Snow Storm

Chapter 12

Harley

For the first time in God knows how long, Harley woke up happy. It took him a while to remember why he felt so nice. Or why he was so deliciously sore and worn-out. Or why he wasn’t in the bed he was supposed to be in. But then he took a deep breath of Claude’s scent—the tea tree shampoo he used and the lavender bodywash he’d insisted would send Harley into a dreamless, restful sleep—and he remembered.

The night had gone on and on. He’d straddled Claude on his shower chair and let the man stroke him off until he was gasping into his mouth and coming all over his hand. Claude kissed him after that, then set him on the shower floor between his legs and washed Harley’s hair.

No one had done that for him before. Not ever. At least, not since he was very young, and even then, it had been a quick and perfunctory chore.

Claude treated him like he was a treasure—a thing to be savored. He took his time combing the tangles out of Harley’s soft curls while the water gently misted them.

He lathered his skin with soap and used wrinkled fingertips to ensure all the bubbles had washed away. And all the while, he tasted him—kissing his lips, his neck, his nipples, his stomach. He paid Harley attention in ways that would stay with him forever. Ways that had once only made sense in romance novels.

He’d gone to bed with Claude wrapped around him, a pit in the center of his stomach because this wasn’t his to keep. This was temporary. He didn’t know if it would go on past the morning.

He was happy, yes. He was content. But he was also grieving the loss of something that hadn’t been taken away yet.

Stretching, he rolled over and let his hand rest on the cool spot beside him. There was a dent in Claude’s pillow, and off to the side of their bed, their clothes were lying in a small mound between the nightstand and the dresser.

It was light out now, and Harley was able to get a good look around the room. It was very much Claude—simple and elegant. The furniture didn’t have a lot of flash, but it was sturdy and probably very expensive. The bed was lower to the ground than the one Harley had at home—and so was the dresser.

He hadn’t really paid much attention to all the ways Claude’s house accommodated him, but thinking back, the kitchen counters had been lower, and the shower and toilet both had grip bars in them.

It was obvious Claude had been on his own for a very long time. He knew the man was divorced. He knew that he’d used this place as an escape. He knew that Claude understood loneliness exactly the same way Harley did.

But he wasn’t foolish enough to think they could build something on that, as much as he wanted to. As much as something in his gut was telling him not to let go of this fragile thing he now held cradled between both hands.

His jaw cracked with a yawn, ruining the still moment, and he sat up, swinging his legs over the bed. He couldn’t hear anything in the house, so he slipped into the bathroom to relieve himself, then dressed in the outfit Claude had helped him pick out the night before. It felt odd and strangely formal. The jeans were a little stiff on the cuffs from having to walk out in the snow, and he hated the sensation.

He wanted to crawl into a pair of sweats and curl up with his laptop so he could pour out all of these emotions into words. And maybe he should do exactly that. He was starting to wonder if Claude had escaped the house to give Harley time to get back to the room without making it awkward.

The thought hurt—a sharp pain in the center of his chest—but he’d been through worse. The death of his father made everything pale in comparison, and the blow to his pride losing Darren to their therapist was a pretty close second.

At least rejection from Claude would be kind. It would be soft and giving and maybe make the moment so much worse for all that it would also be better. But he’d be able to hold his head high, and that mattered.

His socked feet padded gently along the wood floors as he left the room, and it was just as he’d turned to head for the front door that he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The archway to the kitchen had the perfect view of the window that overlooked Claude’s deck, and he could see a black hat bobbing along the very edge.

Claude hadn’t left him. His heart began to beat a staccato pattern against his ribs. He wasn’t alone.

Harley grabbed his boots from the front door, then set them near the sliding glass door off the kitchen and slipped them on his feet. It was only then he pulled the curtain back and saw a sea of white and grey.

The clouds were so fat and so low it looked like they were touching the ground along the horizon, and Harley couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much snow. There was no definition to the landscape except the pines, and from where he stood, he could see the drifts had reached halfway up the barn door.

“Good morning.”

Harley jumped when the sliding door opened and Claude appeared. He was holding tightly to his walker, and he was dressed in a thick coat, boots, and jeans. “Sorry,” Harley said, stumbling back. “I thought you left, then I saw you, then I saw that.” He gestured weakly at what the storm had left behind.

Claude let out a sigh as he pushed his walker through the back door and made his way inside with very visibly stiff legs. He grunted with the effort it took him to move, and Harley bit his tongue to keep from asking if he wanted help.

“This was only the beginning. We have a small reprieve, then another few feet of snow this afternoon.”

Harley’s heart jumped in his chest. If something went sour between them, he’d have no escape except to the hotel. “Is it always like this in winter?”

“Some years are worse than others,” Claude said as he sat down in a kitchen chair with a grunt. He was quiet a moment, then looked up slowly. “Are you afraid?”

Harley’s face was usually hard to read, but when he was anxious, his emotions showed. “Well, I’m stuck here, and if you get sick of me?—”

“Oh, chéri.” Claude was back up on his feet again, and Harley hated it because it was obvious he was uncomfortable. But Claude was around the table and pulling Harley close before he could stop him. “No.”

“No?” Harley laughed into the front of Claude’s very cold jacket.

“No,” Claude repeated. His fingers were like ice as they touched Harley under the chin and drew his gaze up. “I won’t get sick of you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“C’est vrai—it’s true,” he said, first in French, then in English. “But what I do know, I like. And after many years, it’s rare when I can’t tell how I’m going to feel about a person almost right away.”

“Your ex,” Harley countered, then slapped a hand over his mouth. What was wrong with him? Why did he have to blurt out all the fucking quiet parts?

Claude just smiled and shook his head. “She did something bad, but she wasn’t a bad person. She panicked when she wanted out, and she did what she knew would destroy us without a foundation to rebuild on. I wish she had just told me, but I don’t hate her for it. And I don’t regret knowing her.”

Bowing his head, Harley allowed himself to take comfort in Claude’s arms. They weren’t warm, but they were soothing in ways Harley didn’t have words for—which was saying something, considering that was what he did for a living.

Claude ran his hands up and down Harley’s back. “Harley?”

“Mm. I like the way you say my name.”

Claude smiled down at him. “Harley,” he said again, slower this time, more deliberate. “If you would like it, I want you to stay here with me.”

“All my stuff is in my room,” Harley said, his voice muffled by Claude’s jacket.

“Then I’ll go with you, and we can get what you need. It’s Christmastime, yes?”

Harley shrugged. “I don’t know what difference that makes.”

Claude’s eyes shone in the morning light filtering through the window. “No one deserves to be alone right now. Let’s be a little selfish. I have a feeling you rarely are, so maybe it’s time.”

Harley let out a soft ha and shrugged. “Well, according to my ex, I’m always selfish.”

“And if I asked someone who hasn’t attempted to hurt you? What would they say?” Claude pressed.

Harley closed his eyes. “If you’d have asked my dad, he would have said I never am.”

“Who do you trust more?”

He knew what Claude was getting at. He was just afraid. If he stayed, he’d fall for this man. There was no question about it. And leaving him would be like tearing his own heart out, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength for that.

But he knew Claude would never ask him to stay for good, and he knew himself well enough to know that he’d never be brave enough to ask for what he really wanted when it was all over.

So a moment? A few nights?

He wasn’t sure if that was worth the pain.

“I don’t mean to push,” Claude said after a long beat of silence. “This never happens to me, and I just?—”

“I don’t want you to come with me,” Harley said, and Claude flinched back like he’d been hit. Fuck. He was doing this all wrong. “It’s cold out, and you obviously need to rest your legs. If you don’t need to be at the main hotel, then you should stay here while I take care of everything.”

Claude’s shoulders sagged. “I do this every year. I’m very capable of going from one place to the other.”

“Yes, but how often do you get the chance to rest your body just because?” Harley countered. If Claude was going to push Harley to be selfish, then he was going to do the same thing.

Claude’s lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. “If I let you go, will you promise to come back?”

“If you’re sure you want me.”

Claude let go of Harley’s waist and cradled his face. “I’m sure.” He leaned in and took him in a kiss. It couldn’t have tasted nice. Harley hadn’t brushed his teeth, and he was all worked up and breathing heavily. But Claude didn’t seem to care. He nipped at his lips and licked at his tongue, then pulled away with a satisfied hum. “I want you.”

Harley went warm all over. “Then trust me to be back. I just need a few things.”

“Okay,” Claude whispered. He stole a last kiss, then slowly let Harley go and backed up toward the chair he’d been sitting in. “I’m going to wait right here. Don’t be too long.”

Harley nodded but refused to make the promise aloud. He wanted to trust himself that he wouldn’t run. That he wouldn’t panic and lock himself in his room until it was all over. But he didn’t. His ex was right about him in some respects: he was a coward when the going got tough.

He didn’t want to be that way though. And it was as he looked into Claude’s eyes that he realized maybe, for the first time, he had a reason to be brave.

Harley made it to the hotel quicker than he expected, considering the wind chill had him freezing into a block of ice the moment he stepped outside. Getting out of the cold was a nice motivator to keep his legs going, and he almost slipped and cracked his head open as he bolted across the tiled lobby floor.

Catching himself on the counter, he flushed when he realized he had an audience. Aminah was leaning over the desk, staring at him with a quirked brow.

“Uh. Hi.”

She rested her chin on her curled fist. “I didn’t see you leave this morning.”

Harley’s ears heated. “I…”

“He has a nice place, doesn’t he?” Aminah said, her smirk turning into a smile.

Covering his face, Harley righted himself and made sure his boots had traction. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.”

“But say we were talking about…someone,” Harley said, “who asked me to, um…to stay with him…”

“If you’re asking if I think he’s worth it?—”

“No,” he blurted, then slapped his forehand. “I mean, yes. I know he’s worth it. God, why am I only capable of making sense when I’m writing?”

She laughed and came around the desk, leaning her hip against it. “Let’s start over. Say we were talking about a certain someone?” she prompted.

Harley swallowed heavily. “Obviously, I didn’t come here expecting to meet anyone. Kind of the opposite. But hypothetically, say I did—I met a guy who maybe doesn’t ever do much for himself, and now it’s almost Christmas, and I don’t exactly have a place I can shop…would you happen to know what he might, uh. You know? Like?”

“Besides—” She gestured at his crotch, and he fought the urge to hide himself like he was naked. Aminah laughed. “Claude does a lot for other people without thinking about himself. And he’s not exactly forthcoming about what he likes. Lyric’s making him her mom’s famous cinnamon cake that she makes him every year. He loves it. His cousin will probably bring him back something from his trip to Ireland. And Daniel…” She sighed and shrugged. “He usually gives him a really nice massage, but obviously, that’s not going to happen this year.”

It wasn’t, but it was giving him an idea. “If I raided the spa for some supplies, would you report me for theft?”

Aminah laughed, then walked behind the desk and came back around with a set of keys. “I could so get fired for this, so don’t let me down.”

Harley clutched the keys to his chest. “Do me a favor. We didn’t get around to exchanging numbers. Can you send him a text and tell him that I have to jump on a call with my editor and that I’ll be back in about an hour and a half.”

“For massage supplies?” she asked dubiously.

Harley let out a strained laugh. “And maybe some YouTube videos so I know a little bit about what I’m doing?”

Her eyes widened, and then her whole face went soft. “You like him.”

“Yeah,” Harley said. “I do.” It felt oddly good to admit it aloud, even though it felt a bit like he was damning his heart.

Amina hugged herself around the middle. “He deserves that. He deserves to be liked by someone who’s a good person.”

“You don’t know I’m a good person. You saw what I did,” Harley said quietly.

She met his gaze fiercely. “Yes. I did. And I saw what happened before it. I saw what happened after. I saw what your shitty ex posted online, and I read about your dad. And somehow, you’re here, standing on your own two feet, willing to be kind to a man you don’t know. I don’t know who’s been telling you that you’re not a good person or who made you doubt yourself, but they suck.”

Harley’s throat was thick with emotion. “No one.” She raised a brow at him. “Fine. Maybe the guy you saw posting online who sucks.”

She let out a small laugh. “Don’t define yourself by the opinions of terrible people, Harley. It’s not worth what it does to you. Now, get out of here so I can text my boss and keep him from freaking out that you aren’t coming back.”

Harley nodded, then hurried off to his room to pack his small travel case with his favorite pair of sweats, his fuzziest socks, his emergency anxiety meds because he was probably going to need them at some point, and all of his toiletries. He grabbed a second tote after glancing around and deciding against taking his laptop, and then he let the door swing closed behind him as he made his way down to the spa.

It was pitch-black, and he was afraid to turn on the light, so he used the flashlight on his phone to find the room he’d been in when he thought Claude was Daniel. That was only twenty-four hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime. Never in his life did he think he would be the kind of man who tripped and fell this hard for a total stranger, but here he was.

And he wanted to deny the feeling in his chest—or maybe blame it on holiday blues, or the fact that his ex had left him, or that his dad was dead, and he was alone. But when he pictured Claude’s face in his mind, it wasn’t desperation. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t filling some kind of void.

It was soft. It was easy.

It was right.

When you know, you know . He’d heard that a lot over his lifetime, and he’d always called bullshit, but maybe it was only bullshit because he was surrounded by people like Darren. How many people would be saved from rivers of angst and anger and regret if they knew what it could be like when the person was the one they were supposed to meet?

God, he had to figure something out. He couldn’t let this end.

He had time though. They were stuck because of a storm, and even if he hadn’t been locked in, he knew Wes wasn’t in a hurry to bring him back to the real world. He hadn’t checked online, but he knew the chaos wasn’t over yet.

He wasn’t that lucky.

But maybe he actually was. It was odd to think what happened to him might have been the best and worst thing ever. It made him smile a bit as he flicked on the light and began to rummage through the cabinets.

He sniffed bottles of oil and lotion until he found the spiced orange ones that Claude had used on him, and then he found plastic-wrapped bundles of hot towels and a thermal bag to carry them in. He took a few, then put the oils in with them to warm them up, and when he was finished, he settled on the massage table with his legs folded and began his YouTube search.

Within minutes, he found at least sixteen separate instructional videos, and most of them seemed fairly knowledgeable.

“I guess you really can learn anything on the internet these days,” he murmured aloud to himself, then started the first one and settled in to absorb everything he needed to give Claude the perfect evening.