What the hell just happened?

Patrick was still reeling from Kyle’s unexpected proposition. He would never in a million years have expected Kyle to come on to him. While Patrick had been unwillingly admiring Kyle since they’d started working together, he’d never sensed any mutual attraction. Was Kyle good at hiding his interest? Or was he just bored and horny and hitting on the only option available?

Either way, Patrick knew he’d made a good decision in saying no. While part of him couldn’t help feeling a small pang of regret at the lost opportunity, it had been the right thing to do. Having a gorgeous arse didn’t make up for Kyle’s horrible personality, and working together would be incredibly awkward if they hooked up—for Patrick at least. Maybe Kyle was able to fuck and forget about it, but that wasn’t Patrick’s style.

There was a sense of unreality to the whole situation and Patrick shook his head as though to clear it while he walked through Mrs Wilcox’s garden. The snow had stopped but the sky was foreboding. Darkness was beginning to fall, and Patrick wished he had a head torch. At least he had his phone if he needed light to find his way back. When he reached the main road through the village he was relieved to note that there were street lamps casting a soft glow.

The snow crunched under his feet, an icy layer forming as the temperature dropped. He trod carefully, wary of slipping. Deciding to check out the pub first, he passed the shop, and carried on. The lane curved left and started to climb more steeply. After it bent back to the right, Patrick could see a lit-up pub sign ahead.

When he reached the door, he knocked as much snow off his feet as he could before stepping inside.

The interior of the pub was deliciously warm and smelt faintly of wood smoke. It was a beautiful old building with flagstone floors and dark wooden beams. A real Christmas tree was tastefully decorated with twinkling white lights and red and silver baubles, and Bing Crosby quietly crooned “White Christmas” in the background.

There were a few people in the bar, some at tables, and a couple of old men on bar stools. The men at the bar glanced at Patrick as he approached and nodded politely.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, love,” a middle-aged woman called from where she was pulling a pint.

“Okay.” Patrick opened a menu while he waited, scanning the options. It looked good. Traditional pub fare with the usual steaks, burgers, bangers and mash, fish and chips, and Patrick’s favourite: steak and ale pie.

“How can I help?” The woman smiled at Patrick, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“I wanted to check whether you’re doing food tonight, and if so, would I need to book?”

“Yes we are. How many would it be for?”

“Just two of us.”

“That’s fine then. There’s no need to book unless it’s a large party.”

“Great, thank you. I’ll be back later then.”

“We start doing food at six,” she said cheerfully. “See you later!”

Back at the shop Mike greeted him with a nod and a smile of recognition. “Hello again. Did you manage to find somewhere to stay?”

“Yes, thanks to you. Mrs Wilcox is letting us rent her flat.”

“That’s good news. It will probably be a lot more comfortable than my sofa and an airbed.”

After the conversation he’d just had with Kyle, Patrick would be quite happy to escape to Mike’s sofa to put some space between them. But he didn’t want to inconvenience Mike and his wife. It sounded as though they already had a houseful.

Patrick picked up a basket and browsed the shelves. For a village shop, it was well-stocked with a nice selection of food. There were basics like bread, milk, cereal, and tinned food alongside luxury items such as interesting-looking cheeses, sliced meats, and cakes and biscuits that had been baked locally rather than mass produced in a factory. The only thing lacking was fresh fruit and vegetables, but Patrick could manage without them. Best of all there was a surprisingly good wine selection. Patrick chose a couple of bottles of red and added them to his basket.

“This lot should keep you going.” Mike grinned as he rang up Patrick’s purchases.

“Till the new year, I think.” Patrick had maybe gone a little overboard considering they were probably only going to be there for one night, and would be eating dinner out. But he could take the rest of it home and enjoy it over Christmas. Good food might mitigate the loneliness of Christmas on his own, with memories of Matt to taunt him at every turn.

After paying for the shopping, Patrick said, “Thanks again for helping us out—and offering to let us stay.”

“It’s no bother. I’d never turn anyone away if they needed shelter.”

“I hope you and your family have a good Christmas. Are you still open tomorrow or do you get to put your feet up on Christmas Eve?”

“Still open. There’s bound to be folk who need something last minute, especially when there’s snow and they can’t get to the supermarket. But I’ll be closing at four, so it’s not a long day. Then I’m having two days off.”

“Well, enjoy your break. Thanks again for your help.”

“No worries, lad. Safe travels tomorrow.”

It was almost dark as Patrick walked down the lane to Mrs Wilcox’s place. The clouds had broken up and there were a few clear patches of sky where the first stars twinkled. Using the torch on his phone, Patrick lit the way across the garden to his home for the night. He paused for a moment, bracing himself to face Kyle. He’d looked pretty pissed off at Patrick’s rejection, but really. What on earth had he been expecting?

Patrick took a deep breath and opened the door, which he’d left unlocked.

Kyle was still hunched up under the blanket on the sofa. Knees tucked up with the fabric wrapped tight around him; there was a softness to his features as he stared at the TV. He looked younger than usual and more vulnerable, and infinitely more appealing. A surge of something like regret flashed through Patrick and he pushed it away swiftly.

I made the right decision. There’s no going back.

Deciding to carry on as though nothing untoward had happened, Patrick greeted Kyle cheerily as he took off his snowy boots. “Hi. You okay?”

“Mmm.” Kyle didn’t meet his gaze.

“What’s that?” A large carrier bag lay on the floor next to Kyle.

“Mrs Thing brought it over. It’s towels and bedding and stuff.”

“Oh brilliant.” Patrick sounded unnaturally enthusiastic but he couldn’t help himself. “The shop had loads of nice things so I bought us lots of different snacks. Hopefully there’ll be some stuff here you like. Are you hungry now? The pub does food from six, so we can have dinner there. But if you’re peckish in the meantime there’s lots to choose from.” Patrick put his bag on the kitchen counter and started unpacking the shopping.

Tearing his attention away from the television, Kyle wandered over, blanket still wrapped around him even though it was uncomfortably hot now. Patrick took off his coat and the jumper beneath it. Even down to his T-shirt he was still boiling, sweat prickling on his back and dampening his armpits. “Are you warm enough? Can I turn that heater off for a bit?”

“Yeah. I suppose.” Kyle finally met Patrick’s eyes, albeit briefly. The hard expression that was more familiar to Patrick was back, the earlier vulnerability walled in and hidden. “What booze did you get?”

“Wine.” Patrick pulled out one of the bottles and put it down on the counter.

Kyle picked it up, and then moved close beside Patrick to open a drawer in the kitchen unit. “Ugh. You should have got a screw-top lid. There’s no fucking corkscrew.”

Breathing out slowly through his nose, Patrick resisted the urge to snap back at Kyle. It was obvious Kyle’s pride was hurt, so he should cut him a little slack. “I have one.” He went to his bag and got out a Swiss army knife. “Here.” He flipped open the corkscrew attachment. “Want me to open it?”

“No.” Kyle took it and started to work on the bottle.

Leaving him to it, Patrick finished unpacking his bag, putting chilled things in the fridge, and leaving the rest out on the counter. Next he opened the cupboard and was glad to find there were two wine glasses in there, along with a few plates, bowls, mugs, and other glasses.

“Pour some for me too, please.”

“Uh, I may need a little help here.” Scowling and flushed, Kyle handed the bottle and corkscrew to Patrick. He’d managed to pull out a chunk of cork, but the rest of it was stuck.

Patrick tried not to smirk but from the way Kyle’s scowl deepened he suspected he’d failed. Pulling out the remainder of the cork with an expert flourish, he poured a little wine into each glass and handed one to Kyle.

“Thanks.” Kyle drained his, and then picked up the bottle and topped his glass up with a much more generous measure. “That’s not bad,” he said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t like admitting it.

After taking a sip and letting it linger on his palate, Patrick agreed. “Yes, it’s pretty good. It’ll be better if we let it breathe a bit.”

Kyle took another large gulp. It didn’t look as though the wine was going to get a chance to breathe at this rate.

Leaving him to sulk, Patrick made up the bed, and then got out a newspaper he’d bought in the shop. Sitting on the sofa, as far away as he could get from Kyle, he sipped his wine, and read a few articles that interested him before making a start on the cryptic crossword.

By the time it was almost six, the bottle of wine was empty. Patrick had only had a third of it at the most. He felt relaxed and mellow in stark contrast to Kyle who was still sitting around with a face like a thundercloud.

“That wine’s given me a headache,” he grumbled as he wriggled back into his now-dry jeans, his back to Patrick.

Unable to resist admiring Kyle’s arse again, Patrick said mildly, “Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk so much of it so quickly.”

“I didn’t have that much.” Kyle pulled his T-shirt over his head, his smooth skin tempting Patrick with what he was missing out on.

The glow of the alcohol was chipping away at Patrick’s inhibitions, and a little voice at the back of his mind kept asking dangerous questions.

What if? What would it have been like? What if you tell him you’ve had second thoughts?

“Are you nearly ready?” Patrick got up from the sofa and picked up his coat. The sooner he got outdoors where the freezing air would clear his head, the better.

“Yes. What’s it like outside? Is it snowing again?”

Peering through the window, hand shielding the light, Patrick replied, “No. I don’t think so. It’s just very cold.”

“My boots are going to get soaked through again.”

“Probably,” Patrick said shortly. He had zero sympathy for people who didn’t dress for the weather.

“Do we have to go out? Isn’t there enough food here?”

“I want a proper meal, not cheese and crackers. So I’m going to the pub. It’s up to you whether you come with me or not.” He zipped up his coat and pulled his hat over his ears.

“You’re such a smug arsehole sometimes.” Kyle slipped on his jacket, glaring at Patrick. “I’m going to freeze.”

“If I had another pair of more suitable shoes with me I’d lend them to you. But I don’t.” Patrick shrugged. “It’s not my fault you didn’t pack more appropriately.”

“I wasn’t planning on trudging through snow. And it’s not just the shoes. This jacket is useless too.”

“The shoes I can understand,” Patrick grudgingly admitted. “But to go anywhere without a decent coat in December is pretty daft.”

“Jesus Christ. You sound like someone’s mum. We were at a business meeting, and then staying in a fucking hotel!” Kyle tugged furiously on the zip of his jacket. “Why on earth would I need anything more than a jacket?”

“You went out that night at the hotel. Didn’t you get cold then too?”

Kyle hadn’t told Patrick he was going out after they’d had dinner together last night, but this morning it had been obvious. There was no way he’d got a hangover like that from the quiet dinner with Patrick.

“No I didn’t. There are such things as taxis you know.” Sarcasm turned Kyle’s words into icicles, pricking, and needling.

“Well whatever. Either way, it can’t be helped. So you might as well stop whining about it.” Patrick couldn’t resist the dig back.

“I’m not whining. Oh, fuck this fucking zip!”

“What’s up?”

“It’s jammed.” Kyle pulled on it, first up, then down, but the zip stubbornly refused to move in either direction.

“Well you shouldn’t have been so rough with it. Let me see.”

“I’m not a child.” Kyle jerked away from Patrick’s outstretched hands, turning his back on him. “Shit. Look what you made me do!”

Wheeling around, his jacket was still partially zipped at the bottom, but the slider had come off. “Bollocks.” He threw it across the room where it bounced off the wall with a metallic ping.

“Not a child?” Patrick raised his eyebrows. “You could have fooled me.”

“Oh fuck you!” Kyle yanked at his jacket, forcing the jammed zip to separate. Shrugging it off, he tossed that on the floor. “Just go without me. I’m not that hungry anyway.” He walked to the sofa and sat down. Leaning back with his arms folded around himself, he stared at the blank, dark TV screen with a defeated expression.

Even through his residual annoyance, Patrick felt a pang of guilt for winding him up. Calling him a child probably hadn’t been very constructive, even if he had been behaving like a toddler during a tantrum. “Look. I’ve got a fleece you can borrow. Come on, Kyle. Come and eat with me. The pub menu looked really good.”

There was a long silence, which Patrick counted out with the thuds of his heart while he waited for a response.

Finally Kyle turned to meet his gaze. “You sure you want my company? I’m being kind of an arsehole this evening.”

The admission softened Patrick’s anger. “That wasn’t my finest moment either,” he admitted. “And yes. I don’t like eating alone.”

A ghost of a smile. “Okay then.”

Patrick picked up his fleece from the pile of stuff spilling out of his case and held it out. “Let’s go.”