Page 77 of Snow Globe Secrets

I still wasn’t convinced three Christmas trees were necessary, no matter how many times Austin insisted, “The triangulation of a tree on each loft and one down below will be stunning.”

He’d used the word “stunning.” How could I possibly resist?

At the cabin by myself while Austin was at the hospital, I knew better than to think about undoing the trees, which, admittedly, did give the cabin a very festive scent, but I was eyeing the snowman decoration that was taller than the kitchenette and standing guard in front of it.

He had toppled over the night before when Austin had pushed me down face-first onto that table to have his way with me. I was sure that Austin would see that the damn snowman was in the way and relocate it. Preferably to the garage.

I eyed it as I descended from the office, a bag of presents in hand, and stared at it again after I’d arranged the presents just so under the tree. I thought about placing him in the garage myself; I even started walking toward him, but then I remembered Austin, ramming into me and tugging at my dick until my ass and the table were covered in cum. He’d not pulled out as he gently placed his hand to my chest and brought us both to a standing position.

I could feel him starting to slip out, a bit of cum dripping down, but he held me like that and kissed my neck as I brought a hand behind me to clasp his hip.

We were facing the upended holiday knickknack as he whispered, “Love you,” in my ear, and I stretched my head to ask for a kiss, saying it back into his lips. He pulled away then, rinsing his hands and finding my glasses on the counter next to a truly hideous, maroon-colored Hampstead University tree decoration. He slipped my glasses on me first before gently wiping my backside.

Just as gently, he’d picked up the fucking snowman and set him back to rights.

“You win this round, Olaf,” I groused, waiting for Austin to arrive the next day.

It was midmorning, and Austin was due back from the hospital shortly. We had bought a more traditional home closer to Hampstead the year before but had kept the cabin as a getaway and a place for friends and family to stay when they visited.

“I don’t like sharing you,” Austin had said, but I knew he was mainly moving for me since I’d come to realize that the cabin was great but not really a home, and since I really didn’t like to have my world upended by guests. We’d even started to talk about what we could do to fill a four-bedroom home at some point.

After med school, we’d agreed.

At home there was a wreath on the door and a simple tree in the living room, so I really didn’t mind if Austin went all out at the cabin. I sat down on a holiday-themed throw blanket that was draped over the couch and stared at the lighted green garland covering a mantle that was full of photos and one snow globe that I’d bought for Austin the first time I’d visited Breakwater Beach.

“Three years,” I said out loud, and it made me think about how I used to talk aloud to myself all the time when I’d first moved there. Isolated and alone and imagining that there was no one within miles to hear me. A part of me remembered thinking there was also no one within miles to care. My friends in England, left behind. My family, virtually nonexistent, and my old friends, lost to time, or so I’d thought.

I turned to speak to the snowman. “It was three years ago this week that Austin flurried into my life,” I told him. Images of that week flashed through my mind, grocery shopping while we rushed to beat the storm, the harrowing drive back to the cabin—it was my cabin then, not ours. A silly snowball fight that ended in a kiss that started the rest of my life. I remembered his kindness and understanding as if he knew me from that very first day. I remembered the attraction too, and how it simmered and popped between us.

It had simmered and popped in front of the upended snowman just as fiercely the night before as it had when we thought we had the guest room at Martin and Stephanie’s house to ourselves that first Christmas.

We hadn’t even made it to Christmas Eve before Stephanie was on to us, warning me not to hurt her family, me promising that was the last thing I wanted to do.

I’d spent some time alone with Martin after that warning, and my heart had ached, torn between my growing feelings for his son and the worry that it would break Martin’s heart when he found out.

We ate and drank more over the course of Christmas Eve dinner, and as I stared at the fire crackling in our cabin in the woods, I remembered the moment that had overwhelmed me three years earlier. Austin had been talking about graduating and starting medical school and how he wanted to join or start a practice near his college, which also happened to be near where I lived.

“I know, Dad, I’m not the beach bum you thought I’d be.” He couldn’t help but look at me as he said the next part. “But I really love it in Hampstead, and I want to build a life up there. A great one, like you two have here. I think I’m going to be really happy.”

If I sat there across from him a minute more, I thought I might confess it all; hell, I was practically in danger of proposing.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” I muttered.

“You okay, Randy? It’s freezing out there!” My old friend looked so concerned.

“Too much to drink, I think.” I ran out, foolishly, without even grabbing my coat.

Their home was close enough to the beach that I found my way to the shore. It was nippier down there, and I wrapped myself in my arms, staring at the waxing gibbous moon, wondering how Austin could be so sure.

Within minutes, he was behind me, draping my coat over my shoulders.

“I practically had to fight Dad to be the one to bring you this.”

I turned in his arms; I’m sure my concern was clear by the light of the moon. “Did you …”

“Tell him? No. But I think we should, Randall. I hate seeing you like this. It’s not fair to you. Not fair to Mom.”

“What about you?” I whispered.