Page 26 of The Christmas Mittens
“Oh shucks,” I replied a bit hoarsely, staring into warm brown eyes. “You’re pretty spectacular yourself.”
His cheeks grew a little pinker. “You inspire me.” We curled into each other for a few minutes, content to let our bodies cool as we touched and nuzzled. I could have stayed here for hours. “Shall we brush our teeth and have some stew?”
My stomach rumbled. He sat back to pat it, wearing a smile that propelled me into more than what I should be feeling for this wandering soul. I didn’t know that much about him. Sure, he had money, but how had he gotten it? Was he into illegal things? It felt stupid of me to be this enamored of a man who could be selling stolen artwork from the Louvre to evildoers. Blowing your nut into the throat of a master criminal was not at all what DCI John Luther would have done. Yet, here I lay, lost in his gaze. They would revoke my amateur sleuth badge for sure if I kept this wanton kind of behavior up.
“I don’t have a toothbrush with me,” I pointed out as he pecked my nose and awkwardly left the bed with his pants around his knees.
“I have extras.” He yanked his jeans up and tucked his beautiful dick away. He offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet, kissing me on the mouth, and motioning for me to go first. Once I had my junk put away, I eased into the narrow bath. “Look in the second drawer.”
I did just that and found five new toothbrushes tossed in among the usual bathroom stuff like swabs, a box of Band-Aids, disposable razors, and several dental floss containers. There was also a box of condoms and a tube of lube. Closing the drawer, I refused to ponder whether those toothbrushes were for all the lovers he invited into his camper. Nope. I was not going there. It was none of my business for starters, and secondly, this ugly furl of jealousy in my chest was a big fat nope. He could suck and fuck his way across the country. I had no claim on him. I was probably just the Keystone State pickup. A man who looked like him and had his cash surely had men in every state. I scowled at myself for even having such feelings. Stupid. I was stupid. Stupid. And dumb and easily wooed by a kind smile and a fat dick. Stupid. Stupid. Stu—
A soft rap on the door snapped me out of my spiral into self-loathing. “The stew has been served.”
“I’ll be right out.” I hurried to brush and rinse while using my hand as a cup. When I cracked the door, Anders and Della were both looking at me with mild curiosity.
“Please have a seat on the bed. I tidied it up.” He waved at the neatly made bed. “I’ll be right out to join you.”
The door closed. I sat down with a huff. Della sat on my foot, tail wagging, working the hungry dog look far too well. Tempting as it was to sneak her a tiny bit of beef from the steaming bowl filled with chunks of meat, carrots, potatoes, and onion quarters, I gave her a pat on the head instead. She huffed in disgust, stood up to go sit in her bed, and threw dirty looks at me.
“I live with a preteen. You’ll have to work harder on those dark glowers,” I said to the min pin. Anders exited the bath, smiled, and sat down beside me. “This looks wonderful.”
“Thank you. It’s simple fare, comfort food as they say, but I enjoy cooking.”
“Did your mother teach you?” I asked, feeling bad for probing into his childhood on the sly. I also felt bad about not digging into his past. Not bad exactly. Foolish. I’d not so much as googled him. Which seemed a common enough thing to do, yet wholly invasive. Ugh.
“No, no, Mother was busy with other things. Cook Margit was the one who not only invited me into her kitchen but also spent hours showing me how to cook. She always had time for me, which my parents did not. As the youngest, I was many times forgotten as my eldest brothers were…well, they were more important in some ways.”
“I cannot believe that your parents felt that way. Most times, the youngest is the spoiled one,” I replied while fishing out a chunk of carrot with my spoon. Della sat on her bed, ears up, watching us like a lion watches a gazelle, just waiting for someone to drop something so she could pounce.
“True, and in some ways, I was given a gentler hand as a young man. As I grew up, my tendencies began to become apparent and that forgiving way the baby is granted began to erode rather quickly.” He tore off a hunk of bread, crusty and messy, and handed it to me. Della watched the bits fall to the floor but deemed bread flakes were not worth getting up for.
“You being queer,” I supposed out loud and got a nod filled with bouncy curls. He dunked his bread into the gravy before taking a bite and chewing. “I’m sorry things went that way for you. Are your brothers as rigid in their thinking?”
“No, not really. They are younger after all and are more accepting. My mother is a bit of the waffle.” I cocked a confused eyebrow. “Damn, uhm, she waffles. That’s the correct saying.”
“Ah, okay, so she’s sort of okay with you being gay but not all the time?” I dipped my bread into the bowl and hurried to get the dripping hunk to my mouth.
“More or less. She loves me deeply, and I think if my father were not so determined to be such an unwelcoming asshole, she would be more open. But she was born to a conservative family who raised her to be who and what she is so bowing to her husband’s wishes is all that she knows.”
“Shit, that sucks. I’m sorry. I hope your brothers can take over the family business one day and welcome you back into it.”
Damn, I was being such a sneaky Steve. It was not sitting well, to be honest. Poking and prodding seems much more fun when you’re doing it to some vile murderer in Victorian England.
“The family business. Well, my eldest brother Frode will inherit the mantle, as they like to say. My other brothers and I are backups in case something happens to Frode. Which leaves us to pursue things that we enjoy more than Frode was ever able to do since his fate was sealed when he was the firstborn.” He sat hunched over his stew, the bowl resting on his thigh, talking with ease about his family dynamics. Dynamics that, to me, sounded pretty damn outdated. “When things got bad at home, I could leave, something Frode wouldn’t be able to do without a major shakeup that would upset the entire country. So, in that way, I am happy to be over here in America, seeing the country that I read so much about. If not for my father being such a dick, I wouldn’t have met you. And that would have been a terrible loss as I am quite fond of you.”
I looked up from the tater I’d been trying to spoon to find the most unfeigned look of attraction imaginable. All thoughts ofstew, him being a mobster, or whatever clever nosy thing I could think of flittered away. I pressed my beefy lips to his.
“I’m fond of you too,” I confessed in a soft whisper.
And with that, I knew I’d have to turn in my junior detective badge that I’d found in a box of cereal when I was six. It sat in my dresser drawer, more than a little worn from me flashing it at other kids as I tried to solve made-up cases at school. Falling for a suspicious, sexy man was not at all what a good private eye would allow to happen to them. But here I was, falling faster than the snowflakes tumbling down outside.
***
I’d just finished a tricky job on a weed eater that Dominque Delany had insisted be completed before the holiday and was pushing into the craft shop with my knitting bag in hand. The usual chatty suspects were all gathered in a semicircle, needles knitting madly, discussing the very same person who had made me late. They all glanced up at my arrival, Franny’s perusal a bit intense as I dropped down into the lone seat reserved for me.
“Mitch,” they all said in greeting. “Did you hear that Dominque went into the Purple Pansy Boutique over in Campbell Valley and raised a stink? Seems she ordered a dress from Pauline, who we all know is a marvelous seamstress, two years ago. She tried to get into it for the Christmas Bazaar at the church this weekend, and lo and behold, it didn’t fit. So, instead of being honest and admitting she might have gained a few pounds, she goes over to the boutique to bitch a fit at poor Pauline, citing poor workmanship. Can you believe?!” Maggie asked. We all nodded.
“She’s really difficult,” I said while pulling out a last-minute scarf project I’d decided to make for Anders. He really needed one when he was out biking in the cold, or so I had decidedwhile working madly all afternoon. “She insisted that I get her weed eater running properly before the holidays. I asked if she planned on whacking weeds anytime soon. Boy, did she get snarky then. Told me that it was none of my business if she was or not, she wished to have the work done yesterday. So I had to push a few seasonal jobs aside to get that damn new trimmer head replaced. Did it need a new head? Yes, certainly, her son busted it to bits. Did it need to be replaced in late December? I don’t think so.”
