Page 195 of Men in Shorts

Easy for star midfielder and football captain Fergus to say.

“It’s just for fun and charity, anyway.”

“John says New Shores could make more than fifteen thousand pounds out of it, depending how the raffle goes.”

“Good on him,” Brodie said. “He’s put loads of work into planning this event. Dunno where he finds the energy.”

“Me neither. I’m proud of him, though.” Fergus pushed a hand through his ginger hair and gave a big sigh. “I just wish he’d not nicked my best goalkeeper and striker. We could certainly use them in today’s match at Greenock.”

Brodie wrapped his hands round his mug of tea, focusing on its bone-warming heat rather than memories of all the Saturday afternoons he’d frozen his arse off at various football pitches. While he was overseas, he’d sorely missed cheering on the Woodstoun Warriors, Fergus’s all-LGBTQ amateur football team.

His heart ached now at the memories: the camaraderie of the Rainbow Regiment fan group, the tension of a close match, and the electric thrill that coursed through his body whenever Duncan Harris scored a goal.

Wait, wasn’thethe Warriors’ best striker? Surely Fergus hadn’t meant Duncan would be at the charity curling tournament. John would’ve mentioned it.

Right?

On the kitchen table across from Fergus lay a document bearing the letterhead of New Shores, the refugee-assistance charity where John worked part-time and Brodie had spent all of his internships, including last summer’s…which had then extended into autumn.

Brodie picked up the multi-page document, titledJingle Bell Rocks Teams.

The first four-person curling team belonged to New Shores and called itself “Hard! The Herald Angels Sing.” It featured Brodie, John, and two of New Shores’ legal staff. The other teams came from local companies and organizations, each paying a fee to enter their own quartet of brand-new curlers, all of whom had received coaching courtesy of Shawlands Rink volunteers.

The second team, from a home-security firm who were one of the event’s “Elf-level” sponsors, was called “Guard Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

He snorted at the curling puns, then flipped the page to read the other participants.

The flat’s front door burst open, and John hurried through. “Och, there’s the team sheet. I’d lose my own head if it wasnae attached to my neck.”

Brodie couldn’t answer, being struck speechless by the next team:

All Through the House, from Harris’s Fine Interiors (Santa-level sponsor)

Team members:

Ellie Christie

Alan Harris

Caroline Harris

Duncan Harris

As John reached for the document, Brodie held it out of reach. “Why didn’t you tell me Duncan was in this bonspell?”

“Bonspiel,” John said.

“Whatever!” He brandished the team sheet. “Was this on purpose? Are you playing matchmaker again?”

“More like match-mender.” John waggled his forefinger. “Mind, you would never have got together with Duncan in the first place if not for me?—”

“And me,” Fergus added.

“—and look what it’s brought you so far. Two years of blissful romance.”

“A blissful romance that’s none of your business.” Brodie slapped the team sheet onto the table. “If there’s any mending to be done, we’ll do it ourselves.”

“Considering you’ve not told him you’re home yet,” John said, “I’d say there’s plenty of mending needed. What’s going on?”

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