

  Eloise achieved her latest victory by tackling Luc into a hug, using her superior height and pinning Luc’s arms to his sides as she did. Not too tightly—Luc had never liked that, and no one knew whether to blame the curse or his brain chemicals—but enough to show who’d won. Luc ceded with a sigh and bopped Eloise’s shoulder with his forehead. Despite the itchy feeling pushing him to move, he enjoyed the hugs. Yet some silly part of him thought he shouldn’t or didn’t deserve them or whatever.

  Brains were ridiculous. Luc knew his family loved him, but sometimes his brain flipped the tracks and insisted such a thing was impossible.

  He let himself be hugged until the itchiness grew too much to bear, and then he bopped Eloise again. “I’m cooked. Let me go.”

  Luc felt a soft brush of a kiss in his hair as Eloise released him. She grinned as she retreated a few steps and stuck her hands into her pockets. “So you’re not going to tell me who’s making you look like that?”

  Older sisters were the worst. Luc decided he might as well come clean, especially if he wanted to go out with Rob later. Which he definitely did.

  “I met someone—”

  “O-ho!”

  “Shut up. He’s a tourist, that’s all.”

  “And? Are you seeing him again?”

  Heat crawled up Luc’s face. He thought longingly of the axe. “It’s been a week. I’ll have to see if he’s still interested.” He swallowed. “But I’m going to ask.”

  Eloise made a weird expression, somewhere between pride and the need to tease, and visibly quashed both instincts. She nodded coolly. “I’m happy for you. Now! Stop shirking, Prancer. Get back to work!”

  “Prancer again?”

  “Dancer?” Eloise offered, her sober expression trembling with the threat of a grin.

  “No.”

  “Donner? Blitzen?”

  Darting across the yard, Luc plucked up the axe from where it was stuck blade-down in the wood. He made his best crazy-eyes expression—hours of practice during ages eleven through fourteen—and wielded the axe above his head.

  “Don’t make me use this!” he yelled.

  Which, of course, was when Amandine came over to see what all the noise was about. She eyed Luc, then the pile of as-yet-unchopped logs, and the zealous light of command lit her eyes.

  Luc would be picking splinters from his hands for days.

  IN the end Luc didn’t have to text Rob. Rob got there first.

  I suppose you might want me to take a hint. But in case you don’t, drinks tomorrow?

  Back in the UK, a week between meeting and reaching out would seem a long wait. Luc had blazed through entire relationships from first meeting to dramatic breakup in less time. On the other hand, a week also didn’t seem long enough to prepare to see Rob again. Luc felt as if he stood at the edge of a dark road and desperately needed to take the first step, but remained teetering on the curb, not ready.

  His phone flashed a new message. He’d been thinking long enough for the screen to go dark.

  This is Rob, by the way.

  Luc snorted. He unlocked the phone and sent a message. I know who you are. I don’t crash into just anybody. L’Arbre at 4?

  He put his phone on the nightstand and leaned down to unfasten his boots, then tossed them into the corner of the room. Jeans followed, crackling with mud and dripping with snowmelt. They’d stink in the morning, but that’d be future Luc’s problem. Current Luc barely had the energy to yank off his sweater and hang it over the frame of his bed before curling under the covers. Muscles and joints protested the movement, his shoulders a throbbing burn of soreness and his quads hard, aching lines. Eloise had said something about a bath, but the thought of climbing into a bath—and out again—made Luc queasy. He’d even passed on the evening wine Amandine offered.

  It wasn’t only physical soreness exhausting him. Luc had been resisting the urge to scratch across the top of his skull for hours and a disconcerting red rash had started creeping out from beneath the cuffs. He’d been determinedly ignoring both since sunset. The worsening of his curse symptoms was the reason he asked Rob to meet in the afternoon; Luc didn’t want to stay out after sunset. He felt like a Grimm character.

  Huffing a breath, Luc curled up on his bed. He’d forgotten to turn off Eloise’s damn fairy lights. They were growing on him, he had to admit. Maybe he’d even help make wassail this year. Get in the spirit.

  His phone vibrated on the dresser, and he stretched to grab it. He squinted at the screen, grinning to find a reply from Rob. I’ll be wearing a red carnation. With an emoji of a red flower and a hat, like they were in some kind of spy romance.

  Luc carefully placed his phone on the nightstand before he pressed his hands to his face to muffle his laugh. He didn’t want to have to explain himself to Eloise this time.

  RED carnations were definitely datelike, weren’t they? Hypothetical carnations or otherwise. They’d said “drinks” without a qualifier, but surely “a few beers” would be more friend territory than drinks? Even in the afternoon. Luc scrolled through the messages from Rob again, chewing his lip. Date or not date?

  He split the difference when dressing, figuring he could take advantage of his limited seasonaire wardrobe if it transpired he under- or overdressed, preparing to quip about only having so many clothes to choose from. So: skinny jeans, boots, T-shirt, and the charcoal wool coat he’d bought with his first paycheck, which was more suited to posing than snow, with a scarf over the top. He kept ducking his face into the folds of the scarf as he waited outside L’Arbre, trying to keep his nose from turning into an icicle. Behind him the bar thrummed with noise, much busier than he’d expected, and he didn’t want to chance missing Rob in the après crowd.

  Warm air brushed over Luc’s skin when L’Arbre’s door opened and closed, laughter and music spilling outside. Luc stamped his feet and wished he’d worn different boots. He ducked his nose under his scarf again and got distracted by blowing plumes of steamy breath through the folds, so when Rob tugged his sleeve for attention, he jumped.

  “Shit!”

  “Same to you, Prince Charming,” Rob said, though his grin took away the bite of his words.

  Luc shoved his hands deeper into his pockets so he didn’t cover his face in embarrassment. At least his cheeks were already flushed with cold. No one would be able to tell the difference.

  Rob wore a slim-fitting leather jacket over a flannel shirt and dark-wash jeans with cute ankle boots. Like Luc, Rob’s—freckled!—cheeks were bright with cold, and though his red beanie was pulled low, it didn’t hide the redness of his ears. Despite the brisk air, Luc felt warm. Not only from embarrassment: Rob hadn’t dressed for the weather either.

  Buoyed by confidence, Luc was halfway toward the second cheek kiss when his actions registered in his brain. Rob’s aftershave was the clue, something woodsy and delicious and not at all like what Eloise or Amandine wore. He froze.

  “Balls.” Would it be more awkward not to complete them? Date or not date. Would Rob even know enough about French cheek-kissing etiquette to register the difference? Unlikely. His French had been dreadful.

  Noise from L’Arbre made Luc start, and the blast of warmth made him impatient. They could be indoors right now with beers in hand. His stomach twisted nervously, but he finished the second kiss—he decided against a third—and stepped back. He yanked out the tie holding his hair in a stubby tail at his nape, scrubbed his hand through it, and retied the tail, all the while looking anywhere but Rob.

  Hair in place, Luc cleared his throat and finally slid his gaze to Rob, who hadn’t moved during the whole process. Indeed, he watched Luc with an odd expression, like he found Luc’s awkwardness charming.

  Luc cleared his throat again. “Sorry. About the unasked-for kissing and the swearing and this general”—he gestured at himself—“sort of disaster area. Hello. Lovely to see yo
u again. I like your interpretation of the carnation.” He pointed at Rob’s hat. “Anyway, shall we get a drink so I can start repressing all this for my subconscious to torture me with later?”

  For a moment Rob continued to watch Luc in silence. Then a grin broke onto his face like he’d landed his first box jump. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and Luc saw one of his front teeth was slightly crooked, and his laugh. Rob laughed like he couldn’t get enough breath, like he wanted the world to know how funny he found Luc’s awkwardness.

  Luc resisted getting defensive; there was nothing malicious about Rob’s laughter. Luc snorted and waved his hand in a little bow, as was his due. When he finally wheezed and straightened up, Rob clapped Luc on the back and somehow turned the move into a slide of his arm over Luc’s shoulders, pulling him close until Rob’s body half cradled him.

  Luc could get used to the arrangement. Even if laughter was the price.

  “Come on, mate. Let’s get that drink. After that performance, you deserve it,” Rob said.

  Luc let himself smirk. “Sure you want to?”

  “Well, no one can say I don’t know what I’m getting into now, can they? And anyway, it’s not like I minded the kissing.”

  With that, Rob pulled open the door and ushered Luc ahead of him, both of them startling slightly at the wash of hot air and noise. Rob nudged Luc over to a table people were just leaving, and Luc slid onto a stool. He watched Rob gather the empty glasses together and shed his jacket at the same time, impressed by the multitasking. Luc would’ve smashed at least three glasses if he tried to do that.

  Especially if he was still thinking about kissing Rob. Which he absolutely was.

  Definitely a date.

  Rob finished his glass-and-jacket juggling act and leaned in next to Luc, presumably so they could hear each other above the noise. Rob smelled edible.

  “I owe you a drink, don’t I?” Rob asked, jaw brushing Luc’s cheek as he spoke. He leaned back to register Luc’s answer.

  Luc smiled, probably dopily. “If you like. Un demi-pêche, please.” At Rob’s blank look, Luc scrambled, careful to enunciate. “It’s like a shandy. It’s beer with—I’ll take wine, if you like?”

  Rob shook his head but didn’t lose his smile. “Demi-pêche,” he repeated uncertainly. “I’m sure they’ve heard worse accents than mine.”

  As he moved, Luc started. “Wait!”

  “What?”

  “Your knee.” Luc felt awful. “I forgot. Let me go?”

  Though he’d paled at Luc’s shout, Rob’s slow smile made his eyes crinkle. He flapped his hand, leaning close to yell again. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fixed up, even went on the hill this morning. Now. Demi-pêche. Be right back.”

  As soon as Rob turned around, Luc pulled out his phone to text Eloise. If he’d kept in touch with any of his university friends, he would’ve contacted them, but the only people who knew him, curse and all, were his family. All or nothing had always been Luc’s mantra, and seeing as no one could know about the curse, “nothing” it was. Hence sending an emergency text to his older sister.

  I don’t know how dates work.

  Eloise and Amandine were on their own afternoon out since the first guests were arriving the next day. They’d said something about wine tasting and raclette, which sounded a close second to Luc’s date. Maybe she wouldn’t answer.

  His phone vibrated. Be nice.

  Luc wanted to thump his head on the table, but with his luck, Rob would be right behind him. Quickly twisting around to check, Luc spotted Rob’s beanie at the bar. He swiped open a new message.

  Not helpful.

  His phone vibrated again. If you need a rescue, we’re halfway into the wine. I can come now?

  A smile crossed Luc’s mouth. With all the drama in his family, he forgot how supportive they could be. He’d been a self-centered kid and tried to be less so as an adult, but habits were easy to slide back into. Seemed Eloise’s habit was big sister. He sent another text.

  No rescue needed. Enjoy your wine. :)

  As Luc slid his phone into his pocket, Rob set their glasses down on the table. Luc nodded his thanks, grabbed one of the identical glasses, and surreptitiously sniffed, smiling when he recognized the peach smell. He took a quick drink and then waited as Rob sipped from his own.

  Luc laughed when Rob took a healthier swig. “Not bad, right?”

  “Honestly I have no idea what I’m drinking. Is this peach lager? Pêche?”

  “It’s made with a sirop, a bit like a cordial. A sugar syrup.” Luc waved vaguely over his shoulder and raised his voice to combat the noise. “You can get it in the Carrefour if you end up liking it.”

  “Like cider and black,” Rob said and took another sip. “Bloody hells, this is good stuff.”

  Luc gently knocked his glass against Rob’s. “Of course. And congratulations on ordering in French! Not as scary as you thought, right?”

  Rob waved his hand from side to side, a skeptical expression on his face, then laughed. “Nah, it was fine. Bloke behind the bar is from Leeds. As soon as I mangled the pronunciation, he switched to English.”

  As Rob recounted his—truly execrable—French interaction with the Yorkshire bartender, complete with exaggerated expressions, Luc relaxed into his seat. Even with the people milling around them and the rubbish playing over the speakers, he felt like they were alone in the bar. Dangerous, said the prey part of his brain. Very dangerous.

  Luc rubbed his wrists, rotating the cuffs, and folded his hands in his lap. His hands were hidden by the table, his glass carefully left half-full. He’d made those kinds of errors before.

  Rob finished his story, and Luc picked up the thread, telling him about one of his more disastrous encounters in a craft bar. Partway through he realized he’d have to course-correct since the punchline of the story depended on the arsehole asking about curses, and Luc didn’t want to turn Rob’s mind that way. He recovered quickly, and Rob laughed anyway, leaning close over the table to tap Luc’s shoulder playfully.

  “Don’t know where I’d even find a bloke like that. What a clown!”

  Luc shrugged, relieved his story had landed despite his last-minute change. “Not everyone has the sense to appreciate my wonder, I suppose.”

  “Is that what it is?” Rob’s voice went low, and Luc had to strain to hear.

  “Of course—Where are you going?”

  Rob had pushed to his feet abruptly, making Luc jerk back and frown. Had he done something wrong after all? He thought they were doing well, though he might’ve lost his train of thought once or twice as he watched Rob’s mouth more than he listened to the words coming from it.

  Instead of answering, Rob held out his hand. “Come on. Can’t hear myself think in here.”

  After quickly pulling on his coat and scarf, Luc took Rob’s hand—of course he took Rob’s hand—and a tingle went through his fingertips like he’d been sleeping on them and they’d just woken up. Rob’s fingers twitched around his, but when Luc glanced at him, Rob still wore the small smile. Luc smiled back, sure he looked like a dope, and followed Rob outside.

  The cold was less of a shock than before. Luc figured either he was getting used to it, or the heat radiating from Rob’s hand was combating the Alpine temperature. He bumped his shoulder into Rob’s and stayed close, trying to leech a little extra heat. The sun pressed low on the hill, casting the snow into gold. Luc became colder looking at it.

  “I’m your wall, am I?” Rob asked, amusement in his voice.

  “If you’re offering….” Luc huddled more obviously against him. It made their progress toward the sheltered shopping area somewhat hazardous, but Rob didn’t shove him away. Luc felt light-headed with the ease of it, and suspicious. He quashed the latter firmly.

  They spoke about their time so far in Les Menuires as they walked, until reaching the shelter where the sudden cessation of wind made Luc stumble gracelessly. They wandered into the closed market area, away from the chatter an
d clunking ski boots of the après crowd, and drew to a stop in front of a closed boulangerie. Rob braced him, tightening his hand around Luc’s and sliding the other beneath Luc’s jacket to rest on his waist. Luc could feel the heat even through his layers. His breath came short as he became excruciatingly aware of every place they touched.

  “Brakes, wall, crash test dummy, and what else? What else do you have in store for me, Luc Marling?” Rob asked as he nosed at the hair of Luc’s temple.

  Luc had never liked being shorter than his dates, but cradled against Rob, he reevaluated his opinion. With Rob blocking out everything behind him, it seemed like only the two of them existed in the whole of France. Luc watched Rob through his eyelashes.

  “I don’t know. A kiss, maybe? Maybe more than that?”

  Rob’s sharp intake of breath was cold against Luc’s skin, but his lips were hot as he captured Luc’s in a kiss. Luc went willingly into Rob’s firm embrace, pushing their twined fingers against the wall beside his hips as he gripped Rob’s shoulder with his other hand. Everywhere they touched was a balm against the winter air. Rob tasted like peach and the faintest trace of mint, and Luc chased that sweetness, letting Rob taste him in turn. Hungry kisses turned gentle, and they rested their foreheads together, Rob’s breath condensing on Luc’s fevered skin. At some point he’d slid his leg between Rob’s, and the heat of Rob’s dick burned through Luc’s jeans. A flush cooked his cheeks as he imagined Rob feeling the same from Luc.

  Rob cleared his throat. “Something like that, you said?”

  Luc huffed a breath, though it felt shorter than usual. “Along those lines.”

  Rob’s laughter was delicious when Luc kissed it from his soft lips. One kiss turned into more until Rob smoothed Luc’s hair back from his face and withdrew.

  Luc blinked, eyes heavy and dick straining. At some point his hair had come loose from its tie, and some stuck to his face. He tried to blink it away. “What is it?”

  “I think we should be grateful no one’s moved us on and call this a night before you fuck me in this beautiful—is it a bakery?” Rob strained to look over his shoulder. Luc wanted to bite the tendons in his neck.