Page 43 of Snow Storm

Claude jumped half a foot when a knock came at the door, and for a moment, he forgot who it was supposed to be. Then he remembered.

Harley.

Harley, with his big, sad eyes and his soft curls and warm skin and freckles. Harley, with his trembling fingers and his soft moans and the soul-deep need to be held and adored and spoiled. God, if he didn’t know better, he’d say this was falling in love.

But could a person do that in two days?

He supposed there were no rules about it. Not really.

“Just a moment,” he called. But before he could clear up the mess, the doorknob turned, and Harley stepped in. He was dripping from snow already melting off him, and he was shivering slightly.

“I’m s-so sorry. I’m c-cold, and—oh.” Harley froze as he stared down at the pile of photos between Claude’s legs. His face was pink from the chill, but it darkened into a full blush. “I didn’t…I can…should I come back?”

“No. Merde,” he swore under his breath. He used his hands to scoot backward so he could make room for Harley and his bags. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Harley’s eyes were on the photo he was holding. A wedding photo. Anabelle had looked so beautiful on that day, but shehadn’t felt like his when it was over. It was meant to be a beginning, but for him, it had felt like the path to an end.

He just hadn’t realized it at the time.

“Is that her? Your ex?”

“Anabelle,” Claude said. He scooted all the way back, and Harley carefully set his bags down. One of them was his own. The other was a thermal bag from the spa, which was…odd. But he wasn’t going to question him. “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

Harley carefully removed his boots, stepping wide over the little water puddles, then sank down beside Claude and peered over his arm. “Do you miss her?”

“No.”

“So why?—”

“I’m happy,” Claude told him. The words weren’t going to come out right if he wasn’t careful with them. “I realized after you left, the feeling I had when I woke up this morning was unfamiliar. And it took me too long to realize it was happiness. Then, I saw myself in the mirror, and I looked different. Not completely, but…” He brushed the tip of his finger against the left corner of his eye. “Right here, I think. I wanted to know if I ever looked like that before.”

“Had you?”

Claude pulled out the photos he’d been looking at before and handed them off to Harley. He held his breath as the younger man shifted through them. He felt Harley’s gaze move to his face, then back down to the photos. “I don’t think so. I just know that my face in these photos doesn’t look like the face I had in the mirror this morning.”

Harley ducked his head and smiled down at his lap. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

Claude tucked a finger under Harley’s chin and lifted until their eyes met. “I think you should.” He licked his lips. “I was worried you weren’t coming back.”

“I just had a?—”

“An editor thing?” Claude asked. The look in Harley’s eyes told him that Aminah had been lying. “Were you thinking things over?”

Harley let out a huffing sigh and shook his head. “No. I was planning something. For you,” he added, like that wasn’t clear. “A surprise. I sort of showed up here expecting to spend Christmas alone, but now I’m with you, and you’ve already done so much for me. I wanted to return the favor.”

Claude blinked. “I’ve done nothing special.”

Harley laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s kind of wild that you see it that way.” He grunted as he climbed to his feet, then offered both hands out. “Are you okay to stand? I can go find your chair if that’s better.”

Claude waved him off. “I’ll tidy up. You can put your things in my bedroom.”

Harley glanced behind him, then nodded. “Could you meet me in there?”

There was something heavy in his tone—important enough that it made him nervous deep in the pit of his stomach. But there was only one answer he could give. “Of course I can. I’ll be in shortly.”

Claude took his time, not quite on purpose, but not moving as quickly as he was able. He let himself look at Anabelle’s face one last time before putting everything away, and when the closet door was shut, it was like closing the lid on the memories of her.

There were no lingering feelings apart from a small surge of grief that he’d allowed himself to be discontent for so long. But even that was muted and dull in the face of what was waiting for him. He climbed to his feet but only made it as far as the sofa before his legs gave out. Luckily, his chair was parked within arm’s reach, so he grabbed it and rolled the rest of the way down the hall and through the bedroom door.

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