Page 20 of Snowbirds
“Joy is not a bad thing,” Ivan pointed out. “Are you allergic to being happy? Before you answer, remember I saw every single picture of you that your mom has in her possession last night.”
“No, I’m not allergic to being happy.” He stared up at the ceiling again. “I guess it was hard growing up with them… being happy all the time. Knowing that no way was I ever going to be as happy as they were.”
“Ah, so you’re a glass-is-half-empty-and-about-to-be-knocked-over guy? I already knew that about you. And also—” Ivan lifted himself up onto his forearms, leaned over, and claimed Chris’s mouth for his own for a moment before saying, “I make you happy.”
Chris had a response for that, but Ivan quickly covered his mouth with his large hand, making it impossible to speak.
“Mmph.”
“Don’t say whatever you want to say. We’ll just get ourselves up, head over to your folks for the breakfast we were promised, then see where the day takes us. Okay? We don’t need to set a damn wedding date or whatever else is on your mind. We’ll just be Chris and Ivan. Hatch and Morrison.”
Chris nodded and Ivan took his hand away.
“Oxygen deprivation is not really the way to woo someone.”
“Oh,” Ivan said. “Really? Hmm.” He swung his legs off the bed. “Coffee? You do have that here, don’t you? Even I don’t think I can face Susie and Lance without a cup of the holy brew.”
He was only wearing boxers, and since he was mostly naked, Chris took the time to appreciate the wonder that was Ivan. Solid. Unmovable. And yet he could move damn quickly whenhe needed to apprehend a perp or keep a random toddler from dashing off the sidewalk. His broad and hair-covered chest had a few scars here and there, and a tattoo of?—
“Is that fromThe Lion King?” This was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the normally covered-up ink.
Ivan looked down at his pec. “It’s the warthog. I have an affinity for warthogs. They just don’t get enough appreciation. They’re fierce, cute, a little chubby, and have those little tails. But seriously, is there coffee?” he asked while rummaging in his duffle bag to find a clean t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts.
“Yes,” Chris said after watching him for a minute, “there’s a bag of pre-ground in the freezer. Hang on.”
Ivan’s shorts were on already and the shirt was halfway over his head. He pulled the shirt all the way down and his head popped through the neck opening like a goofy jack-in-the-box.
“Take your time, I’ll get the coffee going.” Ivan shot him a brilliant smile that left Chris a bit breathless.
He didn’t want to take his time. He had an unreasonable fear that if he left Ivan on his own, he would disappear. Or prove to have been a figment of Chris’s imagination. Or worse, that Chris would somehow ruin everything, whatever this everything was. Taking a deep breath, he tamped down his anxiety with breathing exercises. When he felt slightly better, Chris rolled out of bed, got out a clean pair of shorts and an old DEA training t-shirt, and made his way into the kitchen.
“Good morning, you two!”Susie sang out.
Chris never could fully comprehend how his mom seemed to defy all medical science by never appearing to be hungover. His dad was definitely moving a little slower this morning but perked up when he saw Chris and Ivan.
“Morning, son. Ivan. Have a seat. Actually,” Lance said, swiveling toward the side door, “let’s sit out back. This kitchen is too small for all four of us, and the dining room table is reserved for the puzzle of the month.” Rising to his feet, Lance led the way to the kitchen door and the patio.
“Lance, take the orange juice out with you. I’ll bring the coffee, I think I have a carafe around here somewhere.”
“Let me help carry something, Susie.” Ivan offered.
“Aren’t you a darling.” His mom opened one of the upper cupboards and pointed to the top shelf, where a large silver thermos sat. “Grab that and we’ll fill it up. Coffee cups are over there. I’ve got a frittata in the oven that will be done in just a few minutes.”
Following his dad out to the patio, Chris couldn’t help but smile. His mom had been watching Frank-the-Neighbor’s door and put the frittata in to cook as soon as she saw them step outside.
“Have a seat,” Lance said, setting the glass pitcher down on the patio table. “OJ?”
“Sure.”
Orange juice had always been part of his parents’ breakfast routine; every morning growing up, Chris had started the day with a glass of orange juice. Probably, Susie had thought it might improve his mood. It had not.
The back door opened again, and Ivan emerged, carrying the large flask in one hand and four mugs in the other. “Coffee, anyone?” he called out in a jovial tone.
Chris felt himself smile. Coffee, on the other hand, cheered him right up—or maybe it was the Ivan Morrison Effect.
Affect? Whatever.
Setting the thermos and mugs down, Ivan proceeded to fill them one by one. “You should take the first one,” he said toChris. “I know it always takes you two or three cups to start your morning where a normal person does.”
