Chapter 10
A noticeable hardness came over Brent. “Yes, you got a problem with gays or something?”
Shit. Code red, code red. “No, not at all. I just never would have expected that the most popular jock at Mistletoe High would turn out to be…”
“Surprise,” Brent offered with a shrug.
Graham sat back as the revelation sank in. “Why stick around then? Mistletoe Grove isn’t exactly a gay mecca.”
“True,” Brent conceded, “but don’t underestimate this place. Mistletoe Grove has a lot to offer. Trust me, there’s more around here than meets the eye.”
For a brief moment, time seemed to stop as Graham lost himself in Brent’s gaze.
The ringing of his cellphone, though, promptly broke the spell. He pulled the device from his pocket. “Sorry,” he offered with a groan. “It’s work. Mind if I take this?”
“Work?” Brent balked in disbelief. “At this time of night?”
“No rest for the weary.” He excused himself from the table.
Stepping outside, Graham couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu. Not forty-eight hours ago, he’d been mid-date with another dreamboat when a similarly unwelcome work call had derailed the evening. Now, it was feeling like the same episode all over again.
He shook his head to himself. Wait. No, it wasn’t.
Because this wasn’t a date. Damn it, Graham.
Get your head on straight. Just because Brent, the heartthrob you spent your entire high school career crushing on, is gay, it still doesn’t change things.
You’re here to do a job, Bartlett. And once you pull this off, it’ll all be worth it.
That corner office is yours for the taking.
You’ve just got to keep your eyes on the prize.
Drawing a deep breath, he answered his phone. “What is it, Orlando?”
The voice of his assistant crackled across the line. “How’s everything going?”
Graham groaned audibly. “Is this what you called me for in the middle of the evening? A status update?”
The fret in Orlando’s reply was unmistakable. “It’s just that, Mr. Burns, he’s real worked up, Graham. Asking me every hour on the hour if I’ve heard anything from you.”
Graham exhaled evenly. “Everything is under control, Orlando.”
“I sure hope so. You should see Mr. Burns. I don’t think he’s ever been so worked up as he is over keeping Coco’s studio happy.”
Graham shook his head to himself. “Somehow, I can imagine.”
“All I can say is, I hope you know what you’re doing, Graham. ’Cause you are not going to want to mess this one up.”
“Duly noted.”
A beat of silence fell over the line. “But really, Graham. You doing OK?”
Graham paused to think before answering the question. “I could do without all the sugary Christmas cheer around here frankly, but somehow I think I’ll survive.”
A chuckle followed then from Orlando. “You mean to tell me that a town called Mistletoe Grove likes Christmas? Shocking.”
“I’m not kidding, Orlando. This place is like a holiday-palooza. It’s sickening—and not like RuPaul sickening, either.”
Another chuckle ensued. “Come on, Mistletoe Grove can’t really be all bad. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll find something—or someone—to your liking.”
Graham scoffed at the remark. “Have you been talking to Coco?”
“No…why?” A gasp of realization followed. “Oh, my gosh. There is someone.”
“There most certainly is not,” Graham denied, if perhaps a bit too hastily. “I’m here to do a job, remember?”
“So? Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy some hospitality while you’re there.”
“Hard pass. It’d never work out with this guy.
You ought to see him, Orlando. It’s like he stepped out of some cheesy Hallmark movie.
The dude walks around in this silly lumberjack flannel, talks like he’s reciting Christmas cards.
” He shut his eyes, envisioning. “His hair is the color of chestnuts, his eyes are like looking at stars, and when he smiles—” Stopping abruptly, he shook himself out of it.
“Tell Mr. Burns he’s got nothing to worry about.
Mark my words, nothing is going to distract me from this job.
” With that, he hung up the phone and returned inside.
“Everything OK?” Brent asked as Graham arrived back at their table.
“This has been great,” Graham replied, matter-of-fact. “I think it’s time we called it a night, though.”
A look of disappointment darkened his companion’s face. “But we still haven’t ordered dinner.”
“I think I lost my appetite.”
Brent shrugged with acceptance. “Then I suppose that means we’re done here.”
Without further ado, the pair took their leave.
Climbing into Brent’s pickup truck, though, a thought nagged adamantly at the back of Graham’s mind. Somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d forgotten something.
* * *
Arriving home, Graham shut the front door behind himself with a full-body sigh. What a day. He checked his watch. 11:04. Had he really been at the bar with Brent that long? It felt like barely any time had passed at all.
Apparently, it was true what they said about time flying when you were having—
Stop it, Graham, he reprimanded himself. You cannot go losing your head over Brent like this. You’re here to do a job, remember? A job that everything you’ve ever worked for is riding on. Do not louse this up for yourself now.
But, god, was that man still handsome as ever.
And so…engaging. Graham couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about Brent gave off an…
energy. Like simply being in his presence made Graham feel electric.
It was hard to believe that feeling such a way could even be possible after a single day together.
He’d certainly never felt this way after any of his dates before.
Damn it, Graham. You’ve got it bad.
He hung his coat up in the closet.
And all of a sudden, it dawned on him why he’d felt like he’d forgotten something.
Shit, those mittens. He’d left them at their table.
Oh, well. They were ugly as sin, anyway. He headed up the stairs to check on Coco. With any luck, she’d be passed out from exhaustion after whatever antics his mother had kept them busy with earlier.
He cracked open the door to his old bedroom. There she was, Sleeping Beauty in all her snoring, drooling glory.
Well, at least she was here and not dancing on a table at some club.
Not that Mistletoe Grove offered much in the way of nightlife.
This did pose a predicament, though. Namely, his own sleeping accommodations. They hadn’t exactly discussed their arrangements earlier. And hell if he was going to cozy up in bed with Coco. Even for him, there were limits when it came to going above and beyond for a client.
He’d have to crash on the couch down in the basement. So long as he got up before his mother, she’d never be any the wiser.
That was another reason he couldn’t go gaga over Brent, he reminded himself as he descended the stairs. This charade he was playing with Coco. Their cover story hinged on them maintaining the illusion of a charming, happy couple.
A charming, happy, straight couple.
And falling for the local gay heartthrob did not exactly jibe with that ruse.
He shook his head to himself. Who would have thought? Jocky Brent Danvers, star athlete of Mistletoe High, a card-carrying homosexual. It just went to show, appearances could definitely be deceiving.
He ought to know, given the lie he himself was peddling.
It felt like an extra kind of wrong hiding himself from who was likely the only other member of the rainbow mafia within a thirty-mile radius.
But what was he supposed to do? Once he outed himself to one person, this whole charade would begin to unravel.
And god forbid the news made it to his mother. Not that she seemed to have any problem with gays. It was just that he’d always been the perfect son. Somehow, coming out to his mom felt like he’d be letting her down.
Especially after seeing how happy his relationship, albeit a fake one, with Coco had made her.
He blew out a sigh. This holiday could not be over soon enough.
Flopping himself on the couch, he pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his social feed. A little mindless distraction was just what he needed.
Just then, a notification appeared: New friend suggestion.
He tapped on the icon.
And felt his stomach clench.
You might know: Brent Danvers.
How did the algorithm do this?
He swallowed down hard. Don’t tap. Don’t tap. Don’t tap. Don’t tap.
Tap.