Chapter Eight
Archie
Archie had barely finished his morning coffee when Brogan tossed him a grin and said, “Get dressed. We’re going away for the day.
” No explanation, no hints—just that mischievous sparkle in his eye that meant something good was coming.
Archie threw on jeans, a cozy sweater, and his favorite boots, curiosity buzzing in his chest.
They drove through town in Brogan’s van, snow falling again in soft, lazy flakes.
The windshield wipers squeaked every few seconds, and the heater hummed low.
Archie watched the world blur past, wondering where they were headed.
He didn’t ask—he liked the surprise, especially when Brogan was the one planning it.
When they pulled up in front of a large hotel with stone pillars and twinkling lights strung across the awning, Archie blinked. “Wait… are we staying here?”
Brogan just smirked. “You’ll see.”
Inside everything smelled like eucalyptus and warm vanilla. A woman at the front desk greeted them and led them down a quiet hallway to a private room with two padded massage tables, soft music playing overhead, and dim lighting that made everything feel calm and intimate.
Archie looked around, a little stunned. “We’re getting massages?”
“Couple’s massage,” Brogan said, already kicking off his shoes. “You’ve never had one, right?”
Archie shook his head, still taking it all in. “Nope. This feels… fancy.”
They settled onto the tables, side by side, and the massage therapists got to work. Warm oil, gentle pressure, and the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Archie melted into the table, eyes half-closed, feeling muscles he didn’t even know were tense loosen.
“This is ridiculous,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the headrest. “In the best way.”
Brogan chuckled. “Told you. You deserve a little pampering.”
Archie turned his head slightly, catching Brogan’s relaxed expression. “You’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll agree to more surprises.”
“Maybe,” Brogan said. “Is it working?”
Archie smiled. “Yeah. It’s working.”
After the massage, they were led to a private bath suite—walls painted a soft cream, candles flickering on every surface, and a gigantic round tub already filled with bubbles and steaming water. Archie’s jaw dropped.
“This is insane,” he said, stepping inside. “Like, movie-level romantic.”
Brogan grinned. “Come on. Let’s make it our movie.”
They shrugged off their heavy robes and slid into the tub, bubbles clinging to their shoulders, steam curling around their faces. Archie leaned back against Brogan’s chest, the warmth soaking into his bones. He’d never done anything like this before—never felt so spoiled, so seen.
“This is the kind of thing I thought only happened in magazines,” Archie whispered.
Brogan wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re worth it. Every bit of it.”
Archie turned and kissed him, taking his time. The kiss said thank you without words. They stayed like that—hugging, kissing, talking about nothing and everything until the water cooled and the candles burned low. If this is what love looks like, I never want to miss a moment of it.
Archie kicked off his boots the second they got home from the spa, still feeling like his bones had turned to warm jelly.
The massage, the bubble bath, the quiet—it had all been perfect.
Brogan looked just as blissed out, hair a little damp, cheeks pink from the cold.
Archie grinned as he walked into the living room, the glow of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows across the walls.
“I’ve got one present for each of us,” Archie announced, voice playful.
Brogan raised an eyebrow. “From you to you and me?”
“Exactly,” Archie said, digging under the tree and pulling out two neatly wrapped boxes. “Christmas Eve tradition. I just made it up.”
They sat cross-legged on the rug, the tree lights twinkling above them.
Archie handed Brogan his box, wrapped in shiny red paper with a gold bow that had taken him way too long to get right.
Brogan tore into it like a kid, and when he pulled out the matching Christmas pajamas—bright red with goofy reindeer dancing across the fabric—he burst out laughing.
“No way,” Brogan said, holding them up. “This is amazing.”
Archie opened his own and held up the twin pair. “Thought we could be festive and ridiculous.”
“I love it,” Brogan said, already standing to change. “Right here?”
“Obviously,” Archie said, peeling off his sweater and stepping into the new pajamas. They changed right there in the living room, tossing clothes onto the couch and laughing as they tried to wiggle into the snug flannel pants.
Brogan grabbed his camera from the shelf and started snapping pictures—first of Archie alone, then the two of them together under the tree, arms wrapped around each other, cheeks pressed close.
Molly and Pasha wandered in, curious, so they scooped them up and added them to the chaos.
Archie held Pasha like a baby while Brogan tried to get Molly to look at the lens.
Just as Brogan clicked another photo, the doorbell rang.
Archie padded over in his reindeer pajamas and opened the door to find Andrew and Rafael standing there, bundled up and grinning.
“We snuck out,” Andrew said. “Didn’t want to go to Midnight mass.”
Archie laughed. “You’re just in time. We’re in peak holiday mode.”
Once they were all inside, warm and settled, Archie stood up again and cleared his throat dramatically. “One present for each of our cousins. From me and Brogan.”
“Sounds good to me,” Rafael said.
“Did you know they were coming?” Brogan asked Archie.
“I figured they would skip Midnight mass. Where else would they go on Christmas Eve?”
Archie squatted by the tree and selected two presents. He handed each one a present. They unwrapped their gifts and inside they had the same pajamas Brogan and Archie were wearing.
“Matching PJs!” Rafael laughed.
“Let’s wear them so Brogan can use his camera?” Andrew suggested.
Before Rafael said anything, Andrew stripped down to his underwear and put on his new pajamas. Rafael leaned over to Andrew and kissed him.
“Thanks, you guys,” Rafael said as he stripped down and put on his new pajamas.
With warm hugs, they exchanged thanks, their voices filled with emotion.
“Who wants some eggnog?” Archie asked.
“Where are we going to get that?” Brogan asked.
“I made it and stored it in the refrigerator. I had a feeling we were going to have guests.”
They all followed Archie into the kitchen.
Brogan popped three types of appetizers in the oven to go with their eggnog.
Brogan pulled out some frozen Bacon Mozzarella Poppers he had made from scratch.
Archie pulled up the hot chicken wings that had been marinating.
He popped them into the oven. He also pulled out the cheese dish they both had cut up into cubes for tomorrow.
Rafael poured the eggnog into the Santa mugs.
Andrew pulled out four large matching Santa dishes and passed them around.
Archie was happy he had made a lot of eggnog.
Both Rafael and Andrew filled their mugs many times before the snacks came out of the oven.
Brogan carried the cheese snacks out into the living room and put them on the coffee table.
Archie sat beside Brogan, their knees touching.
Archie could tell Rafael and Andrew were way too tipsy to drive home. Andrew was giggling at the blinking lights on the tree like they were telling him secrets, and Rafael had sung along to a Christmas song he clearly didn’t know the words to.
Brogan didn’t even hesitate. “You two are staying here tonight,” he said. “No arguments.”
After Brogan took pictures of all four of them, they ended up playing cards in the living room, sprawled out in their matching pajamas, laughing over a chaotic game of Go Fish that somehow turned into Truth or Dare halfway through.
Archie hadn’t laughed that hard in weeks.
When they finally got tired, Archie stood and stretched, then waved everyone toward the kitchen.
“Snack time,” he announced. “Follow me.”
Brogan was already pulling trays from the freezer, popping three kinds of appetizers into the oven. Archie peeked over his shoulder—mini quiches, spinach puffs, and those bacon mozzarella poppers Brogan had made from scratch last weekend and frozen for “a special occasion.” Apparently, this was it.
Archie grabbed the marinated chicken wings from the fridge—spicy and sweet, and slid them onto a baking sheet. He also pulled out the cheese dish they’d prepped for tomorrow’s sharp cheddar, creamy brie, and a cranberry spread that looked way fancier than it was.
Rafael took charge of the drinks, pouring eggnog into the Santa mugs with dramatic flair. “I feel like Mrs. Claus,” he said, handing one to Archie.
Andrew rummaged through the cabinet and pulled out four oversized Santa plates, passing them around like they were sacred relics. Archie couldn’t help but smile—he was glad he’d made a huge batch of eggnog. Rafael and Andrew refilled their mugs at least twice before the oven timer dinged.
Brogan carried the trays out to the living room, setting them down on the coffee table as if he were presenting a feast. The room smelled of melted cheese, bacon, and cinnamon, and Archie felt a wave of contentment settle over him.
Everyone was warm, fed, and just a little bit ridiculous. It was messy and loud and perfect.