Chapter Eighteen
AFTER NEARLY coming in his pants because Austin called him sweet, Joe got a reprieve from further potential sexual embarrassment.
Not because Austin had failed to accidentally uncover any previously unexplored kinks—Joe wasn’t sure yet if it was the word sweet, the mild degradation of thing, or just the praise that got him going, and frankly he wasn’t ready to look into it—but because they hadn’t had the time for any more R-rated action.
Between their day jobs and the upcoming holiday, they hardly had enough energy to drag themselves to bed, let alone do anything other than sleep there.
By the morning of Christmas Eve, Joe had readied everything that could be prepared in advance and all that was left was the day-of work. Which was still plenty.
Joe wasn’t making the Feast of the Seven Fishes, because he didn’t want to bankrupt himself financially and physically, but he had planned a menu of a light charcuterie board, caprese salad, lasagna, and fish as the main course, and a mixed platter of season-appropriate sweets for dessert, which included panettone, cookies, and Nanaimo bars (Gavin’s favorite).
Then Austin accidentally rewrote the menu. It wasn’t his fault. He’d been eyeing Joe’s shopping list and asking questions about various items, when he said, “Well, it’s not like I’d know much about traditional. I don’t remember ever having a turkey-dinner Christmas.”
Exercising an impressive level of restraint, Joe did not pull Austin into a hug or vow to reform the entire foster system or throw out all of his plans for Christmas dinner right then and there. Instead, he hummed softly and said casually, “Oh, that’s too bad.” And started making plans.
Doing a whole turkey dinner the day of would be impractical, especially since he’d need the oven for the lasagna. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have turkey.
Joe had been wanting to try spatchcocking a bird anyway.
Austin had decided to close his shop from December 24 to January 1 excepting emergencies. He’d even made a sign for the door that suggested customers call and leave a message if they felt they couldn’t wait until the New Year.
“You don’t think people will take advantage?” Joe asked skeptically. He himself had closed his own business doors with the promise to only call his employees in the event of storm cleanup.
“Nah, business is usually slow that week. Most people don’t want to leave their houses. Might as well just officially take it off this year instead of unofficially.”
“Except for being on call,” Joe pointed out.
Austin shrugged. “If it’s not a real emergency I can book them in for January, but if it is… I wouldn’t want to strand a senior citizen or single parent without a car over the holidays.” He said it like it was no big deal, like it didn’t prove what a massive sweethearted softie he was.
Fortunately, dinner prep went smoothly. It helped that they opened a bottle of wine—white; Joe wasn’t stupid—to keep them merry as they worked, Joe micromanaging everything in a way that would’ve made him hate himself at work but which he couldn’t help in the kitchen.
“What’s in the Crock-Pot?” Austin asked at around four thirty. Guests would be showing up at any minute.
Oh God, Austin could not find out about the turkey until someone else got here to act as a buffer.
If Joe had to look at his big brown eyes filled with some kind of Christmas-adjacent emotion inspired by Joe, Joe would…
well, he probably wouldn’t be answering the door for any guests. “It’s a secret.”
By some stroke of luck, Starling arrived a few minutes later, carrying a jug of her homemade Irish cream and a gallon of apple cider. “I brought refreshments.” She set them on the dining table and kissed Joe’s cheek, then swept Austin into a hug. “Merry Christmas. Eggnog’s still in the car.”
“I’ll get it,” Austin volunteered.
“Meow,” agreed Walker, and Joe decided it was time for the animals to be sequestered in the breezeway lest they (A) escape or (B) stick their faces in one of the various dishes Joe was setting out.
They’d put a tablecloth on top of the piano and were using it to host trays of appetizers; the sideboard in the dining room was doing double duty as a bar.
Soon enough the entire kitchen counter would be covered in food too.
Joe left Starling and Austin in charge of setting up the drink station so he could finish the gravy. He left it on the burner to warm, checked in on the lasagna, taste-tested the dressing, and grabbed the charcuterie from the fridge.
By the time he returned to the dining room, Linda, Gavin, Alex, and Will had arrived. Starling was pouring Linda a glass of her Irish cream, while Gavin and Will poked at the presents under the tree, looking for theirs like they were eight instead of eighteen.
“No presents until after dinner,” Joe called.
Alex turned and smiled at him. “Merry Christmas, Joe.”
He smacked a kiss on the top of their head as he set down the tray. “Merry Christmas. Your parents still coming?”
“They’re just getting the presents.”
Rebecca and Trevor came in carrying bags of gifts, clearly having brought enough for not only the kids but also the adults.
Rebecca hadn’t made a great first impression on Joe, but in the past three years she’d gotten sober, found a steady job, and met and married Trevor. Joe didn’t really know him, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy doting on his wife and stepchild.
“Rebecca, how good to see you.”
She smiled at Joe’s greeting and pulled him into a hug. “Joe. How have you been?”
“I’ve been great. Kept busy, but good.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Rebecca was one of the first supporters of his landscaping business, sharing his contact details with everyone she knew and providing references.
“Alex tells us this old house is keeping you busy,” Trevor said.
Joe laughed. “And Alex too. Come. Get a tour.”
They stopped at the tree where Alex, Gavin, and Will were fooling around, taking sneak peeks at presents and trying to guess their contents.
“No touching.” Alex smacked Gavin with the back of their hand, and Gavin turned puppy-dog eyes on them. Alex stayed firm. “You agreed to those rules.”
“But Alex, ba—”
Alex placed a hand on his face and pushed. “Put that face away, you cheater.”
Joe was just finishing up the tour and thinking he should check on Austin in the kitchen when his mom arrived.
“Oh, Joe, it looks wonderful. You’ve done such great work on the place. And the decorations are lovely.”
Joe gave a little smile and admitted, “Most of them came with the house. Also, the kids helped a lot. Gavin and Will were responsible for the mistletoe.” He nodded down the hall. Bunches of fake mistletoe hung over every conceivable doorway and a few non-doorways. “It seems DeeDee was a fan.”
His mom chuckled. “Somehow, that seems apt for the woman.”
Joe bit his tongue on agreeing that mistletoe was the low-key version of leaving a house to two queer single men. Instead, he smiled and said, “Yeah. It fits.”
This last was said as they walked into view of the tree, and Gavin, sensing a conversation to snoop on, turned and asked, “What fits?”
“DeeDee’s love of mistletoe is in character.”
Gavin’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t it great? Of course, participating in mistletoe kissing is totally voluntary. We don’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable.”
God, Joe loved his kids.
“I’m sure she’s not planning on kissing anyone she doesn’t want to, dumbass,” Alex said, but couldn’t hide the fondness in their voice or gaze.
“Hey, peer pressure is real. Everyone should know that the mistletoe is just for fun and not a requirement.”
The next few hours were chaos of the best kind.
Drinks and appetizers were worked through while Joe finished dinner prep, and then they all sat around the brand-new table to plow their way through the various dishes.
When Joe placed the plate of sliced turkey in front of Austin, he gazed up at Joe with hearts in his eyes and eagerly reached for it.
Totally worth the effort, Joe thought—even later, when the turkey clearly failed the popularity contest next to the lasagna and Austin admitted that he didn’t really like it, even smothered in gravy.
“It’s just so dry,” he muttered softly to Joe with apologetic eyes.
Joe didn’t take offense. “Turkey is the worst bird.”
Meg arrived as they were finishing dinner, and everyone gathered in the living room to distribute presents.
Wrapping paper littered the room by the time Alex pulled the final package from under the tree and handed it to Joe. “For you and Austin.”
Joe lifted an eyebrow, wondering what on earth the kids thought they should share as a present, but he didn’t ask.
Asking might get answers too close to the truth or questions he wasn’t ready to answer.
So he opened the bag and pulled out four hand-painted ornaments.
Each live-edge wooden disk had a portrait of one of the animals on one side.
On the back, each had a similar inscription—First Christmas 2025.
Joe was not going to cry over this. He was not.
“Will found this local artist who does them for pets and babies,” Gavin explained, all eager puppy. “So we sent them pictures and they made them up.”
Walker’s portrait showed him sitting on a flannel-clad shoulder—it must’ve come from a picture Austin had sent the kids. Pepa’s featured her prosthetic. Joe ran his thumb over each picture and then handed them to Austin to admire.