“It’s not—” Rowan broke off. He looked incredibly lost.
Unsure what else to do, Briar reached on tiptoes to embrace him, and Rowan gratefully stepped into it. He dropped his head into the crook of Briar’s shoulder, and a shaky exhale shivered against Briar’s neck.
“Rowan, you’re shaking.”
“Just a bit cold.” It was sweltering in the house.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
From downstairs, Maebh’s voice shouted, “Boys! Supper’s about ready!”
With dry humor, Rowan said, “We’ll get it in the neck if we let the food go cold.”
Briar debated pushing the subject. Something ate at Rowan, though he couldn’t seem to articulate what, and Briar didn’t want to dredge it up right before dinner. He would ask later.
Downstairs, the dining table had expanded, place settings arranged with gold crackers at each. There was even one for Vatii. Briar sat squashed between Rowan and Ciara, a vast spread of food before them. Succulent turkey, roasted potatoes crisped at the edges, thick gravy you could stand a spoon in. Honey-roasted ham pricked with oranges and cloves. The smell of turkey stirred a cauldron of nostalgia in Briar’s heart. No matter how skint they were, his mother always made a turkey for them Christmas Day.
This feast was bigger. This family was, too. They filled Briar’s heart in places his mother had left empty.
He helped himself to only a little of everything, which still resulted in a tower of food he struggled to finish. Luckily, Rowan’s size reflected his appetite, and he finished what Briar couldn’t.
Rowan’s family gossiped about the disaster of cutting a Christmas tree down so it fit in the living room. It barely squeezed through the door, shedding needles everywhere. For dessert, they enjoyed Rowan’s rhubarb pie and custard, the perfect mix of tart and sweet, served with vanilla ice cream.
Briar, stuffed to the gills, insisted on helping clean up. As he did, Maebh came in with a drying cloth. Briar said, “You cooked. Shouldn’t you be resting on your laurels now?”
“Oh go ’way. I’ve ulterior motives anyways.”
Briar’s heart thunked, though he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t impending cardiac arrest from all the carbs. “Oh?”
“It does this mammy’s heart good to see her shy boy find a friend in you, is all,” she said. “My Rowan’s a good man, but not many see it.”
“I noticed. I think it’s the scar.”
“Aw sure look it is.” She put a stack of dried plates in the cupboard. Briar thought she wouldn’t say anything else about it, but as he scrubbed the bottom of a wineglass, she added, “What I’m saying is, thank you. For making him happy.”
It struck Briar like a lightning bolt, shocking and heating him through. From where he stood, he could look into the living room and see Rowan sitting on the sofa. Ciara bounced on the back of it, putting bows in Rowan’s hair. Rowan glanced Briar’s way and met his eyes for just a second, and his smile grew.
He makes me happy too, Briar thought, petrified, like he’d stepped atop a very tall place and looked over the edge at something beautiful and perilous, then lurched with the desire to step off.
Pain lanced through his wrist, and his hand spasmed, dropping the glass he’d been holding into the water.
“You all right there?” Maebh asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, just clumsy.”
Everyone gathered around the tree, wine in hand, to exchange gifts. Rowan’s family got Briar decorations for his flat. Buttercup curtains. A houseplant with leaves shaped like coins. A fur throw for the end of the bed or to soften the wood floor. Briar had knitted them all scarves and enchanted them to feel perpetually dryer-warmed. Ciara buried her face in hers.
While the others were distracted by the giant, hideous portrait Sorcha had painted of Connor as a joke, Rowan tipped a gift into Briar’s hands. A small box that fit in his palm, with a silky blue bow that glided as he pulled it free. Inside, an earring sat on a bed of tissue paper. A silver antler with teardrop jewels dangling from it.
Briar thought it was very unfair he couldn’t kiss Rowan right then.
Rowan shifted nervously. “If it’s not to your liking, I can—”
“Put it on me.”
Briar held his hair away, and Rowan gently attached it to the cuff of his ear with fingers that fluttered like bird’s wings. When he finished, Briar turned his head this way and that, making the jewels swing and glitter in the lights from the Christmas tree. Vatii, always keen on sparkly things, nipped at it.
“What do you think?” Briar asked.
