Dust of Snow (4 page)

“Really?” The dimples appeared in his cheeks.
I wanted to look away but his coffee-black eyes wouldn’t let me go.
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take you up on that.”

My stomach flip-flopped. “It’s no trouble at
all.” I waited as he grabbed his things from his car, and in
silence we walked toward mine. I felt strangely nervous, which was
ridiculous since Mr. Montgomery had been at the office now for more
than a month. When I grabbed the big glove ice scraper from the
trunk, he took it from me with a chuckle.

“I’ll do that while you get the car warmed
up.”

“All right.” I wasn’t going to say no to
that. My toes were already flirting with frostbite. Okay, not
really, but it was damn cold.

Five minutes later, Mr. Montgomery climbed
into my car, shuddering as he pulled off his wet gloves. His
fingers were red, and he held them out in front of the air vent.
“Man, it’s cold,” he muttered.

“I hate it so much. But I hate shoveling most
of all.”

“I get a service in to do it,” he admitted
sheepishly.

“I wish I’d done the same,” I told him,
reversing out of the parking space and pointing my car home. “But I
was stupid enough to invest in a snowblower, and now I feel obliged
to use it.”

Actually, it had been David who’d insisted on
getting it, saying it would save us money in the long run, even
though I’d been the one forking over the cash for the machine. Come
to think of it, it had always been me getting up early to clear the
driveway as well.

“You okay?”

I blinked at him. “Sure. Why?”

“You just had this look. I’m sorry to be
imposing like this.”

“It’s not that.” I kept my tone light. “Just
thinking about the fact that winter is only starting, and we’ve got
months
of this in store.”

A silence fell, and I didn’t know him well
enough to judge whether or not he was comfortable with it, so I
asked, “Any plans for the weekend, Mr. Montgomery?”

He snorted. “I wish.” Then he paused. “I wish
you’d call me Ashley, or Ash.”

“Oh. Well, sure. Ashley. I think you’re the
only male Ashley I’ve ever met.” As soon as the words were out of
my mouth, I cringed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your
name. Not at all! It’s just unusual, and—”

“Greg, it’s okay.” He smiled kindly. “Believe
me, I know it’s not a common name. When I was a kid I hated it. Got
teased all the time. But I like it now.” He shrugged. “It’s who I
am.”

Then the silence thickened again, and I
fiddled with the windshield wipers as fresh snow began to drift
down.

“And no plans, really,” he eventually said.
“I’ll probably go see my sister and her kids, and then maybe catch
up with a few friends tomorrow night. Watch a game, or something.
How about you?”

I kept my eyes on the road. Traffic was dense
and dangerous on the slippery streets in the darkness. That sounded
like a lot of plans for having no plans, so I searched rather
frantically for something to say and came up empty. “Just a quiet
weekend in by myself.” It sounded lame, and I was glad I didn’t
have to look at him.

“Anything to get out of snowblowing,
right?”

I laughed. “Something like that.”

“Maybe we could do something on Sunday.”

This startled me so hard I actually flinched.
“As in… you and me? Like what?”

“Anything. A game, drinks, pizza, whatever.
My friends won’t—”

My brain skidded. Was he asking me on a
date
? Obviously not. That was ridiculous. Mr. Montgomery—no,
Ashley
—was older, and his ass filled out gray slacks
criminally well, and he probably wasn’t even gay. “I don’t really
watch sports.”

“Of course you don’t.”

I glanced over, but he was staring out the
window. I had no idea what to say to a statement like that. Was he
judging my gayness? Or just my general existence? Maybe this was
what David meant about me being uptight. I wished the traffic would
thin out already so I could drop him off and get home to
Curlywurly.

“I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” he
said after another long silence.

“It’s fine. I’m not offended.” I wasn’t sure
if I was or not. For a moment I thought he’d add something else,
but then I pulled off the main road leading toward Oakland Township
and down the street leading to our suburb, and he needed to give me
directions.

“Thanks,” he said when I idled in front of
his door. The house looked very different than mine. Much newer.
His home was mostly brick, while the exterior of mine was made
nearly entirely out of vinyl siding. I figured my little place
could probably fit in his living room.

“Anytime. If you need a ride to the office to
get back to your car, give me a call.”

His eyebrows shot up, his fingers still on
the door handle. “Okay. I don’t have your number.”

I passed over my phone. “Send yourself a
text.”

He did, and said good-bye before hurrying up
his cleared driveway. I waited until he was inside before driving
away. In the rearview mirror I saw him lift his arm in a wave.

Once home, I curled up with a bowl of canned
soup and called to make my massage appointment. If someone was
making fun of me behind my back, I’d enjoy the perks before the
shit hit the fan.

On Monday morning everyone and their
grandmother tried to get ahold of Carl, and I spent call after call
telling people he wasn’t available. It left me no time at all to
consider the double dirty chai I’d found under a (badly)
hand-knitted tea cozy. It helped keep the drink deliciously warm in
between the annoying calls disturbing my allocated coffee time.
During a quiet moment, Patricia appeared by my elbow.

“I’ve been unobtrusively asking around,” she
stage whispered so no one could possibly mistake this for a
work-related conversation. “If it’s a practical joke, it’s not from
any of our regular crew.”

That still left the co-ops though, who had a
practical joke legacy to uphold. And to them I might make an easy
target, I couldn’t deny that.

“Have you considered someone might be Secret
Santa-ing you early?”

I almost blabbed about omitting my name from
the jar. “It started before then.”

“Oh, right.” Patricia cracked her knuckles
and I winced. “I’ll figure it out,” she said as she eyed the tea
cozy. “And that is one ugly coffee glove.”

“I quite like it,” I admitted, touching the
soft wool of the orange and purple eyesore fondly. “Even though it
looks like it was made by a five-year-old.”

“What does?” Ashley peered over the cubicle
wall. Patricia excused herself and scurried away, looking oddly
red-faced.

“Nothing.” I cleared my throat. “You didn’t
call.” His brow furrowed. “To get your car,” I clarified.

“Oh, yes. My dad brought me in on Saturday
and gave me a jump. I think the battery might need replacing
though. I had trouble starting the engine again this morning.”

“That sucks.”

“Mmm.” He looked at the coffee and back to
me. He opened his mouth just as Carl’s office door opened. Ashley
mumbled a terse, “I’ll see you around,” and was gone.

I turned to find Carl with an odd look on his
face as he watched Ashley go. He crooked his finger at me and I
followed into his office.

“How is Santa’s Secret?” he asked as I closed
the door.

“Secret Santa. Two names left in the jar.”
There were three, but I’d picked one.

“Give them to me, and I’ll make sure they get
something. How does it work? Do we bring the gifts in for the
party?”

“Yes, and then we either pile them all up on
a table somewhere and allocate some time for handing them out, or
we have people hand them over themselves.”

“The last seems more personal, don’t you
think?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Truth was I hadn’t done
a Secret Santa for a very long time.

“How are you, Gregory?”

“Uh, fine? I’m nearly done researching that
new dental plan you had me look into. It’s not—”

“That’s not what I mean. How are you doing
personally
.”

“I… What?”

“You seem—how do you say it? Down, lately. It
is a year ago your lover left,
n’est-ce pas
?”

I blinked at Carl. We were fairly close—I
imagined any boss and their PA would be after this long—but he’d
never addressed my breaking up with David before. He was still
talking, so I tuned in again.

“And I think you don’t like the cold, the
winter. You have winter depression.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I objected.

Carl smiled, his lush mouth curving
enticingly. “You are a good man, Gregory. It pains me to see you
suffer.”

“I’m fine, really,” I quickly said, hoping
I’d be able to escape soon.

“
Bon sang ne peut mentir
,” murmured
Carl cryptically.

“Quite,” I agreed. “Was there anything
else?”

The smile fell from Carl’s face. “No, that
will be all.”

The next morning a call woke me about three
minutes before my alarm. I groaned and squinted at the glare of my
cell phone. “‘Lo?” I croaked, not recognizing the number.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,”
someone said.

I rubbed at my eyes, waiting for more. When
it didn’t come, I asked, “Who is this?”

“It’s Ashley.”

“Oh.” I promptly sat up, wide-awake. “Is
everything all right? Did something happen?”

“No—nothing bad. It’s just that my battery
died again, and I was wondering if I could catch a ride with you
into work.”

“Of course. I still need to get ready, so I
won’t be leaving for another hour.” Ashley was always in his office
when I arrived, but did he really go in at seven a.m.? “But I’ll
pick you up as soon as I can.”

“I can come over and save you the trip.”

“It’s your nose,” I said, suppressing a yawn.
“See you soon.”

He showed up twenty minutes later, just when
I was pushing the snowblower back into the garage. “I still need to
shower,” I told him around chattering teeth.

“That’s okay. No rush.”

“Come in.” I led him through the garage,
pulling off two layers of gloves, a hat, ear warmers, a neck
warmer, my coat, and the sweater underneath. I deposited the load
on a small bench in my tiny mudroom and pushed open the door to my
home. Ashley seemed to be amused by the process, his dark eyes
twinkling. I cleared my throat. “I really would have picked you up,
you know. You didn’t have to walk over.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “I like the
snow.”

“Insane.” I shuddered. “Living room and
kitchen are through here.” I pointed at the arch down the hallway.
“Make yourself comfortable wherever—just don’t let Curly sit on
your lap. You’ll never get the hairs off your suit.”

“Curly?” Ashley smiled.

“My cat,” I said, wondering why it felt like
I was exposing a dirty secret.

“I love cats. I’ll go say hi.”

He disappeared into my home and I stood there
blinking like an idiot for a long minute. “Right,” I muttered to
myself. “Get a move on.”

I quickly showered and shaved, acutely aware
of Ashley downstairs. I liked the home I’d created for myself—the
small fireplace, the bookshelves, the comfortable matching couches.
So why was I feeling so nervous?

When I came downstairs, Ashley was leaning
against the kitchen counter with coffee in one hand and another mug
resting on the countertop next to his elbow. He held it out.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, holding
up his own mug. His eyes were warm as he regarded me, but I could
spot a touch of wariness.

“Of course not,” I said firmly, taking my
coffee from him. “Thank you.” And I didn’t mind, I really didn’t.
Was it weird that I didn’t mind him making himself at home?

Curlywurly chose that moment to start winding
around Ashley’s legs. “Get off, you lazy cat,” I said, trying to
push him away with my foot. Tan and black hairs already clung to
Ashley’s pant leg. “I’m sorry. This is why I usually get out of
here as soon as I’m dressed.”