A Small Miracle Happened (5 page)

Chris woke up in his own bed the next morning, glad to find it still had an occupancy rate of two. Dan slept half on his side, half on his stomach, breathing heavily and occasionally emitting a noise that Chris was far too besotted to think of as a snore.

Chris raised himself on one elbow. How the hell did anyone look that good first thing in the morning? Chris’s sheets were plain white cotton, and Dan’s longish black hair spread over them in stark relief. His eyelashes fluttered over sharp cheekbones, and his mouth was pink and a bit swollen from last night’s kisses. The softness of his lips contrasted with the stubble on his chin. The hand that rested on his pillow was slender with long, graceful fingers, but nonetheless masculine in its beauty.

Chris had made love to beautiful men before, but none of them had had this effect on him. He could have stared at Dan forever.

If he didn’t have to pee.

Smiling at the way his body interfered with his romantic fantasy, he eased out of bed. He needed a reminder not to get too attached too soon. A man as handsome and charming as Dan wasn’t likely to stick around forever. But maybe he’d stay at least until all this year’s candles had burned out.

Chris searched the Internet for information about Hanukkah out of boredom at work on Friday morning. Even the help desk, the hated position he’d volunteered to fill for the day, was slow, and in between answering idiotic questions from callers, he learned about the Maccabees, and how their victory led to the fabled miracle and subsequent traditions. But the holiday also had some associations with the Book of Judith, and he read a gruesome story about the death of Holofernes, graphically illustrated on one Web site with a painting by a woman named Artemisia Gentileschi. Chris was glad he had no desire to sleep with women, because that image would be seared behind his eyeballs for a while.

He wondered why he didn’t remember any of these stories from Bible study. More research revealed they were part of something called the Apocrypha that wasn’t accepted by most Protestant churches. Apparently he’d missed some good tales by not being born Jewish or Catholic.

He moved on to sites explaining how the holiday was celebrated. He snickered at many of the menorahs he found for sale. Dan hadn’t been kidding about the availability of kitsch. Some were shaped like cats, dogs, whales, dinosaurs, and all sorts of other wildlife. Others represented fictional characters from Winnie the Pooh to Harry Potter.

There were also some beautiful menorahs and other items. Chris liked a decorative enamel dreidel so much he ordered it. It should arrive in time for him to give it to Dan on the last night of Hanukkah.

But he already knew how to play dreidel, at least in a version that should come with a Not Safe for Work warning on the Internet. So he skipped over more detailed information about the toys and started scanning recipes. He was amused to learn dairy products were often served to commemorate Holofernes’s last meal. With the association made, Chris would probably think of beheadings whenever he was invited to a wine-and-cheese party.

Latkes were mentioned over and over. He’d expected some complicated dish, but when he clicked on a recipe, he found they were just potato pancakes. So he’d invited Dan over with the goal of showing he had some cooking skills to make up for his complete lack of style in other areas. He hadn’t expected them to mean so much to Dan.

Dan’s pleasure had been more than worth the effort, and not just because of the way things had gone later that night. Being with Dan made Chris feel vulnerable and powerful at the same time, more open to possibilities than ever before.

He told himself that was a dangerous feeling.

Once Dan woke up on Saturday, Chris tried to follow up on the success of the previous night’s dinner by making a big breakfast. Dan ate the eggs and bacon with flattering eagerness, although he seemed to find something funny about the menu. He was sitting at Chris’s small dining room table, his hair tousled, wearing nothing but jeans, his chest bare. He still looked a bit sleepy. Or perhaps he was just relaxed and satisfied? Whatever the reason, he certainly improved the pallid decor.

“You keep feeding me. I should take you out for dinner tonight to reciprocate.” Dan sipped his coffee. “Or do you have plans?”

Chris had to think a moment. The past three days felt stolen, as if he’d fallen out of the normal time stream. Foolish to think of that as magical. It was probably just the mild disorientation caused by the Thanksgiving holiday interrupting the workweek and throwing him out of his routine. “I was going to get together with some friends and see a movie. There’s always some crazy new release Thanksgiving weekend.”

“I think the new Hunger Games is supposed to be out.” Dan sounded doubtful.

Chris poured himself more coffee, then topped up Dan’s cup. “We were talking about the new Marvel flick instead. It’s been out a few weeks, but none of us have seen it.”

“
Thor
?” Dan looked more interested now. “I haven’t seen that either. Not that I’m fishing for an invitation,” he added quickly, before laughing at himself. “Except I totally am.”

“You’re invited. Warren and Terry would have been happy if I brought you on Thanksgiving, but I don’t think you’d have enjoyed it much. This will be better because Terry’s dad won’t be around.”

Dan tilted his head to one side. “Why, is his dad antigay?”

“Nah, he’s not a homophobe. In fact he and Terry are great guys; at least as long as they’re not both in the same room.”

“Oh, one of
those
families. I’d love to meet your friends.” Dan’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm that Chris didn’t think was entirely due to anticipation of watching Chris Hemsworth toss around a huge hammer. Maybe he just wanted to meet more people. He was still pretty new to this area, and he didn’t seem to have bonded closely with the coworker who’d invited him for Thanksgiving dinner.

“So how did you two meet? Do you work together?” Warren looked from Dan to Chris. The four of them were sharing a booth at a local restaurant after watching a movie satisfyingly full of violence and well-muscled superheroes.

Dan shook his head. “We live in the same neighborhood.” His smile turned wicked. “We met when my package was delivered to his house.”

Warren choked on his beer, and they waited while Terry pounded him on the back.

“Should I ask what was in the package?” asked Terry cautiously when Warren’s face returned to its normal shade.

“A menorah and some other things from my grandmother.”

Terry looked curious. “Oh, you’re Jewish? All ready for Hanukkah, then?”

“More than ready.” Dan’s smile was conspiratorial as he glanced at Chris. “It’s started already.”

Warren turned red again. “Oh, shit. I should have sent my nephew something. His mom is Jewish, and I always send him a present for Hanukkah and another for Christmas.”

“You’ve got five days,” Chris assured him. “Tonight’s the fourth night.”

Warren looked at Chris. “When did you become an expert on Hanukkah?”

Dan watched Warren carefully as he said, “He’s been helping me celebrate. He lit my candle the very first night.”

“Dude, you are not catching me twice.” Warren held up his beer, then took a careful sip. “You open your mouth, and I stop drinking.”

Dan flirted with his eyelashes and tried to look innocent. He picked up the menu. “What’s good to eat here?”

“Pizza,” said Warren and Terry together.

“This is where I ordered the pie the other night,” Chris added.

Dan nodded. “That’s pretty definitive. What kind?”

“Sausage,” Chris suggested.

"No," said Warren “Not unless we get two pies, one with and one without. Dan probably can’t eat sausage.”

“Why?” The penny dropped, and Chris turned to stare at Dan as his cheeks flushed. “I made you bacon this morning.”

“And I ate it, just like I’ll eat sausage on my pizza.” Dan laughed before giving Chris a quick hug. “No worries. I told you I’m not observant. I eat shrimp, work on the Sabbath, and then there’s the whole sleeping-with-men thing. If I’m flipping the bird to that much of Leviticus, I might as well enjoy pork too.”

“I should have asked before making it,” Chris said, hunching his shoulders, aware that he was blushing. He did that far too easily.

Dan rolled his eyes. “If it bothered me, I would have said so. I’m all for sausage. What about peppers and mushrooms?”

Once they’d placed their order, the conversation naturally drifted to the movie they’d just seen. Terry made a stab at intellectual analysis. “I think Natalie Portman’s overrated as an actress.”

“Oh, was she in the movie?” Dan opened his eyes wide.

Chris played along. “I didn’t notice.”

Warren looked around the table. “Me either. Terr, none of the other gay guys here paid her any mind. Are you sure you’re not a closet straight?”

“If you’re not sure after last night—” A little shoving followed, their affection for each other obvious.

Dan saw it too, because he asked, “How long have you been married?”

“Almost two years.” Terry grinned. “In spite of my family. Chris will tell you our Thanksgiving was kind of a disaster.”

Warren shuddered. “But we’re flying to Florida to spend Christmas with my parents. So maybe I won’t demand a divorce until next year.”

“You’re not going to be here for Christmas?” Chris heard the alarm in his voice and wished he’d said nothing, especially when Dan cast him a keen glance. But Chris had been counting on Terry and Warren for an invitation. There wasn’t anyone else in town Chris knew well enough to spend Christmas Day with. He couldn’t call one of his friends back home, because they would ask awkward questions about why he didn’t visit his parents. The answers would be food for gossip, and Chris’s family hated gossip as much as they hated controversy. Dan would be visiting his own family, so Chris couldn’t invite him over either.

It wasn’t really a problem. Chris was a big boy, and he’d manage. Maybe he could do what Dan said his parents did, find someplace to volunteer so he wouldn’t be completely alone. Or he could adopt a kitten or something.

He leaned back in his chair, dropping out of the conversation as their meal arrived. But he listened, and he thought Dan was charming his friends. When Dan excused himself to answer a phone call, Warren verified it. “Nice guy. And he’s into you.”

“Do you think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” Terry mumbled around a mouthful of pie.

Chris looked over to where Dan had found a quiet spot near the restrooms to take his call, and caught the moment when his expression changed. He grinned madly, then waved at Chris, almost jumping up and down in his enthusiasm.

“What’s that about?” asked Terry.

“I don’t know, but he’s sure cute when he’s excited,” said Warren.

Chris thought Dan was cute 24-7. He waved back. “I think his sister just had a baby.”

Dan confirmed this when he returned, sliding into the booth and bussing Chris on the cheek. “It’s a girl! Six pounds, fifteen ounces. I don’t know why that’s required information, but they seem happy about it. They’re calling her Arielle.”

“Like the mermaid?” Terry looked dubious.

“Or an airy sprite,” said Chris before he realized how bizarre that would sound to someone who didn’t know the Shakespeare play.

“No, Arielle.” Dan spelled it. “It means ‘lioness of God.’ The other way is a boy’s name in Hebrew.”

The kid’s going to spend the rest of her life trying to get people to spell it right
. But it was a pretty name, and Chris said so.

Dan stared at his phone. “First pictures coming in. Wow, babies pop out ugly! But I suppose she’ll improve.” He passed it around, and they all dutifully admired the red, wrinkled thing screaming its head off in the arms of a befuddled-looking new father.

“She’ll probably look more like the ones in the diaper commercials by the time you get out there to see her.” Chris handed the phone back.

“I hope so. Anyway, Sharon’s fine, and my parents are pretty incoherent, which I suppose means they’re happy.”

Chris loved how emotional Dan was, all his feelings up front and on display. His eyes were glowing, and excitement seemed to pour off him. “We should celebrate with something more than beer and pizza.”

“Dancing,” suggested Terry immediately.

Chris cringed, but Dan agreed, so he had to go.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as Chris feared. He skulked in a corner as often as he could, and tried to move as little as possible when on the dance floor. Dan picked up on his discomfort and stopped expecting him to do anything but slow dance. Since anyone with two working feet could slow dance, that was better. Much better, because it meant holding Dan close.

Afterward there was a long drive back, because the nearest gay bar was pretty damn far away from their neighborhood. But eventually they wound up at Dan’s house, lighting the menorah much later than usual. “It’s going to be hopeless trying to light it at twilight most of the week anyway,” Dan said. “It gets dark too early, and after tomorrow we’ll still be at work when the sun goes down.”

Chris nodded, picking up a foil-covered coin from the candy dish, then unwrapping it. Dan watched him with a cynical smile that Chris understood the minute he bit into the chocolate.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Dan shook his head. “I don’t know why they always taste like sawdust.”

But it didn’t matter, because then they kissed until the flavor of cheap chocolate was gone, and only Dan filled Chris’s senses.

Chapter Five

Fifth night—Sunday

Dan was uncomfortably aware that Chris had been doing most of the work feeding them both for the past few days. So on Sunday morning, Dan ran out early and brought back half a dozen doughnuts, explaining to Chris that as fried foods they were traditional for Hanukkah. Chris replied that he'd found a recipe for kugel the same day he looked up latkes, and he offered to make it that evening. He was intrigued by the idea of noodle pudding.

But Chris also said it was probably a good thing the holiday was only eight days long, and he was going to have to hit the gym hard soon. He looked genuinely worried.