Page 18 of Snow Globe Secrets

“Social media.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Social media? Trying to decide what to post about being snowed in with me in this picture-perfect cabin?” He pulled out his phone and began typing. “What’s your handle? I can’t find you on …”

I interrupted him. “I’m not on any social media. That’s what I was thinking about. You know, being in the closet and all …”

Austin paused the movie and placed the big plastic bowl on the coffee table. He patted the couch cushion next to him. I dropped the firewood prodder back in its stand, watching it settle as I thought about what else to say. Could I simply sit back down and encourage him to hit play on the movie with an obvious joke about hot superheroes?

One look at the compassion in his eyes, and I knew I could not.

“It seemed safer to just not be on there. I never came out to anyone in the States. Well, anyone except my mum.”

“Mum,” he muttered with a smile. I ignored it.

“Then I got married over there. If you want to spy on me, search for ‘David B.E.E.U.K.’”

“Your ex-husband? You don’t mind?”

“Go on, then,” I said as I took a seat next to him, closer than before since the popcorn had been moved.

“You know you could get me to do anything with that British-not-British accent of yours.”

“I bloody well don’t have …” I scrunched my face up as Austin’s eyes went wide in amusement. “Ahh, shit. Americans don’t use the phrase ‘bloody well,’ do they?”

“No, they bloody well do not,” Austin said before looking down at his screen, which he had been scrolling on throughout our exchange. The smirk on his face could only be described as adorable.

“Your ex seems to be getting around,” he muttered, eyeing me from under long lashes that were illuminated by the light of the screen and the dance of the fire.

I shrugged. “Water under the bridge. Really. Whatever makes him happy. I’m just happy to be home.” He looked at me inscrutably for a moment before taking me at my word with a nod.

His eyes narrowed as he studied his phone. He kept on scrolling until he found what he was looking for. “Here you are! Look how shaggy your hair was!”

I ran my fingers through my much-shorter, much-more-contained locks. “Yeah, he liked it that way.”

He shut his phone and pointed at it. “That was cute and all.” He circled a hand in front of my face. “But this Clark Kent thing you’ve got going on …” He tilted his head and let out a grunted, “Mmm.” The noise shot right to my dick, which I worked very hard to ignore.

“Clark Kent. Yeah, right,” I scoffed before pressing play on the remote to a shot of the god of thunder jumping to the ground, down on one knee. I may have grunted myself.

He rolled his eyes at me before a yawn escaped him. We both focused back on the movie.

There was no longer a barrier between us since he’d moved the popcorn. I struggled to concentrate on the movie and avoid the heat I felt burning between us, doing such a good job of it that I didn’t notice him falling asleep until he slumped and landed on my shoulder.

I gave a small shrug, hoping to wake him up, but to no avail. That simply made him dig in more, his legs curling up on the couch. There was nothing I could do but raise my arm and let him ease in. I had vague memories of my college days and final exams and wasn’t surprised that Austin didn’t make it to the end of the long film.

“Clark Kent.” I shook my head. “As if, sweetheart.” He made an adorable clicking noise in his sleep. The movie continued, with me sitting there trying to decide whether to wake him up or let him sleep. I decided on a compromise. I would get up when the movie ended. If he woke up, great. If he didn’t, I would make him comfortable on the couch for the night.

At the climax of the movie, with explosions firing off and the noise level increasing, I looked down at my old friend’s son. Even that hadn’t woken him.

Without thinking, I whispered to the top of his head, “My family is horrible; that’s why I never came out to them. Well, I did, to my mother, near the end. And she called me selfish and a deviant. And your dad, well, I couldn’t really tell him, could I? I’m so glad coming out was easy for you. Everyone deserves that. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can have that now.”

As if I timed it perfectly, the fighting and explosions ended on screen as I ended my little whispered confession to my sleeping companion.

He snuggled in closer as I moved slowly to reach for the remote. When I sat back up, his head fell to my lap. In the same whispered voice, I said, “Okay. Too far.” I slipped out from under him and off the couch, shutting off the TV before clearing the remote, the bottles, and the large bowl from the coffee table. As quietly as I could, I tamped down the fire. My actions didn’t wake him, so I found a pillow and a blanket. I propped the pillow on the arm of the couch, hoping he would find it in his sleep. I draped the blanket over him.

I shut off the lights before tiptoeing to my bedroom loft. After finishing my nighttime routine, I crawled into my chilly bed, lying flat on my back and pulling the blankets up to my chin. I should have tried to get more comfortable, but my mind raced, thinking about the man asleep on my couch a floor below me.

Not the son of my best friend, but the future pediatrician, with the explosive smile and the sexy torso. The first person in the United States I’d ever come out to if you didn’t count my mother and the one hookup I’d found in a bar in Boston when I very first returned from overseas. The man I would be stuck with—I yanked my phone from the nightstand and checked the weather report—for potentially the next two to three days. And the only single queer man on the entire continent who was off-limits to me.

I sighed and turned to my side, still clinging to my phone. I closed my eyes for a few minutes but opened them right back up. Normally I would get up and work, but I didn’t want to disturb my guest, so I pulled a book up on my phone and read until the words blurred and mixed with images of Hollywood gods and blinding blizzards and charming young men.