Page 65 of The Light Within

Cinn begged Darcy with his eyes, but it was a lost cause. There was no way she’d pass up on the free show.

Darcy threw the log down unceremoniously right in front of Julien. “The poor slave you guilted into making this for you was up at midnight preparing it. It took him hours, so you best pretend this is the most delicious chocolate log of your life.”

Elliot was quietly laughing to himself while Fiona and Alexander looked upon the scene with a fair bit of confusion.

Cinn groaned. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration. It was four a.m., not midnight. And for the last time, I—”

“You made this for me?” Julien asked softly, voice brimming with marvel.

Every single pair of eyes bored into Cinn, who was surely scarlet by now. He glared at Darcy.I’m going to fucking kill you.

“Of course he did. What did you expect, after your tantrum about it?” she continued, regardless of Cinn’s death stare.

Julien turned to him, genuinely surprised in a way Cinn hadn’t seen before, eyes wide as saucers. Possibly on the verge of tears.

Why on earth did his past self think this was a good idea? Especially after the scarf, as well. He may as well scream his tragically hopeless adoration from the rooftops at this rate.

“No! Not exactly. It’s a thing people have at Christmas, right? Everyone likes it.” Cinn cringed at the volume his voice had reached.

Fiona coughed. “I’ll certainly have some, if it isn’t all for Julien.”

Cinn shut his eyes, leaned back in the chair, and prayed for the ground to swallow him whole.

Elliot saved him by redirecting attention, reading out every joke from their crackers in a monotonous deadpan voice. But Julien seemed not to listen, only wanting to stare at Cinn between mouthfuls of cake, his stormy grey eyes glowing with a soft warmth that spoke volumes.

“Stop it,” Cinn hissed. “It was only a bloody chocolate log.”

But Julien’s smug cat-got-the-cream grin remained in place until it was time to clear the table, with Cinn jumping up to do the dishes before anyone else had a chance to offer.

They retired to the living room, where Julien played several rounds of Scrabble in French with Alexander. Julien won every time, which made sense, with how Alexander barely seemed to know the language.

Cinn and Elliot had much more fun. Fiona took off her pair of reindeer antlers,and they took turns wearing them while the other threw rings fashioned out of tin foil onto them for points.

Darcy mocked the game, then ultimately mediated it, shouting at Elliot for cheating using windmotes to knock the rings on course, completely unbeknownst to Cinn.

Before long, the room was bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, and the festive energy mellowed into a cosy calm as the day drew to a close.

True, there wasn’t stiff competition, but it had easily been Cinn’s favourite Christmas ever. Maybe even one of his favourite days, full stop.

“See,” Cinn whispered, tugging on the black woollen scarf Julien insisted on wearing for the entire day despite the fifty degree heat from the roaring fire. “Christmas isn’t so bad, right?”

Julien leaned towards him, bringing the smell of the mulled wine he’d had countless glasses of. “Nothing could ever bebadif you’re there with me,” he said, slightly slurring. He kissed the bulge of Cinn’s cheek, the smile he’d created. “But…”

Julien kissed the corner of Cinn’s mouth, and it was all Cinn could do not to grab Julien’s neck, pull him into the kiss he wanted to give him, one inappropriate for the eyes of others. The taste of wine was a whole different experience from Julien’s mouth.

“Maybe if you agree to make mela bûcheevery year, I’ll come to love it.”

Every year.

The words were doing weird things to his insides. Warm things. Fuzzy things.

Cinn opened his mouth to give Julien shit. “I—”

Two twin shouts of alarm erupted from the other side of the living room. Alexander, sitting in an aged rocking chair next to the fire, had dropped his drink, sending a cascade of mulled wine splashing across the floorboards, shattered glass scattering in all directions. His hand clutched at his chest, eyes wide with pain and panic, as he gasped for breath.

Cinn sprang to his feet, lurched towards the man, then rocked back on the balls of his feet—Darcy and Fiona were already crowding him. Elliot spluttered something about ringing for an ambulance and dashed out of the room, leaving Cinn to turn to Julien, whose face mirrored his own fear as Darcy’s father began to make laboured, wheezing sounds.

“Julien, get my luggage bag!” Darcy yelled. “Bring the entire thing!”

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