Page 33 of Snow Storm

Harley didn’t want to stop, but he still slid off the man’s lap and stood up, stretching his arms above his head before offering his hands out. Claude took them and used more force than Harley was expecting to haul himself to his feet.

Right. He’d nearly forgotten. Harley did his best not to stare as Claude grabbed his walker, then made his way through the kitchen door with Harley close at his heels.

It was a cozy space, like the rest of his house, with warm cherrywood cabinets and a table to match in the corner. It was nestled in a nook with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the snowy field.

Very far off in the distance, Harley could make out the barn. “I saw you earlier,” he said as he took the seat Claude gestured to. “Out there.”

Claude lifted his brows as he parked his walker, then made his way to the oven. The door opened with a creaking groan, anda beat later, he was back at the table with a blue ceramic dish covered with a matching lid. “In the field?”

“With the cows. The Highland cattle,” Harley corrected. “That’s where I ran into Aminah.”

Claude rolled his eyes as he set the dish down, then sat across from Harley and used an oven mitt to take the lid off. “She told me all about that. I was a little surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“You’re underestimating how terrible my eyes are, even with my contacts in,” Harley told him, wrinkling his nose. “I chose writing words over being able to see the third line in the eye chart.”

Claude chuckled as he began to dish out the meal. It looked hearty—beans, chicken on the bone, and pieces of sausage. It was very browned, and it somehow smelled like the comforts of a childhood Harley had never experienced but had always wanted.

“Is that a good smile?” Claude asked. “Or a polite one?”

Harley blinked. “Oh. It’s a good one. This smells amazing.”

“It was my mother’s recipe. She made this a lot. It was easy to make in large batches, and it kept us fed when we were very food-poor.”

Harley bit his lip. He never knew what to say whenever people talked about difficult childhoods. Everything came out trite—or worse, sarcastic when he didn’t mean it to. His voice lacked a little affect, and he’d always been a bit…flat. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin this.

“I made you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Harley said in a rush. “No, I—thank you for sharing that with me.”

Claude’s eyes glimmered in the low light. “A very diplomatic answer.”

Harley did the only thing he could think of. He took a massive scoop of the beans, chicken, and sausage and shoved it into his mouth. It was too much, but he forced his jaw to chew until it was safe enough to swallow. It was searing hot, and the roof of his mouth felt like it was melting.

His eyes were watering, but he managed a smile. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Claude blinked, then chuckled softly as he quickly reached past the casserole dish for the pitcher of cold water. He hurriedly poured some into Harley’s glass and shoved it at him. “Here. Drink this, mon chou.”

Harley almost choked on the water as he gulped it down, and he only dribbled a little, swiping his hand over his mouth. “Chou?” he rasped.

Claude dragged a hand over his face. “It means cabbage. It’s a term of endearment in French. And you are endearing. Sweet—if not a little foolish. You’re supposed to wait until it’s not steaming.”

“I panicked,” Harley said miserably. He hadn’t been lying though. From the taste buds he hadn’t burnt off, the food was as amazing as Claude had promised it would be.

“Clearly. Here.” Claude leaned over, taking Harley’s fork out of his hand. He speared off a bit of chicken from the bone, then took beans with it. His lips pursed, and he blew gently on the bite, then pressed the tines to Harley’s lips. “Taste.”

His mouth opened. The metal of the fork—warm, but not molten hot—scraped over his tongue. He closed his teeth around it and felt the slow drag. No dinner in his life had ever been this sensual. And he’d once gotten a hand job under the table from a date the day after he turned twenty-one.

“Better?”

Harley swallowed thickly. “Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Claude’s grin softened, his eyes going a little dark. Instead of handing the fork back, he speared another bite. This time sausage. His lips pursed in a kiss, and he blew on the food again until it was no longer steaming, then fed Harley the bite.

His cock thickened, and he shifted in his chair as he chewed. Claude’s brows lifted a fraction, and there was a faint hint of color in his cheeks. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Harley took a sip of water as he found the courage to answer honestly. “I’m turned on.”

Claude looked startled, like maybe he hadn’t expected to say it aloud like that. God, why was he always so blunt? Why couldn’t he be smooth and seductive? He glanced away, but he was granted the reprieve from Claude’s intense gaze only for a moment.

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