Patrick tried to be patient as Kyle slipped and slithered along beside him, but the weight of his rucksack combined with Kyle hanging onto his other arm soon had him seething with irritation. He knew it wasn’t fair to blame Kyle for his unsuitable footwear. It wasn’t as though he’d been planning on walking in the snow.

His anxiety deepened as the snow kept falling and there was still no sign of the village.

“Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?” he asked. “Can I see your phone?”

“Yes we are, and no you can’t. I’m not completely stupid. It’s definitely this way.”

Biting back the urge to snap something about the idiocy of travelling at this time of year without a decent winter coat, Patrick sighed, and picked up his pace.

Finally they passed a sign that read, Welcome to Langbeck, please drive carefully.

“Thank goodness,” Patrick said.

Buildings emerged from the gloom. A handful of stone cottages lined the narrow lane, their roofs covered in snow. Lights shone in a few of the windows, and Patrick caught sight of a Christmas tree draped with silver tinsel and a string of brightly coloured fairy lights.

Pausing, he stared for a moment, dragged unwillingly into memories of last Christmas and how happy he’d been then. His chest ached as he thought about Matt and remembered the smiles and laughter they’d shared.

“Why have you stopped?” Kyle tugged on his arm. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

The ghost of Christmas past, Patrick thought ruefully. Last year he’d been engaged to Matt, confident in their future together. How incredibly wrong he’d been.

“No reason.” He tore his gaze away and started walking again.

“You okay?”

Patrick could feel Kyle watching him with interest and he kept his focus on the road. “Fine. I just want to get out of this snow.”

“You and me both.”

Langbeck didn’t seem to be more than a cluster of buildings along the main road. No side streets led off the main drag. The sight of a billboard outside what must have been a village shop sent relief coursing through Patrick. Anywhere with a shop probably also had a pub, and where there was a pub there might be somewhere for them to stay if they couldn’t make it home. The chances of a small village like Langbeck having a garage seemed slim, and Patrick couldn’t see the AA being able to help them today.

“Civilisation at last,” Kyle said as Patrick pushed open the shop door, which gave a cheery jingle. “Thank fuck for that.” He let go of Patrick’s arm and stooped to lift his case up the step as he followed Patrick inside into the cosy warmth.

Christmas carols played in the background and a middle-aged man behind the counter was whistling along to “God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen”. Patrick greeted the man with a nod and a smile. “Good afternoon. My colleague and I had some car trouble and have broken down near here. I know it’s a long shot, but is there a garage in the area? Somewhere we might be able to get it fixed today?”

“There’s no garage within fifteen miles or so.” The man shook his head, frowning. “And with this snow coming down I don’t reckon you could get it towed there anyhow.”

“Do you have a phone number for them? It might be worth a try.”

“Aye. Hold on.” The man picked up a copy of a local magazine and rifled through it. “Here, this is it. Parson and Sons.”

“Do you mind if we stay in here out of the snow while I make a call?”

“Of course not. Help yourself.”

Patrick moved away from the counter and got out his phone. He had a signal now, albeit not a great one. As it rang, he watched Kyle who was huddled in his jacket, collar up, and hands shoved in his pockets. Patrick felt a pang of sympathy for him in his freezing, miserable-looking state.

The call went to an answerphone message. “Parson and Sons are closed for Christmas. We’ll be open again on the twenty-seventh. Have a good one.”

“Bugger.” Patrick ended the call. “They’re closed,” he said as Kyle glanced up questioningly.

“Try the AA?”

“I’ll give it a go, but don’t get your hopes up.”

It took a while for Patrick to get connected to an operator and when he did, his fears were confirmed. “I’m sorry, love,” the woman on the phone said. “But there’s no way we can get someone out to you today. Not in the middle of the Lake District. We’re snowed under—pardon the pun—and as I’m sure you know we prioritise lone women or people travelling with children. The earliest we could get to you would be tomorrow I’m afraid, so you can call back in the morning for an update. Hopefully we can get someone out to you then so you’ll be home in time for Christmas.” Her cheery voice didn’t do much to reassure Patrick.

“Okay, thanks.” Patrick ended the call. His face must have said everything.

“No luck?” Kyle asked.

“No. No chance till tomorrow. Looks like we need to find somewhere to stay.”

“Brilliant.” Kyle’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “So I’m stuck with you for another night.”

Any sympathy Patrick had felt evaporated. He bit his tongue rather than snap back in front of the shopkeeper, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled at having to put up with Kyle’s bad moods and bitchiness for another night either.

Kyle stalked around to speak to the man behind the counter, who had clearly been listening in to their conversation. “Any suggestions for some accommodation within walking distance?”

The man eyed Kyle, who was standing with a hand on his hip. With his bright blond hair, skinny jeans, and an earring glittering in one ear, he couldn’t have been more of a contrast to the conventional-looking man behind the counter. Everything about Kyle’s looks and posture screamed queer. Patrick couldn’t help noticing how hot he looked and cursed himself for noticing.

“Well, there’s the local pub—the Huntsman—it’s a couple of hundred yards further up the road,” the shopkeeper said. “But they only have a few rooms and I heard they’re fully booked. They’re very popular over Christmas, so I think you’d be wasting your time.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, clearly impatient at the unhelpful reply. “Anything that might not already be booked?”

His tone bordered on rudeness and Patrick was simultaneously annoyed and aroused, and then disturbed by the fact that he found Kyle being bitchy attractive on some level. It didn’t make him like him, but it made him want to spank him. Patrick sometimes enjoyed watching porn that involved discipline, although it wasn’t something he’d explored in reality.

Distracted, Patrick took a moment to tune into what the shopkeeper was saying. “…I heard her son had been doing up an outbuilding for her to rent out, but I’m not sure if it’s finished yet. Might be worth asking though.”

“Do you have her number?”

“I don’t, lad. But you could just pop round. She lives at Orchard Cottage. Go out of here, turn right, and it’s about fifty yards back down the hill. It’s a bit tucked away at the end of a lane, but there’s a sign on the main road.”

“Shall we?” Kyle asked Patrick, who shrugged.

“Might as well.”

“Listen, if she can’t help you, come back and see me again,” the man said gruffly. “I live over the shop, and I don’t have much space with me and the missus, and my daughter and the grandchildren staying for Christmas, and the cats. But if you’re stuck, we could make up the sofa for one of you, and I’ve got an airbed that could go on the floor for the other.”

Touched at the generosity of the stranger, Patrick said, “Thank you so much. I hope we won’t need to trouble you, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Yeah.” Kyle gave the man a genuine smile. “That’s really kind of you. Thanks.”

“I’m Mike by the way.” The shopkeeper offered his hand to Patrick who shook it.

“Patrick.”

“Kyle.” Kyle shook the proffered hand.

“Good luck. I hope Mrs Wilcox can help you out. But like I said, come back if you’re stuck.”

“What time are you open till today?” Patrick asked. “We’ll probably need to come back and get supplies either way.”

“I close at six.” It was a little after three, so that gave them plenty of time.

“See you later then.”

Orchard Cottage was built from grey stone. Detached, it was set back from the main road through the village and was surrounded by trees, giving it a rather dark and spooky appearance. This was compounded by the slightly dilapidated appearance of the property. The window frames and front door were long overdue a lick of paint.

As they approached, a dog started barking ferociously. Kyle froze in his tracks, eyes wide.

“It’s fine,” Patrick said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “It’s only warning her that we’re coming.”

“Hmm.” Kyle hung back, letting Patrick lead the way and knock on the door.

The brass knocker made a sharp rat-tat-tat, and the volume of the barking increased dramatically. Patrick’s heart rate skyrocketed as someone fiddled with a chain on the inside of the door. He hoped the dog’s owner had a good grip on it.

“Down, Dex!” a sharp female voice said. “That’s enough. Sit!”

The barking stopped and the door creaked open a few inches. A wrinkled face scowled out at them. “What do you want?” A growl from the dog accompanied her words, and the old lady turned and made a sharp hissing noise through her teeth. The growling stopped. “Well?” She addressed Patrick again.

“Mrs Wilcox is it?” He used his most polite tone.

A jerk of her head indicated they had the right person.

“My name is Patrick, and this is my colleague, Kyle. We um… heard you might have a room or something to rent? I know it’s short notice but our car broke down and we’re stuck here tonight because of the snow, and Mike from the shop said—”

“It’s not ready for guests yet.” She started to close the door on them.

“Wait!” Patrick said. “We don’t have many other options. How not ready is it? We don’t need luxury and we can pay whatever you ask.”

She paused, peering out suspiciously. “It’s only partly furnished, and needs painting.”

“Does it have beds? That’s all we need.”

“It’s got one. A double.”

Patrick turned to Kyle and raised his eyebrows. “You okay to share?”

Kyle shrugged. “Whatever. It beats sleeping on a sofa or a floor, which seem to be our only other options.”

Patrick pleaded with Mrs Wilcox. “Please can we rent it?”

She studied him. Her gaze was penetrating and he had the uncomfortable feeling that she could read his thoughts. Finally she opened the door a little wider. Tiny, and leaning heavily on a stick for support, she was still formidable.

“No!” she said sharply as Dex—who was a huge German shepherd—made a move as if to lunge at Patrick. “Sit.” Dex gave a small whine of frustration, but sat, looking guilty. “Good boy.” Dex gave a small wag of his tail. “Let me show you the place, and if you’re sure you want it, we’ll talk money. Just give me a moment to put on my coat and boots.”

Leaving the door ajar, she disappeared from sight to the sound of rustling.

Dex eyed them as though waiting for them to put a toe out of line. He was practically quivering with the effort it took not to jump. Patrick admired the dog’s self-control and how well Mrs Wilcox had trained him, but he’d be a damn sight happier with a door between them.

When Mrs Wilcox finally shuffled out clad in a thick coat, boots, hat, and gloves, she whistled and patted her hip. Dex moved to heel, shadowing her as she made her way out of the front door, using her stick for support.

“Let me.” Patrick offered her an arm to help her down the front step, but he snatched it back as Dex growled again.

“I can manage.”

She led them around the side of the cottage, and along a gravel path to the bottom of the snow-covered garden where a low outbuilding stood. In contrast to the house, this had a freshly painted door and windows that were clearly new. It was tiny, though, more like a playhouse than something for two fully grown men to stay in.

“It used to be a pigsty,” she explained. “My son’s been converting it for me. Said I could make money on it if I rented it out to tourists. He reckoned it wouldn’t matter that it was small. Tiny houses are all the rage now apparently. Makes no sense to me.” She pulled out a bunch of keys and unlocked the door, stepping inside with Dex following. “All the electrics and plumbing are done, but there’s no Wi-Fi yet. It still needs some painting doing and will eventually have more furniture—a table and a coffee table, and some more storage for clothing.”

Patrick had to stoop to get through the entrance, as did Kyle—although not quite as much—and when he straightened up he looked around, impressed.

Clever design had turned the small space into something that was perfect for two people, as long as they didn’t mind being in close proximity. The single-storey building was basically one large room with a doorway at one end that Patrick presumed must lead to a bathroom. Near that door there was a compact built-in kitchen unit with a microwave, kettle, and toaster on the counter and a fridge beneath it next to a cupboard.

The bed was a platform built into the roof space at the end opposite the kitchen. It was accessed by a sturdy wooden ladder. There was barely enough space to sit up in it. It was cosy, but wouldn’t suit anyone who was at all claustrophobic. And whoever was on the inner side of it wouldn’t be able to get out without disturbing the other person.

A comfy-looking brown leather sofa was placed along one wall with a television opposite on a stand, and a couple of upright wooden chairs stood at the kitchen end, looking rather lonely without a table. There was no other furniture, not even a coffee table to put a drink down on. The walls were still bare plaster, and the floor rough concrete. Patrick shivered as he imagined how it would feel under bare feet. He was glad to see there was a gas fire for heating. It was freezing in there at the moment but a small space like this would warm up quickly.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “It’s going to be fantastic once it’s finished.”

“I daresay. If you like that sort of thing.” Mrs Wilcox sounded unimpressed. “I don’t see why anyone who can afford to pay for a nice hotel room would want to pay for what my son says I should charge for this place. But I’m not going to complain if it brings me in some extra money.”

Turning to Kyle, Patrick asked, “Are you okay for us to stay here?”

“Do I have a choice?” Kyle shrugged.

“Not unless you want to sleep in your car—or want to take Mike up on his offer of a sofa. I think this is preferable.”

“So, how much is it?” Kyle asked Mrs Wilcox.

“Well, once it’s all finished I was going to ask for one hundred pounds a night. But as it still needs work let’s say seventy-five. How many nights do you want it for?”

Kyle and Patrick both answered together. “Hopefully just—” Patrick began at the same time as Kyle said firmly, “Just one. The AA will be able to get to us tomorrow.”

Mrs Wilcox snorted. “Are you sure? With this snow I think you’ll be lucky to get out.”

“There’s no more coming till late tomorrow,” Patrick said. “So fingers crossed.” The idea of being stuck here with Kyle for more than one night didn’t bear thinking about.

“If you believe what the weather forecast says. I’ve lived here all my life, and if I had a pound for every time they get it wrong I’d be a rich woman. There’s more snow coming tonight. I can feel it in my bones.”

“We’ll see.” Kyle glared at her, as though she were personally responsible for the weather.

“Well, let’s say one night for now anyway,” Patrick said calmly. “How can we pay you? Do you take PayPal?”

Mrs Wilcox looked blank. “Do I take what?”

“Or I could do a bank transfer.”

“Into the bank will be fine. I’ll give you my details later.”

Kyle pointed to the doorway at the end of the room. “Is that the bathroom? Will there be hot water?”

“Yes. It’s a combi boiler and I’ll light it for you now.” She crossed the room, Dex at her heels. “Oh, I forgot to mention there’s no door on the bathroom yet. I hope that’s not a problem.”

Kyle glanced at Patrick and rolled his eyes, his back to Mrs Wilcox. “I’m sure we’ll manage,” he replied smoothly.

Patrick’s cheeks heated at the thought of that temptation. Kyle, naked, and wet without a locked door between them sounded dangerous. “Of course,” he managed, throat tight.

Boiler lit, Mrs Wilcox handed Patrick a key. “I’ll pop back later with some bedding and towels.”

“Thanks.”