Page 113 of Must Love Christmas

They took a dozen or so selfies with the gingerbread house, as Simon doubted it would survive the party intact.

Half an hour later, their friends began to arrive, each adding to the cornucopia of refreshments. Soon Garen’s playlist could barely be heard over the din of merrymaking. For once, Simon didn’t want to retreat to a quiet room during a gathering.

He did, however, park himself on one of the couches, as it was the only way to ensure his stamina would last.

“I feel like I’m defying my own mortality,” Gillian said as she approached the sofa, ready to bite into the gingerbread headstone with her name on it.

“I telt ya!” Sitting beside Simon, Garen nudged his shoulder. “Did I not tell you?”

“Did Garen ask you to say that?” Simon asked Gillian.

“Yeah, but I would’ve thought of it anyway.” Gillian took a bite of the headstone. “Mmm, my death is delicious.”

“Finally we agree on something,” said Luca as he approached behind her, his dark hair still snow-dappled. He held up a bag of what was likely booze, based on the clinking sound it made. “Garen, show me where to set these?”

“There’s a sign on the wall next to the coat rack,” Simon said, “explaining where to put everything.” He’d made it himself.

“Besides, you know where we always—” Garen’s eyes widened suddenly. “Oh! Yeah, I’ll show you.” He jumped up from the couch and ushered Luca out the living room door, their heads bent together in conference.

“Do you know what that’s all about?” Simon asked Gillian.

“Yup, but I’m not allowed to say. Everyone will know in a few minutes.” She picked up her wine glass from the side table and sat beside Simon. “Now what’s this delicious drink called? Garen said you made it.”

“It’s krasomelo,” Simon said. “Greek mulled wine—it’s sweeter than the kind most people make here, because of the honey.” He held up a hand. “That stuff stains, like, everything, so mind your clothes.”

Gillian peered at the front of her jumper. “Good job I’m wearing red. Mostly, anyway.” She dabbed at one of the jumper’s green sparkly horizontal stripes.

Simon saw Heather Wek from the curling club enter the hallway from the front door, accompanied by John Burns and a very tall ginger man. They stopped to read Simon’s helpful sign. Heather heeded the instructions and continued down the hall, but when John spied Simon, he grabbed his partner’s hand and pulled him into the living room.

“Congratulations in person!” John shouted over the Christmas carols. When he reached the sofa, he swiftly introduced Simon and Gillian to his husband, Fergus. “Gillian was one of the main forces behind the Jingle Bell Rocks event, and Simon…” John swept his arm in a dramatic arc. “Simon is New Shores’ brand-new acquisition.”

“Whaaaaat?” Gillian said. “Since when?”

“Since yesterday.” Simon shared a warm handshake with John and Fergus. “Thanks for making it happen, John.”

“You made it happen,” John said, even as he puffed out his chest with pride. “I merely made the intros. I still cannae believe we pinched someone of your caliber.”

“Congratulations,” Fergus said, removing an impeccable black wool coat that Simon immediately coveted. “What’s the new job?”

“Sort of a Chief Information Officer,” Simon said. “New Shores needs a bit of an overhaul of their information systems and website.”

“‘A bit’?” John put both hands to his heart. “We’re a fucking car crash. We need to make it easier for asylum seekers and refugees to access the forms they need online. Too many people have had their housing and legal assistance delayed due to our ancient system, which was cobbled together by well-meaning technophobes.”

“Congrats,” Gillian told Simon. “Didn’t you work for a giant bank or something?”

“I did.” Simon knew what she was really asking:How will you afford to work for a non-profit?He’d lain awake asking himself the same question.

But he’d worked out the figures, and with his new salary Simon could still pay for living expenses, though he’d no longer be able to squirrel away thousands of pounds a year in “disaster savings.” The thought made him nervous, but his parents had assured him their own financial security was sorted, that they’d worked hard all their lives so he could afford to find a truly fulfilling job—“within reason, of course,” his mum had said.

“So what inspired you to make such a drastic change?” Gillian asked. “Was it your illness?”

“Kind of.” Simon took a moment to find the right words. “I wanted to do something to help people who feel helpless. Because now I know what it’s like to be helpless—and what it’s like to be helped.”

“Aww.” Gillian patted his hand. “I wish you didn’t have to know.”

“It’s okay—I mean, notokay, but I wanted something good to come out of my ordeal.” He gestured to Garen, who had just reentered the room. “Apart from getting this one to wait on me hand and foot.”

“Hah! As if you’d ever let me do that.” Garen greeted John and Fergus. “Coats go in my room at the end of the hall, food and drink are in the kitchen, and sweets are on the dining table over there.”

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