XOXO: A Bundle of Cozy Novellas

Davey

DAVEY

Christmas Eve

Davey leaned back, no longer nervous about Milo standing up to the light interrogation from Sky and friendly questions from the rest of the group. The dogs created distraction and the focus wasn’t entirely on Milo, although his friends were almost morbidly curious about the last-minute addition and kept giving both Milo and Davey sideways glances.

“How old is Elvis?” Jaime asked while she held their fluff and Dag went to refill his cider.

Davey glanced at Milo, his lips curving into a grin. Milo was keeping one eye on the dogs while listening to the conversation. Elvis, Jura, and, inexplicably, Wicket raced in a large circle around everyone, barely missing the drink table each time they came close to it. Davey couldn’t even tell who was in the lead, although it probably wasn’t Wicket.

“He’ll be a year in January.”

“A year,” Davey repeated. “Yeah, the vet thought he was young.”

“What day?” Skylar asked, finally giving up on keeping Bieber tidy and letting the Yorkie down so he could join Wicket in his attempt to trip up the two larger dogs.

“January eighth.”

Skylar stared at Milo and gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his Lycra covered chest. “Elvis’s birthday!”

“That’s what Milo said.” Jaime shook her head.

“I mean Elvis, Elvis. ‘Blue Suede Shoes,’ ‘Hound dog,’ ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’. That Elvis.” Sky turned back to Milo, “Why not Bowie? The eighth is his birthday, too.”

Milo waggled his head. “Maybe if his eyes were different colors, but they’re brown and Elvis just seemed to fit him. He’s a drama-lover boy all the way, not nearly dignified enough to be a Bowie.”

“I get that. Bieber is so named because when he was a puppy, he had behavioral issues. Chewing up stuff and being a general pest, although that also could have been because he lived with my mother.”

“And not much has changed,” added Wallace.

“But Jazz loves him,” Sky said, a tad haughtily.

“There’s no accounting for taste.” That earned Wallace a glare.

Everyone was watching Jazz, who’d decided the younger dogs needed supervising from the sideline. Her tail moved slowly back and forth as she watched them, her red and green collar with silver bells sewn onto it shimmered under the lights.

The Christmas music playing over the Bluetooth speakers was, in Davey’s opinion, perfect, a mix of classic and newer Christmas carols. The fire was keeping everyone toasty, his friends were having fun, Milo was having fun, Skylar hadn’t let on that he knew who Milo was—although it was probably just a matter of time. He couldn’t ask for more.

His gaze landed on the mistletoe pinned to the doorframe. Maybe there was one more thing he secretly wanted. Seeing Milo after all these years had rekindled the feelings Davey had about him. The negative ones, the hurt over being ghosted, were being written over by new feelings—too fast, many would say, but Davey didn’t have a slow button—and he thought it was possible that Milo felt something similar.

One of the dogs barked and Elvis peeled off from the pack to come over and plop down between Milo and Davey. Absently, Milo scratched the dog on the head before running his hand through Elvis’s soft fur.

“So, we’re starting to trim the vines for the next harvest next week.” Zach was talking to Dag. “It’ll be fucking cold.”

“It’s not as if you’re doing it by yourself,” Bennett added dryly, “and you are the one who insists on doing this by hand.”

“If it’s gonna be good?—”

“It’s got to be done by hand,” Wyatt and Jeff intoned.

Everyone laughed, Zach rolled his eyes, and Jeff leaned against him, saying, “It’s okay, baby, we won’t tease you anymore.”

“At least not until he says, ‘if it’s gonna be good’ again, which,” Bennett glanced at his watch, “will be at least once before we all head home.”

“Anyway,” Skylar hopped up, “it’s time for the annual game of charades.”

“This is the first time we’ve done this,” griped Wallace.

“Are we not doing it next year?” Skylar demanded.

All eyes shifted to Davey, who nodded.

“Then this is the first annual, don’t argue, I will fight you on this.”

From a red sack—Santa’s bag, Davey realized—Skylar retrieved paper he’d already cut into pieces and began to hand them out each guest.

“There are twelve of us, so everybody write a movie, play, or book on your paper and put them back in here, then we will draw randomly.”

“Christ, Sky. Charades? Really?”

Sky ignored Rory and continued directing everyone. “We’ll break into teams. Do we want couples or random partners?” Sky didn’t give them time to answer. “Couples it is. Me and Wall, Jaime and Dag. Wyatt, you’re stuck with Bennett. Zach and Jeff—please keep it clean. Rory and Brett. Milo, I guess you’re stuck with Davey.” Skylar shrugged in a decidedly not-innocent manner.

“Sorry about this,” Davey said, quietly leaning into Milo. Milo smelled good, like aftershave, but also like the outdoors and some kind of spice that was maybe from the mulled cider they’d been drinking.

Milo turned, bringing their faces unexpectedly close together, only inches apart. His lips were parted as if he’d been about to reply, but instead his tongue peeked out and he licked his lips. Davey shifted in the chair.

“It’s fine,” Milo finally said. “But I am shit at this game and I hate being the center of attention.”

Davey frowned. “Really? That surprises me.” The music chose that moment to quiet so of course everyone heard him. Crud.

“Why does it surprise you?” Jeff asked. “I hate being in front of a bunch of people I don’t know.”

Crap. He hadn’t meant to hint or anything about who Milo was. He opened his mouth to say something stupid like he always did and draw everyone’s attention off Milo, but before he could Milo shoulder bumped him.

“It’s fine,” Milo said quietly. Then to the curious eavesdroppers, “What Davey means is that, since I’ve played in front of a lot of crowds, I should be used to it. I play guitar for the Lost Apostles, or used to. I dunno, it’s up in the air.”

The part Davey heard clearest was used to and his eager heart thumped harder.

“The Lost Apostles? I can’t believe it! Milo Zajac! I thought you looked familiar, but this is Hollyridge—so, like, maybe you were a checker at the new grocery store or something, like at that coffee shop on Rose, the new one in the old county bank building. But you’re not, you’re a rock star, I can’t believe it. I love your music, I’m a huge fan.”

“Rory,” Skylar said, “breath or you’re going to pass out. Also, the coffee shop is a very specific example.”

It turned out that Rory possibly had seen Milo at the coffee shop in the old bank building. Rory crowed and got up to smack Skylar in the shoulder but when he sat down, Brett asked what Rory was doing at a competitor’s store and everyone burst out laughing.

Charades was fun. When it was Davey and Milo’s turn, Davey volunteered to stand in front of everyone. That was before he opened the folded piece of paper.

Fifty Shades of Grey.

Davey didn’t know whose handwriting it was, but he was going to find out and murder them. It had to be either Brett or Jaime—Brett owned a used bookstore and Jaime always had her nose in a book or her e-reader.

Howls of laugher followed Davey when he sat back down, having failed his turn.

Milo patted his back. “It’s okay, we can’t all be Oscar winners.” His hand stayed there and Davey liked it. A lot.

“What was with the up-down?” Zach asked.

“It wasn’t beating off. Sorry, Jaime. I was lowering and raising a shade.”

Howls of laughter again, and the dogs, who had mostly gone to sleep, perked up to check on their people. Brewski snuffled. Jeff yawned. Davey suspected it was fake, but he was ready for his friends to leave.

“Zach is tired, so we’re going to take off.” Jeff narrowed his eyes at his husband too obviously sending some sort of message via ESP. “Thanks for hosting Davey, are you taking the sleigh out tomorrow?”

“We’ll see. Brewski will probably talk me into it.”

“We should go too,” Jamie stood up and began to gather her things, “this has been a lot for Merlot.”

“Merlot, bah. Why not Zoom, or Sugar Bean?” Davey griped. “I like Sugar Bean.”

“From the man who named his horse Brewski?” grumbled Dag, “I don’t think so.”

Davey protested that he’d only been nineteen when he gave Brewski his name, but no one listened. A few minutes later, Davey and Milo were the only humans left in the barn. Milo had popped Elvis’s leash around his neck and received a disdainful look in exchange.

“I should go too,” Milo said. “Thanks for inviting me, I liked your friends.”

“They’re all good people. Do you remember Bennett? He was at school with us, although he’s a year or so younger.”

“Nah, I never paid attention much. Especially to the younger kids.” Milo glanced around the barn and back at Davey. “I had a really nice time.”

“Me too.” His palms felt sweaty. Gah, Davey was never nervous when he wanted to kiss a guy, he just told him so. Or did it. Why was he so anxious around Milo? “Can I walk you to your car?” Maybe because he truly liked Milo, he could tell that the nascent feelings from high school had the potential to blossom into something more.

A smile tugged at Milo’s lips as he nodded.

“You can. If it weren’t for the fence, I could see my car from here, and I don’t think there are any boogeymen out on Christmas Eve… are there?”

“Just that weird Santa guy roaming the night sky.”

“Weird Santa guy.” Milo bumped Davey’s shoulder companionably again, then he and Elvis began to stroll toward the barn door. The mistletoe tacked to the frame taunted Davey as he followed them. Davey was so caught up in being irritated at himself he didn’t notice Milo had stopped walking and banged into his back.

“Damn, sorry.”

Milo peered at him, his face lit by a nearby strand of lights. “Is the mistletoe going to waste?”

“What?” Davey glanced up at it as if just noticing it. “Oh, that, everybody took advantage when they arrived. I have to say Jaime and Dag put on quite a show.” Skylar did too. But that was expected. Wallace was a saint. A saint who loved Skylar to his very core.

“But you haven’t taken advantage yet?”

His cheeks burned. “No.” He made himself stare into Milo’s grey-blue eyes. “But I want to.”

“Well then.”

Davey didn’t have time to overthink. Milo’s lips were warm against his, soft and immediately addicting. One of them groaned as their tongues tangled, and Davey tasted cinnamon and apple essence from the cider they’d been drinking. Milo’s free hand cupped the back of Davey’s neck, keeping him in place.

He figured they could’ve kissed for hours, standing close enough their body heat was keeping them warm, Milo’s fingers in his hair, Davey’s erection at half-mast. But there was Elvis to contend with. The husky gave them only few minutes before he released an impatient yip. They broke apart, laughing.

“Okay, I get it,” Milo said to his dog, then to Davey, “apparently, he doesn’t like PDA.”

Davey met Milo’s gaze again. “He’s just jealous. I’m not kissing you, dog, got that? But I would like to kiss you again, Milo. What are you doing for Christmas Day? I’ll just be hanging out with Brewski and the cats, if you want to come over.”

“No family left in town?”

“Nah, just me. But I love it here and can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

“We, because I’d have to bring Elvis, really wouldn’t be interfering with any plans?”

“No but if you agree to come over, I can make some… pancakes. Where’s your phone, I’ll put in my number.”

Milo dug his phone and handed it to Davey, he quickly entered his cell number and gave the phone back to Milo.

“Pancakes? My heart is aflutter, you drive a hard bargain, Davey Childs. What time?”

“Just come on over when you’re ready, the coffee will be on. Brewski and I might take the sleigh out, but we’ll maybe even wait for you. You’re okay to drive now?”

“Yep, I had spiked cider but also about four bags of potato chips.” Milo rubbed his flat stomach as if he’d gained weight just from tonight. Davey wanted to tell Milo he didn’t care about flat stomachs or rock star status, he liked Milo for who he was. But he didn’t. It was hard, but he kept his mouth shut.

At Milo’s car, Davey snatched one last kiss before he closed his door and drove away. Davey kept on eye on his taillights until they disappeared over one of the rolling hills the highway ran along.

“Merry dang Christmas.”