Chapter 15
Graham, you do not get paid enough to put up with this shit. He exited his rental car onto his mother’s driveway, the last spatula left in stock at Fratellini’s locked in his death grip.
This promotion had better pull through, he thought to himself, ’cause coming home for Christmas was fast turning out to be anything but merry.
Especially now that Coco had turned it into her mission to try to set Graham up with Brent.
Part of him was almost glad in hindsight that his mother had texted when she had.
It may not have turned out being a real emergency, granted—well, not unless you considered baked goods a crisis—but at least it had granted him reprieve from Coco’s haranguing over Brent.
What Coco saw in Brent, Graham failed to understand. It wasn’t like Brent was that hot. Back in LA, there were plenty of guys with washboard abs, perky pecs, bulging biceps…
Eyes that sparkled like a pair of priceless gemstones.
A smile that warmed you up instantly, even on a cold winter’s day.
Hands that Graham would’ve given anything to feel wrapped around himself.
He shook his daydreams away. Pull yourself together, Bartlett. You’re letting this town get inside your head.
But not for long. It was time to put an end to Coco’s obsession with sparking romance.
As soon as he walked through that door, he’d demand a word with her in private.
They may have only had a few more days in town, but Graham for one did not intend to spend them fielding more of Coco’s holiday shenanigans.
He thrust open the front door. “Upstairs. Now.”
The deer-in-headlights look on Brent standing in the front hall before him then made his heart rate flatline.
“Graham,” Brent said, nonplussed. “I’m flattered, but I think I’d prefer another try at dinner first.”
A beat of silence followed as Graham attempted to process what he’d just walked into.
“Graham!” his mother greeted as she breezed in from the kitchen. “You found a spatula. How splendid!”
“What is he doing here?” He flicked a glance at Brent.
The question drew a frown on his mother’s face. “Graham, is that any way to talk about a guest?”
“It’s OK, Ms. Bartlett,” Brent assured. “Admittedly, I don’t usually offer deliveries, but for my best customer, I’m willing to make an exception.” He tossed her a wink as he extended a paper cup to Graham. “Hot cocoa?”
Graham grumbled at the beverage. “No, thank you.”
“Are you sure, Graham?” Carol asked as she sipped from her own cup. “It’s really quite good.”
“Come on, Graham. It’s just the way you like it,” Coco added. “Nice and hot.” Her eyes flicked over to Brent.
Graham fought to maintain composure as he hooked his arm around the starlet’s. “Would you two excuse us for a moment?” He led her off to the kitchen.
Out of earshot of the group, Graham let his facade drop. “What do you think you’re doing, Coco?”
She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Whatever do you mean, Graham?”
He felt his forehead sizzle. “Don’t play dumb with me, Coco. You know exactly what I mean. One minute, I’m telling you I don’t want to get involved with Brent, the next, he’s at my mother’s house serving us hot cocoa!”
“Look, Graham,” she replied as she took a sip from her cup, “just because you’re too vain to let yourself enjoy a little sugar doesn’t mean the rest of us—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Coco!”
Patronizing, she shook her head. “Oh, Graham. Stop being so paranoid. It’s nothing but an innocent coincidence that Brent happened to drop by. Tell me, would I really concoct a scheme just to set you up with some Christmas dreamboat?”
Graham rolled his eyes as he watched Coco take her leave. “Yes.”
Thus adjourned, he followed Coco back to the group—only to find yet another surprise awaiting him.
Somehow, a coil of Christmas lights had found its way into Brent’s arms.
The sight triggered a flashback to the debacle Graham had endured the day before with the tree in the town square.
“What’s this?”
“Brent is truly a godsend,” his mother offered by way of explanation. “You know how much I hate getting up on ladders, Graham. Well, Brent here has offered to help me finally finish my decorations out front.”
Graham could practically feel the stupor washing over his face then. “You mean there’s more?” He recalled the display of lights that could have rivaled Times Square that had greeted them upon their arrival.
“You know,” Brent said, “I could really use some help.” He raised up the tangle of lights in his arms.
“We wouldn’t want Brent here taking another fall now, would we?” Carol added.
Graham heaved a sigh of exasperation. “No, we certainly wouldn’t want that.”
* * *
Sitting on the roof, Graham went stiffer than his grandmother’s fruitcake as he peered out over the edge.
Brent shook his head to himself. “Not a fan of heights, I take it?” Lowering himself to his haunches, he stapled a length of lights into the trim.
“That’s rich coming from you,” Graham retorted, unamused, “seeing as just yesterday you almost sent yourself to the hospital doing this.” He worked to maintain a low center of gravity.
The comment drew a chuckle. “Hazard of the trade, I suppose.”
“Well, I’d like to trade it in now, thank you very much.” Reluctant, he set to work assisting Brent with the lights.
Not that this house needed any more holiday spirit.
Graham shuddered to think what his mother’s next electric bill would be.
With the amount of lit-up decorations currently gracing the fire hazard that this house had become, he was surprised his mom hadn’t drained the whole New England power grid yet.
Still, at the moment, he had bigger concerns to worry about.
Namely, Brent. It sure was a coincidence that no sooner had Graham been sent off on an errand—one that, in his opinion, had been entirely unnecessary—than the guy with whom Coco wanted desperately to set him up been beckoned to arrive urgently with a special delivery.
It had Coco’s meddling written all over it.
He needed to put an end to this—and fast. Not only because he was here to do a job, he was going to be leaving soon, and he was patently disinterested in whatever Brent had to offer him, but added to all that, if Coco kept up her matchmaking antics, then sooner or later, his mother would be bound to grow suspicious.
And homosexuality was not a topic of conversation he was interested in broaching with the woman who’d raised him.
“Gosh,” Brent said, shaking Graham from his thoughts, “Graham Bartlett and Brent Danvers, working together side-by-side.” He chuckled in spite of himself. “Mistletoe High would have never believed it.”
Graham arched an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Brent busied himself affixing another strand of lights. “It’s just that, who would have thought, right? You’ve got to admit, we didn’t exactly travel in the same circles back then.”
That sure was a gut punch. Granted, Graham knew he wasn’t exactly top of the food chain back in high school, but he certainly hadn’t thought Brent was the kind of guy to go around rubbing it in.
Brent seemed to realize his faux pas. “Aw, shucks, I didn’t mean it like that. Besides, look at you now. Big, successful businessman, living the dream in LA.”
Graham just shrugged. That’s right, he was living the dream, wasn’t he?
Brent stroked his chin as he narrowed his eyes at his companion. “Say, you never did tell me what it is you do out there. Must be pretty important if you have to leave dinner for work calls at all hours.” He pinned him with an expectant look.
Graham avoided making eye contact as he stapled another length of lights. “Oh, you probably wouldn’t find it very interesting.”
“And why is that?” An unmistakable edge had entered Brent’s voice. “Because I’m just a simple, small-town cocoa bar owner?”
Now it was Graham’s turn to realize his gaffe. He stammered to come up with a reply.
Brent, however, beat him to it. “Maybe I’m not some high-powered, big-city businessman, Graham, but that doesn’t mean—”
“That came out wrong,” Graham cut him off. He let his gaze wander across the bird’s-eye view they had of town up on the roof. “And trust me, I’m not exactly sure you’re missing out on much.” A contemplative sigh escaped him.
A quizzical look dawned on Brent’s face as he took in the sight of Graham gazing out wistfully, almost as if realizing there may have perhaps been more to his old high school classmate than he’d initially given him credit for. “Why do you do it, then?”
The question seemed to pull Graham back to the present. He cocked his head as if failing to compute.
Brent decided to rephrase. “Why not call it quits, I mean?”
The winter breeze chilled them as Graham, silent, contemplated.
“It’s just…it’s what I do,” he finally replied, as if there was no other way to explain it. He shook his head to reset. “Look, no offense, but I wouldn’t expect you to get it.”
There seemed to be an extra force behind Brent’s next squeeze on his staple gun. “I guess never mind, then.”
A quiet grumble escaped Graham’s lips. “Come on, Brent. It’s just that, you’re still…
here.” He resumed stapling his own strand of lights.
Why was he trying to explain himself? “Not that I blame you. Here, you were the most popular guy in high school. Meanwhile, I was just…well, frankly, I was a nobody.”
Brent looked at him askance. “You don’t really think I—or anyone else around town, for that matter—still cares who we were back in high school, do you?”
Graham, however, seemed to ignore the question. “Getting out of Mistletoe Grove was the best thing I ever did,” he said, almost as if to remind himself. “It meant I could finally be somebody.”
Nodding coolly, Brent followed Graham’s gaze to whatever had apparently captured his attention on the horizon. “Well, I’m glad to hear life in LA has worked out for you so well.”
A brief delay followed before Graham registered the question. When he finally responded, his mind sounded miles away. “Yes, exactly.”
The stillness, however, was quickly broken the next moment by a chaotic whir of motion. A frantic yelp escaped Graham as, in his distraction, he lost his footing on the roof. Limbs flailing, he began to slip toward the edge.
Guess you’ll be spending Christmas in the hospital, a voice in his head panicked.
Fortunately, no ER trips would be needed that day. Although Graham had braced himself for the neck-breaking impact of a freefall into the yard, the next thing he knew, he’d been swept up into a strong pair of arms.
Pulse racing, he managed to catch his breath. “Brent!” He felt his heart flutter as, safe in his rescuer’s embrace, he lost himself briefly in his eyes.
“Good thing I was here to catch you, huh?”
He managed a lopsided smile. “Yes, I suppose it was, wasn’t it?”