Page 80 of Must Love Christmas

“Don’t!” Simon reached out, though he was too far away to stop him.

Garen laughed and drew back his hand. “You really think I’d do that to myself? Wait, don’t answer that.”

“Have you ever considered growing up? Wait, don’t answerthat.”

“I won’t.” Garen switched off the machine. “I think this is finished.” He brought the bowl to the table.

Simon eyed the wooden spoon next to the bowl, his stomach fluttering with nerves. In the rehab unit, one of his primary occupational-therapy exercises had been stirring ingredients, a surprisingly complex task. His arm muscles hadn’t weakened much during their three-week paralysis, but they had to relearn how to obey his brain’s signals. Grasping a spoon and moving it in a quick, smooth circle had turned out to be a lot harder than pushing himself in a wheelchair.

Focus. You can do this.

Per the recipe’s instructions, Simon poured half of the dry ingredients into the egg mixture. Then with a deep breath, he picked up the wooden spoon and began. His rhythm stuttered as his elbow couldn’t decide where to go.

Garen was by his side in an instant. “Let me do that for you.”

“No.” Simon heard his own growl, harsher than intended.

Garen stopped short, then backed up, hands in surrender position. “Sorry.” He unplugged the mixer and pulled out the beaters. “One of my coworkers at the museum brought in several dozen gingerbread people today for the visiting kids. She made gluten-free ones, vegan ones, and ones safe for those with nut allergies. They were all delicious—though of course I let the weans have the first go at them.”

As Simon kept stirring, trying not to huff and puff, he thought about the joy Garen found in his work. Every day he sparked fascination in the eyes of children newly turned on to the world’s wonders. It seemed a far happier pursuit than devising more efficient algorithms for holding-companies to decide when to liquidate businesses.

In his first five years with this financial institution, Simon had relished every challenge for its own sake. But after weeks in hospital with nothing to do but think, he’d started asking himself,What is the actual point of this?andWhom am I helping besides shareholders and myself?

Helping himself meant helping his family, so that wasn’t nothing. But was it enough?

He set down the bowl and spoon, his arms finally surrendering to fatigue.

“All right?” Garen asked, making a show of wiping the outside of the mixer.

“The dough needs to sit for two minutes before I add the rest of the flour.” Simon knew Garen would discover his lie only if he bothered to read the recipe—which wasn’t likely, considering he was allergic to following instructions. “We’ll knead it and refrigerate it tonight. Tomorrow after your curling practice we’ll cut and bake the pieces, then assemble it Thursday and decorate it Friday.”

“Sunday, actually. I need to go to the rink Friday night to help set up for Jingle Bell Rocks.” Garen wrapped the mixer’s cord around its base. “We’re tragically short of volunteers, which is no surprise considering the event’s a week before Christmas. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You wanted to help people, and you are.” Simon took a sip from his glass of water, still a bit winded from stirring. “Talking of help, I’m happy to lend a hand Saturday if you need more people.”

Garen turned to him with a look of alarm. “The event goes all day and all evening. You’d be exhausted. And I’d be too busy to look after you.”

Simon bristled. “I don’t need looking after. Surely there’s something I can do sitting down.” He thought of the volunteers at his try-curling event. “Like registration or selling merchandise. It’ll be a lot less tiring than the Santa Dash.”

“If I had the Santa Dash to do over again, I wouldn’t let you.” Garen rubbed his forehead. “I can’t face another of your setbacks.”

Simon blinked at him, stunned. “Youcan’t face it? It’s my body.”

“I know, but—”

“What’s going on, Garen? A week ago you were pushing me to challenge myself. You were letting me try and fail on my own, which is exactly what I need. What’s changed?”

“What’s changed?” Garen waved the tea towel between them. “What do you think has changed?”

“So you’re overprotective now because we’re sleeping together?”

“It’s not about the sex. It’s about what I feel for you—which, yes, has grown more intense since we fucked. Sue me for having my cock connected to my heart.” Garen looked at the ceiling. “God, that sounds weird.”

“A bit.” Simon couldn’t hold back a chuckle of relief—and pleasure, hearing Garen confess his feelings so easily. “Might want to have a surgeon look at that situation.”

Garen laughed. “Aye, maybe.” He examined Simon, chewing on his lower lip. “If you volunteer at Jingle Bell Rocks, won’t you miss watching Liverpool?”

“They don’t play until Monday night. That’s the Merseyside Derby.” Simon realized it’d be the first time he’d be watching Liverpool’s classic cross-town rivalry without his father. The thought made him sadder than he would’ve predicted.

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