Page 11 of His Christmas Love Song

“High praise,” Hank says. He looks at them and smiles, his eyes crinkling. “It’s really good to see you boys. Now, tell me everything that happened since you left Malawi. How’s your arm, Jesse?”

Jesse rubs the back of his right arm with his left hand in a gesture Ryan’s seen him do a thousand times. It never fails to make him a little dizzy, remembering that day, the worry that Jesse was going to bleed out before they got back to the camp.

He blinks and remembers they’re safe and warm and in Vermont of all places. Jesse’s telling Hank about the first song they collaborated on, that it became a hit single off Ryan’s quote-unquote-comeback album about a year after they got back from the Corps. How that led to more and more chances to work together, Jesse’s solo album, Ryan’s last album which was half made up of their collaborations, and three live tours, the most recent of which spit them out in Boston and now Pine Tree Lodge.

“We’re working on a Christmas album. It’ll come out next year, of course, but I thought it would be better if we could get into it while it’s actually Christmastime,” Jesse says, smiling at Ryan. “Some of us have more Christmas spirit than others.”

“Hey, I like Christmas,” Ryan protests. “I just don’t like Christmas albums. They’re so hokey and trite and corny.”

“I know, I know,” Jesse says. “But I already told you, ours won’t be. I promise.”

“Just like you promised me snow?” Ryan takes a sip of wine. He’s enjoying needling Jesse. It takes his mind off that fact that when they go back to their shared cabin, instead of crawling into Jesse’s warm bed and warming the sheets together, he’ll be tossing and turning in a cold bed alone.

Jesse groans. “Hank, what are the chances of it snowing while we’re here?”

Hank shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. We often have a white Christmas, but that’s a couple of weeks away yet. Thankfully, we’re not a ski lodge, though we do have cross country trails nearby, and snowshoes available if people want to tramp through the woods. I think if you want snow, you’ll have to go farther north. Winter’s been unpredictable lately.”

“Bein’ a simple Tennessee boy, I always assumed Vermont had snow from Thanksgiving to Easter,” Jesse says, laying his accent on thick.

Ryan snorts a laugh. “You’re an idiot,” he says, and he worries he’s let too much affection slip into his words when Jesse’s eyes narrow on him almost imperceptibly.

“But snow or not, I sure am glad you two picked Pine Tree Lodge for your vacation, or working vacation, it seems. How’d you find out about us, anyway?” Hank asks as they clear the table.

Jesse fumbles his plate and his fork falls to the floor with a clatter. “Uh. Through a friend.”

Ryan’s surprised. He’d thought maybe Sadie or Hector recommended it. “Which friend?”

“Uh, is that apple pie?” Jesse points to what is obviously an apple pie on the counter in the kitchen. Hank’s putting away the leftovers, and he nods.

“Not homemade, sorry. I can’t bake to save my life. But there’s a really nice little farm stand a few miles down the road. Around the holidays they do pies, fruitcake, the works. Ryan, can you get the ice cream out of the freezer?”

Ryan groans. “I honestly don’t know if can eat another bite after that amazing dinner.”

“I can,” Jesse says with enthusiasm. “And you can, too. It’s practically un-American to pass up apple pie a la mode, Ryan.” He rubs the scar on the back of his arm; Ryan wonders if he’s even aware he’s doing it.

“A little piece won’t hurt, I guess.”

Jesse beams and Ryan finds himself smiling back, even though inwardly he’s cringing. Could he be more pathetic, getting all warm and gooey at making Jesse happy with the simple act of agreeing to dessert?

He sighs. Hank’s fingers brush his as he hands him a plate with a small slice of pie and a modest scoop of ice cream. He has long fingers, big hands. Not as big as Jesse’s, though. He sighs again as they settle into soft chairs in the snug living room to eat.

Why can’t he find Hank attractive? He is, objectively, but it’s hard to separate this Hank, who makes a mean roast chicken and whose eyes crinkle when he smiles from Dr. Moore, competent field doctor who sewed Jesse’s arm up. He doesn’t exactly remember the land mine explosion fondly, and he supposes his feelings about Hank are tangled up with that.

His thoughts are derailed when Jesse moans, the noise bordering the obscene.

“This pie is incredible,” Jesse says with his mouth full. Ryan wants to crawl into his lap and lick the crumbs out of his mouth.

And that’s the problem in a nutshell. There’s no way Hank or any other guy is getting a second glance from Ryan while he feels this stupid over his best friend.

“Try this, Ryan.” Jesse points to his plate. The ice cream’s starting to melt and Ryan really doesn’t have an appetite, but he scoops up a small bite and tastes it. The cinnamon and sugar can’t quite cover up the taste of longing.

“It’s real good, Jess,” Ryan says to appease Jesse’s questioning face.

His expression relaxes into a pleased smile. “Hey Hank, maybe if you have some free time this week you could take Ryan to the farm stand.”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “I could do that,” he says, glancing at Ryan. “If I’m not on shift, I’d be happy to. Just say the word.”

Ryan stands up abruptly, feeling a little sick. “Can I use your bathroom?”