Epilogue
Two months later
“ O h my God, it smells like a brothel in here. Somebody got some,” Tristan sing-songed.
Harry didn’t know what time it was, but the light was barely filtering round the edges of the curtain, so it was certainly too early for whatever the hell this was. He grunted and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow and hoping Tristan would get the hint. It didn’t work.
“Harry?” Tristan sat on the edge of the bed and prodded at him. “Wake up.”
“Nooo,” Harry grumbled. He hugged his bear tighter. He and Jack had gone out for Christmas drinks with Jack’s work last night. They hadn’t gotten in until two, and Jack had been tipsy and handsy, and that meant they’d played a whole different version of Oh come, all ye faithful. They hadn’t gone to sleep till after four. Whatever Tris wanted, it could wait.
Jack obviously felt the same. All that was showing of him was a blond thatch of hair poking out from under the top sheet. “Fuck off, Tris,” he mumbled.
Tristan huffed and pulled the sheet back, making Harry squawk and try to snatch it back. Tris might not care how many people saw his naked arse, but Harry was particular about who got to see his. “Wake up, puppies,” Tris insisted, then, when he got no response, sauntered over to the light switch and flicked it a few times. “Wake up!”
Trying to dissuade Tristan when he wanted something was like trying to dislodge a tick. A blond, stupidly gorgeous, tick. Harry groaned into the pillow then rolled over and sat up, the pleasant ache in his arse reminding him of what they’d done last night. He smiled despite his tiredness, because thinking about doing those sorts of things with Jack would always make him smile. He’d never understood the appeal of sex, right until he had, and now he was making up for lost time every chance he got. Jack joked that it might take years until Harry caught up. Harry hoped he was right. He’d probably never get enough of Jack—of his face, his smile, his laugh, his everything—and the fact that Jack felt the same still knocked Harry for a six sometimes.
He was dragged from his thoughts by the light switch continuing to flick on and off, and he sighed in surrender. “What do you want, Tris?”
Tristan smirked. “I wanted to give you your Christmas present, and I knew the only way I could be sure you two weren’t fucking was if I caught you while you were asleep. Hang on.”
He darted out the bedroom door.
“Did he say Christmas present?” Jack asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, sheet pooling at his waist and giving Harry an eyeful of his bare chest and tattoos, a sight that never got old. “It’s not Christmas for another week.”
“He probably wants to get in before we drive to your folks’ place for Christmas,” Harry said. “He’s never done presents before, though. I wonder what he got us?”
Jack's eyes widened and he gasped, “No, he wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t what?” Harry asked, just as the door swung open again and Tristan peered at them over the top of a giant gift basket.
“Ta-dah!” he declared, dropping the basket on the bed so that it bounced. “Have fun!” He flounced out of the room.
The basket was swathed in coloured cellophane and topped with a bow big enough to choke a horse, but Harry couldn’t quite see what was inside it. He prodded at it dubiously with a fingertip, then peeled back the piece of tape holding the plastic in place.
Jack’s hand clamped down on his. “Maybe—maybe I should open it.”
“Why? I like presents!”
Jack exhaled heavily. “He once threatened to get us a sex toy basket.”
Harry stuck the tape back down. Then he bum-shuffled away from the basket so Jack could deal with it, and turned his bear’s face to the wall, just in case.
Jack unpeeled the tape carefully, the expression on his face changing from suspicion to delight as he peeled back the cellophane. Then he grinned and pulled out a DVD. “It’s Love, Simon . And there’s champagne !”
Harry scrambled forward. There was the DVD, and a bottle of champagne, and a variety of snacks and treats including honey-roasted macadamias, as well as some brand of fancy biscuits he’d never heard of that promised they were “enrobed” in chocolate instead of presumably being simply chocolate-coated, like some kind of common biscuit.
“This all looks expensive,” Jack said, shaking his head in wonder. “ How could he afford this?”
Harry shrugged. “He’s been doing really well with Bad Boyfriend. He just swans up wearing leather pants, crop tops and glitter eyeshadow, and talks about how much he likes fucking. Apparently, it’s a winning formula. He was saying the other day he’s getting so many dates that he thinks he’ll have to get someone else on board.”
Harry hadn’t been a Bad Boyfriend for over a month now, not since he’d finished his final exams and found a temporary job working at a local daycare while one of their other workers was on maternity leave. It would keep his rent paid until he started as a preschool teacher in the new year, and he honestly found it a lot less stressful dealing with twenty toddlers than he did going on Bad Boyfriend dates. Bad Boyfriend had been good for the few months he’d done it, but he’d never been as well-suited to it as Ambrose, and apparently, Tris. Harry much preferred being a good boyfriend.
Which reminded him.
“Are we still doing the op shop run today?”
Jack looked up from where he was still inspecting the contents of the basket. “I can do it, if you want. Save you from having to go in.”
“This is why I love you,” Harry said, even though he loved Jack for so much more than offering to protect him from Beryl. “But no, I want to see if she’s still wearing her eyepatch on the same side. I can’t be the only person who’s noticed that!”
Jack looked at him dubiously. “Are you sure it moves?”
Was he? He almost was. “I’m going to get photographic evidence.”
“Please don’t start stalking Beryl,” Jack said. “You know she’d love to get you arrested, and I don’t think the daycare would wear it. ”
“I’ll be subtle,” Harry promised. “Besides, she should be in a good mood with all the stock I’m bringing her.”
He’d spent last Saturday going through his Bad Boyfriend wardrobe and getting rid of most of it. He’d offered it to Tris, and Tris had informed him in a pitying tone that their styles “didn’t quite mesh, darling.” So back to the op shop it went, in order for Harry to make room in his closet for khakis, polo shirts and the utterly boring, sensible and stain-resistant wardrobe of a preschool teacher. Except for the peacock suit. He was keeping that, for sentimental reasons. Sometimes he just liked to look at it to remind himself of how much Jack loved him, because he’d actually willingly worn that to Mia’s wedding.
He climbed out of bed. “Are Mia and Tate coming for Christmas too?”
“I think so,” Jack said. He set the basket aside. “But maybe not for a few more days? Tate has some work thing he can’t get out of. Also Mum asked if you had a preferred Christmas dessert. I think she likes you better than me.”
“Pavlova,” Harry said. “Oh wait, was I supposed to say, ‘No, Jack, don’t be ridiculous. You’re her only son and she adores you’.”
Jack laughed. “I mean— maybe ?”
“Okay,” Harry said. “You’re her only son and she adores you. But also, make sure you tell her about the pavlova thing too.” He leaned in and kissed Jack on the end of the nose. “So that’s your parents for Christmas, and mine for New Year’s.”
“Yep,” Jack agreed, smiling at him.
“Oh,” said Harry, “and don’t forget to pack the Christmas presents!”
“I won’t,” Jack promised.
It was their first Christmas together, and Harry wanted to get it right. Then again, so far he was killing it wasn’t he? With Jack, and the wedding, and living together, and figuring out whose turn it was to do the washing up, and all that compromising stuff that movies made a huge deal out of, but it turned out wasn’t that hard after all. Because getting Jack in return? Worth it a hundred times over.
Look at him. Relationshipping like a boss.
The bells on the op shop door jingled madly as Harry pushed it open.
“Mr Townsend.” Beryl glared at him—from not one, but two narrowed eyes.
Harry froze in shock. “What happened to your eye patch?” he blurted. Behind him, Jack groaned.
Beryl sniffed. “In my day, Mr Townsend, it was considered impolite to ask people personal questions like that.”
“I’m sure he just meant he’s glad your eye is better,” Jack said before Harry could dig himself any deeper. He carried the two large plastic garbage bags to the counter and hefted them up.
Beryl eyed them suspiciously. “What’s this?”
“We’d like to donate them,” Jack said. “Please.”
Beryl turned her mouth down as she opened the first bag as carefully as a bomb robot inspecting an abandoned airport suitcase. Her expression grew increasingly sour as she picked through the clothes, holding them gingerly between two fingertips. Then, with her evil eyes gleaming, she closed the bag again. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but we don’t take rubbish.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. “I bought most of that here!”
“No, you didn’t,” Beryl said, and folded her arms over her chest.
“I did!” Harry turned to Jack beseechingly. “I did! ”
“Okay, it’s fine,” Jack said. “We’ll take them to the Salvos. Thanks for your time, Beryl. Have a good day.”
Beryl smirked.
“I am never buying you a coffee scroll again!” Harry exclaimed.
“What? You never have!”
“I did!” It was hard to maintain his outrage when Jack started laughing. “I really did, though!”
Jack grabbed the bags in one hand, and took Harry’s elbow in the other, still laughing. “Come on. You can’t win them all.” He pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek, which reminded Harry that at least he’d won where falling for Jack was concerned and really, that was more than enough. “We’ll take these to the Salvos, and I’ll buy you a coffee scroll.”
The bells on the door jingled wildly again as they left.
Harry had been watching the clock for a while. It was just past five, and parents were starting to roll in and collect their kids. He was hoping they’d all be on time today so that he and Jack could get going to Goulburn on time. It was a vain hope, because there was always at least one parent who made the most of being child-free until the last second before closing, but maybe, with it being the last day before Christmas holidays, today would be different.
“Harry!” A little boy tugged on his shirt. “I wet my pants.”
His timing was impeccable.
“Okay,” Harry said brightly. “Let’s get your spares out of your cubby hole, and get you sorted out so you’re ready to go when Mum gets here.”
He loved his group of three-year-olds, but he was definitely looking forward to fewer accidents when he got preschool kids next year.
Afternoon pick-ups were always a little bit chaotic. Most of the kids were tired, but not all of them had napped, so there was always some crying to deal with, and the occasional tantrum. Still, at least Harry wasn’t in the infants’ room. He liked babies, but not quite so many of them in such an enclosed space. Usually, when one of them started crying it set off a chain reaction. His three-year-olds were angels in comparison.
Right on cue, Felicity ran past screaming.
Well, mostly angels.
Harry helped Charlie with his wet pants problem. When they got outside again, most of the kids were squashed up against the fence, staring avidly out into the car park. The last time that had happened, it had been a duck. Today, apparently, it was even more exciting. He could hear the kids oohing and aahing. Harry couldn’t imagine what would garner that level of interest.
Two ducks, maybe?
Charlie tugged his hand out of Harry’s and went running to join the crowd.
Harry went over to see what was going on.
“Harry! Look!” Ravi grabbed his hand and pointed. “It’s your boyfriend ! He fixes cars !”
Jack was walking towards the double gate that kept the kids corralled, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looking, apparently, like a hero. The car worship was strong in the three-year-old crowd. Honestly, the only thing that would have impressed them more was a fireman. A fireman with a duck. But Jack was pretty much a rock star.
“Jack has a reindeer car!” Felicity exclaimed.
When Harry looked at the ute he immediately saw what had the kids excited, and he burst out laughing. Jack had attached those fake reindeer antlers that they sold at Kmart to the ute, along with a giant red nose on the middle of the front grille. It looked ridiculous, and Harry suspected that Jack had done it just because he knew it would make Harry’s kids happy, because he was possibly the best boyfriend ever.
Either that, or Jack secretly enjoyed his daycare-rockstar-hero status.
Jack waggled his fingers in a tiny wave, and Harry beamed at him and waggled his fingers back, tapped his watch and shrugged.
“Got somewhere to be?” Marian, the centre director asked, walking over to stand next to Harry.
Harry flushed. “No, it’s—we’re driving to Goulburn, but it’s fine. Jack’s just a bit early.” He didn’t want to be one of those guys who looked like he was trying to shave ten minutes off the end of his shift.
“You know, most of the kids have been picked up. And there are enough staff that you could duck out early, just this once.”
Harry perked up. “Really?”
Marian smiled warmly. “It’s fine, Harry. Go on, get out of here.”
“Thanks!”
Of course, first he had to get hugged and squished by his three-year-olds—not that he minded that—then he had to collect his stuff, which contained a small pile of parent appreciation gifts, but soon enough he was able to escape, arms full of tins of Danish butter cookies and boxes of Cadbury Favourites.
Jack helped him load it all in the ute, then turned and waved at the watching kids. They cheered and waved back.
Jack’s face was red as he climbed into the driver’s seat .
“Bye, Harry! Bye, Harry’s boyfriend!” Charlie yelled, the loudest of all. “Bye, reindeer car!”
Harry put the window down so he could wave at the kids as long as he could. Then he leant back, laughing. “They love you!” He put his hand on Jack’s thigh. “And so do I.”
He would never, ever get tired of saying that.
Jack curled his fingers through Harry’s. “I love you, too.”
He’d never get tired of hearing it either.
And Harry couldn’t help but grin, because this was just like the ending to one of his romcoms, with him and Jack driving off into the sunset—to Goulburn, to Christmas, to New Year’s, and to an entire future together.