AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It had taken him years to stop hearing her voice whenever things got quiet, but every now and again, there were whispers telling him what a terrible son he’d been, lurking in all the shadows in his head. Sometimes, his mental stone walls were weak, and she crept out. And now that he wasn’t using booze to keep her locked away, his defenses were weaker.
The prospect of seeing Renzo took most of that edge off though, and he pulled his car around the bend of the driveway. He came to a halt when he saw Renzo standing out by the chopping block once again, in the freezing winter air, with his shirt off.
This time, Emil let himself stare. He drank in the rippling muscles over Renzo’s shoulders, and the way a small lock of hair fell over his forehead, and how his glasses glinted just right in the foggy beam of sun filtering down from the clouds. Renzo swiped his hand over his forehead, leaning on the ax as he waited for Emil to get out of the car, and after a beat, he did.
He still hadn’t taken Renzo’s advice and grabbed a coat, so he wrapped his arms tight around his middle and jogged over with a raised brow. “Do you have a second job as a lumberjack?”
Renzo sighed and shook his head. “Someone has to take care of you softies.” His smile dropped away when Emil gave a giant shiver, and he dropped the ax, stepping over to the woodpile, where he snagged a very thick, very heavy grey hoodie. “I swear to God,” he said, shoving it over Emil’s head without warning, “it’s like you’re trying to die of hypothermia.”
“Says the man out here in seventeen-degree weather with his shirt off,” Emil groused. He pulled a face when the hoodie sleeves rucked up his button-up ones, and he shook his arms hard to get them to fall back down.
Renzo just grinned at him as he stepped back. “My core temperature is hot as hell right now. This is the only workout I get most days.”
“Well, it’s working for you,” Emil said, eyeing him again.
Renzo flushed gently and gave Emil a slight shove toward the house. “Go inside. I’m almost done here, and then I’ll come make some hot chocolate.”
“What is it with you and that stuff?” Emil demanded as he started walking.
“Stop complaining and be grateful!” Renzo called just as Emil grabbed the door handle and let himself in.
The place smelled like the holidays—candles with cinnamon and pine. He took a deep breath of it as the warmth from the floor heaters seeped into his clothes, and it wasn’t long until the sweater was too much. The last thing he wanted to do was take it off, but he didn’t have permission to keep it.
Being there was gift enough.
He peeled it away and hung it on the back of the chair before he wandered into the kitchen. He loved the house. It was old with obvious original flooring he hadn’t paid very close attention to the first night he was there.
The walls and shelves were covered in photos and trinkets and books that told the history of that little family, and Emil felt an ache deep inside him he hadn’t expected. Family had always been a disappointment in his reality.
Parental love and affection were things that existed in novels and on TV, and everyone in his life from before had the same damn experience. Even Victor, who had learned love and kindness in spite of the way he’d been brought up.
But as he stared at a family photo hanging over a shelf in the kitchen, Emil realized that maybe they were the fucked-up ones. Or maybe Renzo was just luckier than anyone else Emil had ever met.
“Fucking fuck,” Renzo’s voice called from the foyer. “And I’m so glad I can say that without having to give up cash.”
Emil peered around the corner of the kitchen. “Cash?”
“My brother hates swearing, so he put a swear jar on the counter.” Renzo jutted his chin toward it, and Emil followed, chuckling when he saw it was a mug that was very clearly painted at his shop. “I’m going broke because I can’t watch my mouth until I’m in the classroom. And the kids are a lot worse than I am.”
“You let the kids swear at you?” Emil asked as he watched Renzo snag a T-shirt from a small laundry pile, and he covered up his bare chest. Emil was only a little disappointed. Renzo was gorgeous no matter what he did or didn’t have on.
Smiling, Renzo shrugged as he breezed past him and went for the stove. “My kids are all in their late teens and early twenties.” He glanced over his shoulder and laughed at Emil’s shock. “Where did you think I worked?”
Emil flopped his arms helplessly. He hadn’t really given it much thought. He figured maybe middle school because Renzo’s patience seemed infinite. “Uh. Younger than that, I guess.”
Renzo laughed. “God help any child under the age of eighteen that comes into my classroom. I’m a complete asshole, and I have no energy to try and spare the feelings of some child.”
Emil’s eyes widened. That should have been awful, but it was strangely hot. He sat down on one of the barstools and watched as Renzo moved through the kitchen, putting together a bunch of ingredients into a pot.
“So, this isn’t a powdered mix?” Emil asked.
Renzo spun, a horrified look on his face. “You’re joking, right? You’re, like, European. There’s no way you’d settle for that shit.”
Emil covered his face and laughed against his palm. “I’ve never given a single fuck about hot chocolate, Renzo.”
“Well, you should,” he said with a sniff. “There’s an art form to it. And believe me when I say this will change your life.”
Emil’s smile widened. “I’m glad I get to be here to observe.”
