Chapter 28
Brent looked as if he’d just been told he had six months to live. “You don’t feel the same.”
A heavyhearted sigh followed from Graham. “I can’t feel the same.” He took a step back. It might as well have been a hundred steps back.
Silence filled the void between them as Brent returned a defeated nod. “You’re right. This was a mistake.”
Graham opened his mouth to speak, but somehow, the words wouldn’t come.
“I’m such an idiot.” Rising from the bed, Brent started to pace. “What was I thinking? That we were living some sort of fairy tale?”
Watching Brent fret, Graham felt his chest tighten. This was all his fault. Causing Brent pain was the last thing he wanted to do, but lo and behold, it appeared he’d fucked up big time.
From the day he’d arrived in Mistletoe Grove, he’d had one simple rule for himself: keep his eyes on the prize. But what had he done instead? He’d gotten himself distracted in the worst way possible.
And look what had come of it.
Why did he care so much about how Brent felt? He was only in town until Christmas. As soon as he returned to LA, he’d probably never see the guy again. So his temporary weakness had caused some collateral damage. It was no skin off his back.
He knew the truth deep down, of course. For as much as Brent Danvers had fallen hard for him, he in turn had fallen equally hard for Brent Danvers.
And that was worse than any PR crisis.
The sound of Brent’s voice pulled him back to the present.
“I guess I was just thinking that, maybe with a little holiday magic, the two of us might stand a chance.” He slumped his shoulders, morose. “But I guess there really isn’t such a thing as a Christmas miracle.”
The words struck Graham like a blade. For as much as he considered himself a cynic, the notion that he’d dimmed Brent’s purehearted belief in what made this season special filled him with guilt like he’d never thought possible.
He rose to address Brent head-on. “Look, just because the two of us couldn’t work out, it doesn’t mean you have to give up on Christmas.”
Apparently, though, Brent had his mind made. “No, it’s like you said, Graham. Christmas cheer, holiday spirit, goodwill toward man—it’s all a sham.” He shrugged, dejected. “I don’t see why you’re arguing. Frankly, I’d think you’d be happy. It turns out you were right all along.”
A heavy silence hung between them as Graham considered Brent’s words. He should have been happy, logically. Finally, Brent had learned to see things his way.
But was that really a good thing? Although he would’ve sooner died than admit it, part of Graham envied the way people like Brent perceived the world. Those who still saw good in their fellow man. Who could take joy in the simple things. Who cared about more than just getting ahead.
It may have been too late for himself, Graham knew, but hell if he was going to let Brent become a cold-hearted Grinch, too.
“Come on, Brent. You don’t really feel that way. Look how much you have to be thankful for. You’ve got a happy life, a caring community, your own hot cocoa shop.”
A bitter scoff escaped Brent’s lips. “For now.”
The remark etched a crease into Graham’s forehead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A heavy sigh followed from Brent. “It figures the two of us would crash and burn. Apparently, things falling apart is a theme in my life lately.” He flopped back down on the bed and sulked.
At this, Graham’s features softened with sympathy. “What are you talking about?” He sat down next to Brent on the bedside.
Brent inhaled deep as if mustering his courage. “I might as well tell you. It’s about to be the last Christmas for the old Cozy Mug. Come New Year, I’m shutting down for good.”
A blank stupor washed over Graham’s face. “What? But you love this place.”
The remark seemed to hit Brent with a sting. “I do,” he replied, somber. “Unfortunately, love doesn’t exactly pay the bills.”
Graham felt his heart give a squeeze.
“The truth is,” Brent went on, “I’ve been behind on rent for months. I was banking on the holiday rush to be my saving grace, but you’ve seen how dead it is in town. I’m out of options, Graham. At this point, my only choice left is to sell.”
Suddenly, Graham felt a memory reach him.
“‘A nice place down by Miller’s Creek,’” he said, playing back the comment Brent had made during their first intimate rendezvous.
“That’s why you live above your shop, isn’t it?
You sold your home so you could keep this place afloat.
” Sadness tinged his face as the realization sank in.
Brent, however, kept a stiff upper lip. “Don’t get misty-eyed now.
This is simply about facing the facts. Whether we’re talking about The Cozy Mug or about the two of us, neither stands a chance without a Christmas miracle—and it appears old Saint Nick is fresh out.
” With a heavy sigh, he dropped his head and fell silent.
Graham contemplated what to say next. “I really wish there was something I could—”
“Don’t,” Brent cut off. “You’re just going to make things harder.”
He was right, Graham knew. A fact that made this all even worse.
“I think it’s best if you leave,” Brent concluded. There was no anger in his voice. Just sadness.
And nothing Graham could do would fix it.
Gathering his clothes, he dressed himself silently before heading out the door. “Take care of yourself, Brent Danvers.”
* * *
Rolling over on the basement sofa, Graham checked the glowing LED clock on the side table next to him. Past midnight, and not even a wink of sleep.
He released a low grumble. Why was getting Brent out of his head so impossible?
Thankfully, he’d managed to sneak back into the house again undetected.
Yet another good reason for calling it quits with Brent, he realized.
This late night coming and going couldn’t possibly have stayed a secret much longer.
At some point, his mother would surely have grown suspicious of what her son was up to under the cover of night.
And why he wasn’t sharing a bed with the woman he was supposedly mad about.
He exhaled a tired sigh. Man, had this trip turned out being more than he’d bargained for.
It was supposed to be a simple job: spend a few days in his sleepy hometown, keep his party girl client out of the tabloids for the holidays, then hightail it back to LA for her triumphant return to the screen—not to mention his triumphant rise to superstar PR exec.
Who would have thought that somewhere along the way, a dreamy-eyed smokeshow from his past would come along and turn it all upside down?
He sat up on the sofa. Man, if high school Graham could have seen himself now. Being chased by Brent Danvers, legendary star of the Mistletoe High basketball team and undisputed crush of every girl with a pair of eyes? He wouldn’t have believed it in a million years.
As much as his inner high school nerd would have called this a dream come true, though, now that it was playing out for real, Graham wished more than anything to go back and undo it all.
Yes, the sex had been hot. Searing, actually. Visions of their naked bodies—their hard, muscled flesh—pressing together, limbs tangling around each other as the two men lost themselves in lust replayed in his mind’s eye.
He could get all too used to that.
And that, he knew, was precisely the problem.
Despite having gotten no more than a taste of Brent Danvers, Graham feared deep down he’d already developed an addiction.
An addiction that appeared to go both ways.
You’re doing the right thing, he reminded himself. You’re simply doing what has to be done. Things have already gotten out of hand as it is. It’s time to nip this in the bud before it’s too late.
But, man, did he hate how it meant hurting Brent.
Especially the way it had caused him to give up on Christmas.
Sure, to Graham, the season was hooey. But somehow, the idea that Brent still held out faith in the holidays—or at least, the way he had held out faith before Graham dropped an anvil on his heart—gave him a sense of hope.
As if not everyone was doomed to turn out like himself.
As if, just maybe, there were still a few genuine souls left in the world.
But if even Brent Danvers had lost faith, then Graham must really have broken his spirit.
Then again, it wasn’t all his fault, he supposed. Having to sell the business he’d poured his heart into must have taken a serious toll on Brent. It was clear how much The Cozy Mug meant to him.
He thought back to their first conversation about Brent’s labor of love.
About how The Cozy Mug signified so much more to its owner than simply hot cocoa.
The way Brent saw it, cocoa wasn’t just a warm beverage on a cold winter’s day, a comforting treat to bring back simpler times.
It was a symbol for Mistletoe Grove itself—perhaps unsophisticated on the surface, but with far more potential than it got credit for, if only people allowed themselves to simply give it a chance.
Perhaps there was something he could do. He was a PR pro, after all. If anyone could drum up some buzz for a business on life support, it was him.
He shook himself out of it. Don’t be silly, Graham. Saving a no-name shop like Brent’s would take major publicity—the kind of press that required a big household name. And what kind of celebrity gave a hoot about cocoa?
It simply wasn’t in the cards.
And what’s more, it wasn’t in the plan. He was here for one reason and one reason only. And spoiler alert, that reason did not involve reviving a derelict hot cocoa shop.
What’s your rule? Graham reminded himself. No catching feelings, no matter how sweet—or sexy—your old high school crush became. This promotion, and the life it would unlock for him, was so close he could practically taste it.
Almost as much as he could still practically taste Brent’s warm kiss on his lips.
And just like that, the crotch of his pants became alarmingly tight.
Shit.
Apparently, getting over Brent was going to be easier said than done.
Meanwhile, one thing of which he was sure: he was not about to be catching any shuteye anytime soon.
Perhaps a midnight snack would do him good. He’d been faithful to his diet so far, hadn’t he? Certainly, he could afford a few extra calories in an emergency such as this. Maybe a little treat would take his mind off his troubles.
Without further ado, he peeled himself off the couch and shuffled his way upstairs to the kitchen. Even if sugar didn’t end up solving his problems, it certainly couldn’t make them any worse.