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A lump grew in Noah’s throat and for a second, he couldn’t speak. He hadn’t thought Rowe would even consider something like this yet. Maybe not for another year or two as he worked through his grief for his dead wife, but he did. “You want to make this our thing.”
Rowe nodded. “Yeah, like you and the mistletoe.”
Noah stepped up to Rowe until their chests bumped. He gently brushed his lips across Rowe’s, drawing him into a slow, gentle kiss that stole his breath away. “Thank you,” he whispered, his mouth still pressed against Rowe’s. “Thank you for doing this for us.”
“Thank you for making me so damn happy.”
Noah gave him one more quick kiss and stepped back. “Anytime.”
As they pulled the tree from the truck and grabbed other supplies, a new idea hit Noah, making him chuckle.
“What?” Rowe demanded, looking over his shoulder at Noah.
“We’re dressed.”
“Yeah…” he said slowly like Noah had lost his mind.
“And we have to go through the living room again.”
Rowe stopped and smiled at Noah. “I think we’re gonna have to play another round of Mistletoe.”HauntedClimbing out of the rental car, Noah stopped and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Barely out of January and the temperature was already hovering in the upper seventies while the sun blazed hot and bright overhead. Mostly leafless trees lined the block, but the lawns were a deep green and birds chirped around them as if it were spring.
Over the years, he’d grown accustomed to the idea of equating winter with gray skies, piles of snow, and cold temperatures. While his first winter in Cincinnati might not have produced lots of snow, the temperatures had stayed relatively low, forcing him to bundle up when he took the dogs out for a walk.
Now he was back in southern Alabama for the first time in nearly a decade, his body rejecting the heat, but it kept his mind from drowning in memories bubbling up regarding the house rising up to his left. The little saltbox building with the green high-pitched roof and faded white siding had been his grandmother’s until she died a few years after he’d joined the Army. He’d grown up in this house after his parents died. It hadn’t been a bad place. Just not one where he could be honest.
Rowe walked up alongside him and slid his hand into Noah’s. It was something his partner had done dozens of times over the past couple of months, but this time Noah jumped, instantly jerking away, before looking around. The street was empty—kids in school and adults at work. It was only when he caught Rowe looking at him, one eyebrow raised in question while his lips were pressed into a hard, thin line that he even realized what he’d done.
“Fuck, sorry,” Noah said on a sigh, flashing Rowe a sheepish grin before reaching for Rowe’s hand.
“Don’t force it if you’re not comfortable,” Rowe replied but tightened his hold.
“No, it’s good. I…it’s just been a while since I’ve been back here. Old memories,” he muttered. He gave Rowe’s fingers one last squeeze before releasing him and shuffling up the cracked and uneven sidewalk to the stairs. Even in the middle of winter, the grass was overgrown and the bushes along the front of the house needed some heavy pruning. The windows desperately had to be replaced and so did the roof. He shoved the list aside as he dug through the pockets of his jeans, searching for the key to the front door.
After his grandmother had passed, he’d hired a service to box up all her personal items and put them in storage, while all the furniture had been sold or given away. Another service had handled the rental of the house. The last tenants had moved out over two months ago, but the chaos of his life with Rowe had kept him from returning to check over the property once he’d decided to sell it. When he’d gotten out of the Army, he’d never considered moving in, not even temporarily.
The door stuck, swelling in the frame a bit, but Noah managed to get it open by pushing his hip into the old wood. The light from the doorway cut a swath through the thick darkness swallowing up the small interior. Old curtains hung over the windows, blocking out the afternoon sun while still trapping in the heat. The air was stale but clean, a testament to the cleaning crew who had come in after the last tenants vacated. He pulled aside one of the curtains, letting the light in while Rowe shut the door.
“It’s not a bad little house,” Rowe said as he slowly walked through the living room to the small eat-in kitchen. “Needs a new roof, windows, and an updated kitchen. A lot of that could be turned around in just a few weeks with a good contractor.”
