Page 27 of Snow Storm

Harley grimaced. “That happens?”

“Too often,” Claude said as he set what was probably the brake. He used his hands to lift his legs, bending them at the knee. With a single push of his rippling biceps, he was off the floor and seated in the chair. “They’ve mostly stopped now that I use the spikes.”

“Clever and pretty cool.”

“Trust me, it’s not that cool getting randomly spun around by people I don’t know,” Claude said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Harley slapped a hand over his face. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just…” He bowed his head. “I don’t mean to imply that your existence is some kind of parlor trick. I just know how shitty people can be. Learning how to deal with it all must have taken forever.”

Claude seemed surprised. “It did. Years before it all became as easy as walking used to be.” He ran his hands through his hair, then grimaced when they came back slick with oil. “Uhg. I should shower.”

“And I should get dressed,” Harley said.

Claude let out a small sigh. “I wish I could offer you something to make up for all this mess. And for the lies.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to go out of your way?—”

“Dinner.” The single word cut through Harley’s protests, and his jaw clamped shut.

That was the last thing he was expecting to hear from a man whose employee described him as a grumpy mountain recluse. He was so stunned he didn’t answer him.

“Sorry. That was out of line.”

“No,” Harley said in a rush, suddenly terrified of losing the opportunity to be around Claude for longer. “I mean,yes! I mean,noit wasn’t out of line. Dinner sounds nice.” Harley felt like a bumbling fool, but he also knew he didn’t want to squander a meal with this man. God only knew when he’d see him again. He was the owner. It wasn’t like he had time for random guests, even ones he felt sorry for.

And Harley wasn’t delusional. He wasn’t going to read anything into this. But God help him if he didn’t have the smallest flicker of hope for a holiday miracle.

Or a holiday roll in the hay.

He’d take either at this point.

Claude’s face brightened a little. “You’re sure? I know this is strange. And I lied about who I was.”

“I get it. You were trying to be kind,” Harley told him. Maybe from anyone else, it would have been creepy, but if Claude turned out to be some weird mountain serial killer, what a way to go.

Claude bit his lip, his brows furrowed in thought, then said, “Let me cook for you?”

Harley’s brows flew up. “Oh. I…really?”

Claude shifted to the right and pulled a phone out of his pocket. He murmured in French, ticking something off his fingers Harley thought were probably numbers, and then he nodded. “Yes, I have enough time. Let me cook for you. My favorite dish. It’s French.”

“I don’t know anything about French food,” Harley said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Claude’s smile returned. It was bright, sunny, transformative. He was somehow more beautiful with it, and that just seemed unfair. “Would it be very strange if I picked you up from your room? Since I’m the owner and know where you’re checked in, that is.”

Harley barked a laugh. “No. That’s fine. I should be ready at?—?”

“Sept,” Claude said, then in English, “Seven.” He held out his hand, and Harley took it. Claude’s fingers were somehow both rough and soft, and they were so warm. He held on tightly, and Harley allowed himself to bask in the touch for as long as it took before the moment got weird. “See you then?”

Harley nodded. He felt a pang in his gut when Claude let him go, and he watched as the man wheeled himself out, spun his chair, then reached for the door handle. Their gazes connected for a long moment.

And then the moment shattered when Claude closed the door and left Harley completely and entirely alone.

Chapter 9

Claude

“What am I doing?Oh, putain.Merde.” Claude stared at his reflection. “Quellequiche.” Of course, insulting himself wasn’t going to change anything. He’d invited Harley to his home. To eat his food.

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