Matt
I TAPPED my foot along with the smooth notes of Elvis warbling “Blue Christmas.” My hands were busy hanging my mismatched collection of ornaments on the small tree I’d cut down for myself, but my mind was firmly fixated on that mess of soft dark hair and those smoldering brown eyes framed by irresistibly long lashes. That wide, pretty mouth…. No.
Rolling my shoulders, I focused on the spruce boughs, making sure I put the heavier ornaments on the thicker branches. It seemed pointless to put up a tree since I was really the only person who would see it. But it felt wrong not to decorate for the holidays. Besides, before he left yesterday, Mikah had mumbled something about coming back to return my clothes, so maybe he would see the tree too. Maybe he’d even stick around to drink his cup of hot chocolate this time. He’d barely said two words as I helped him and his sister cut down a huge blue spruce and tether it to the roof of his beat-up car. He’d seemed standoffish, clearly irritated as he clomped after us through the forest, looking far too adorable in my oversized coat and clothes. His sister had chatted nonstop. I liked her. But not as much as I’d immediately liked him. I couldn’t seem to forget the hitch of his breath or the way his ample lips had fallen open when our fingers brushed. And there was no way my mind was letting go of the image of that tight expanse of creamy skin when my flannel pants slipped down over the jutting bones of his hips.
Moose lay snuggled up on the couch, eyeing me with a pull yourself together expression. A rustle of footsteps sounded outside, and a small smile bloomed on my face. That was fast. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since my dog unceremoniously hurtled Mikah into a puddle of muddy slush. But no knock came at the door. Instead it banged open, revealing not Mikah but John, my older brother, looking harried and talking a mile a minute.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing in here? It’s nine. We have customers. Holiday rush, bro.”
I glanced at the wall clock. Damn it. I’d been so busy mentally running my fingers over Mikah’s soft mouth and wondering if that rumpled hair was as silky as it looked that I’d totally lost track of time. Typically winters were quiet at the farm. Other than going to an indoor farmer’s market once a week to sell overwintered root vegetables and the small selection of greens and herbs we cultivated in the greenhouse, we spent most of the winter repairing equipment, taking care of overdue paperwork, and planning for the hectic seasons ahead. But things had gotten a whole lot busier since a bolt of inspiration struck my brother, and John had decided to start charging folks to cut down some of the evergreens in the forest for the holidays. It was a good idea, and yesterday’s Black Friday tidal wave of cash had been nice, but I sort of missed the solitude of the wind whipping through the trees and the blank stretch of nothing but snow for miles.
“Sorry.” I gave the tree a final once-over. It looked nice, encircled in white lights and dotted with colorful ornaments mostly made by John’s eight-year-old daughter, Abby. I smiled before switching off the music and following my brother outside.
The air was frigid, the kind of biting cold that immediately pricked every inch of skin and tightened every cord of muscle. The whine of a chainsaw carried over the white spread of frozen fields.
“You okay, man?” John asked as we stomped over to the barn. A few cars sat along the driveway, but no battered navy Subaru was among them. No sign of Mikah.
I nodded vaguely. “Yup.”
John didn’t seem convinced. “You still bummed about that Nick dude?”
A low groan rumbled from my throat. John was so damn nosy about my love life. About a year earlier, I’d started chatting with a guy named Nick on a farming forum, and it turned out we were both gay. He was closeted and having a hard time with it, but incredibly sweet, and we’d hit it off almost immediately, emailing back and forth and texting. What started as idle small talk had quickly escalated to sexting, then video chats, then long phone calls that often ended with both of us falling asleep as we lamented the distance separating us. It had fizzled out after about ten months, though. Nick was undeniably gorgeous and so earnest, it had sometimes made my chest ache. But he was also undeniably out of reach, over two thousand miles away in Upstate New York. I still missed him sometimes, missed having someone to laugh with at the end of the day. I missed the undeniable pull to slot him into my life. And yeah, okay, I missed getting off, even if everything had been virtual.
“Nope.” My gaze lifted to the wide expanse of clear blue sky. I loved days like this, the air bracing and crisp, the sharp peaks of the Tetons jutting toward feathery white clouds. Releasing a long breath, I let all the thoughts drain from my mind. My shoulders relaxed.
But John had other ideas and kept pressing. “Why don’t you go out to Salt Lake City or something for New Year’s? Hit up some of the bars. Or give that ski instructor a call. What was his name?”
“Nah,” I said, still sticking with monosyllables. While I appreciated my brother’s support, sometimes he was a little too enthusiastic. And invasive. And involved. Anytime he encountered a guy he even thought might be queer, John started mentally drafting the seating charts for our eventual wedding.
“My husband botherin’ you, Matt?” Katie emerged from the barn, long black hair braided down her back. Abby followed close on her mother’s heels, one of the red bows we used for the wreaths stuck to the middle of her forehead.
I shrugged while John scoffed. “I’m not bothering him.” He jutted his chin indignantly. “He seems kinda down today, don’t you think?”
Katie rolled her eyes at her husband. “Um, he seems fine. Why don’t you worry about the folks who got their saw stuck in a tree trunk?” She shook her head at me in playful apology.
John bounded away, his broad back retreating toward the tree line. As irritating as my brother could be, I was undeniably grateful to have him. The two of us had relied on each other growing up: pushing each other to keep our grades from slipping, forging our parents’ signatures on permission slips, making sure there was enough food in the fridge.
“Are you okay, though?” Katie asked, her narrow brown eyes locking intently on my face.
I chuckled. “You two are worse than a couple of brood hens. I’m fine. Holiday blues or whatever.”
Katie patted my arm fondly. “You need to cool it with the Elvis in that cabin. Maybe try a little Mariah Carey for a change.”
A laugh rumbled in my chest as I started wrapping twine around one of the freshly cut trees. Katie pointed me in the direction of the car I was supposed to tie it to, an immaculate black Range Rover, and informed me that the tree’s new owners were now wandering around the farm, taking photos and spooking the horses.
Letting my mind drift again as I worked, I wondered whether Mikah had worn my clothes for long or if he’d shed them as soon as he got home, tossing everything in a heap on the floor. But an image of him stretching out in bed, my T-shirt rucking up over his flat stomach, had my mouth going dry. Thankfully the crunch of gravel under tires pulled me from my increasingly dirty thoughts. I grinned to myself when the navy Subaru Forester shuddered to a halt. Mikah was back. And he’d come by himself.
“Can you take care of that one?” Katie gave my arm a quick, hard squeeze. “Abby and I should go help out Mr. and Mrs. Los Angeles over there before they get themselves killed.” She jabbed her thumb at the couple in question. They were now precariously balanced on top of the buck-rail fence surrounding the paddock and trying to take a selfie. I laughed again and nodded. But bright excitement fizzed in my stomach. I kept my gaze trained down on the Douglas fir and carefully unspooled the twine. Every footstep of Mikah’s made my heart race a little more. When a pair of black boots kicked up the snow next to me, I glanced up, trying to keep my expression neutral.
“Hey.” Mikah raked his fingers through his tousled curls. I cleared my throat to hide the fact that I wanted to groan as the scent of his hair drifted down to me: citrus and rich coffee and amber.
“Hey.” I stood and wiped my hands on my jeans. Jesus, just looking at him had my skin burning and tingling with need. I could tell he was uncomfortable, though, shifting from foot to foot and shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his oversized green raincoat. Did the guy not own a single seasonally appropriate article of clothing? I wanted to pull him into my arms and hold him until he was warm. Instead, I focused my attention on the small canvas tote bag looped around his slender forearm.
He followed my gaze to the bag and seemed to spring back to life. “Oh, uh, right. Your clothes. Thanks again for loaning them to me. I washed everything.” His jaw set tight as he stared out at the paddock.
I accepted the bag, wishing all the while he hadn’t washed the clothes. The thought of his scent clinging to the shirt as I pulled it over my head did nothing to diminish my growing arousal. A tight thread of silence stretched out between us. I knew I had to say something or he would leave.
“You okay, then?” I asked. “Moose didn’t hurt you?”
A small smile played over Mikah’s gorgeous mouth. And now I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from his lips. “I’m fine.” He gave a small shrug. “Well, thanks again for all your help yesterday. And for the tree. My stepmom’s thrilled with it.”
“Yup. No problem.” I desperately grasped at straws, trying to figure out some way to get him to stick around, even for a few minutes. “You never drank your hot chocolate yesterday. Want some now?”
That tiny smile again. Then an almost imperceptible nod. “Sure. If it’s cool with your, um, wife.” I followed his gaze to Katie, who now appeared to be conducting a full-on photo shoot for the couple by the paddock. Wife? I shook my head.
“Sister-in-law. But, yeah, it’s fine. She and my brother can handle things for a few minutes. One sec, let me get this tied to those folks’ car.” I gestured down to the tree. As I hurried through the task, I let myself speculate wildly about Mikah. His sister had mentioned they grew up in New York City and that Mikah was taking some time to get himself together after losing a teaching job he’d loved. Idly, I wondered what grade he’d taught, which subject. I was lucky to have the farm, because I couldn’t imagine having to scramble to make ends meet after losing out on work I cared about. Unfortunately she hadn’t given me any hints about his sexuality or relationship status. And I definitely wasn’t about to ask. But the hot spark that passed between us when we touched yesterday had me desperate to at least investigate.
“Okay.” I tested the ropes on the car before nodding in the direction of my cabin.
We had just started walking across the field when a harsh voice cut across the driveway. “Excuse me. Sir? I’d like to pay for this now.” Glancing back in the direction of the barn we’d turned into a makeshift holiday store, I had to suppress an audible groan. In the few minutes since Mikah had arrived, about six more cars had pulled up. A tall blonde woman clutched a bundle of juniper boughs in one hand and a fancy leather wallet in the other.
“Sorry, one second,” I called back to her before turning to Mikah, hoping like hell he’d stick around. “My door’s unlocked if you want to wait in my cabin. This’ll only take a second.”
“Um.” He bit his lip nervously, and I tried yet again not to stare at his mouth. “I can help out if you want.” His pretty brown eyes flicked to a large family arguing as they struggled to secure their tree to the roof of their minivan.
I grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, maybe a little too hard, because he swayed on his feet. I pulled away reluctantly. Even beneath that weird giant raincoat, I could feel the fine, delicate bones of his shoulder under my hand. “Yeah, thanks, man. Cash box is in the barn on the table in the corner. It’s open… but I’ll warn you, it’s gonna be pretty disorganized. You can handle that until Katie comes back from the field. There should be a price list in there somewhere. Then hot chocolate. Okay?” If the guy had been a teacher, I was pretty sure he could manage John’s haphazard collection of loose change and crumpled bills stuffed into the old steel box we brought to the markets.
“Wait—what? Alone? What if I, like, rob you?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Mikah blushed hotly, like he regretted voicing the thought.
“Was that your plan all along? To rob the family Christmas tree farm?” I was teasing, but Mikah shook his head hard.
“Shit. No. Sure, I can do that.”
“Thanks. I trust you.” And with that weird comment, I turned toward the blonde lady, who now looked like she might actually choke me if she had to wait another second, and told her to follow Mikah into the barn to pay.
After helping to strap trees to three different cars and earning twenty dollars in tips for my trouble, I found Mikah alone in the barn. He was examining the holiday greenery Katie had arranged in tin buckets tied to a twig trellis that she’d interwoven with white lights. I had no clue how she came up with all this: creative displays at the market, cute logos for the pickles and jams I made, and now the cutesy holiday stuff. I was thankful for her efforts, though, because three people yesterday had commented on how pretty the arrangement was and talked about posting pictures of it on Instagram. The display really did look nice, but it had nothing on the man standing next to it. When Mikah’s eyes landed on me, he grinned, a smile so bright and warm, it transformed his entire face. He was beautiful, sure, but smiling so openly, he was too damn adorable. Quickly, though, he rearranged his features into a quizzical expression and held up a large bundle of mistletoe.
“What is this stuff? Like, five people bought it. It’s expensive as hell.” He spoke quickly, his head tipping to the side a little as he examined the delicate white berries and yellow-green leaves.
“Mistletoe,” I said, working hard to keep my voice even. Had he really never seen it before? City folks were weird.
Mikah dropped the plant as if two of its tiny leaves had closed around his finger and bitten him. I didn’t miss the small intake of breath or slight pink flush of his cheeks. The space between us suddenly felt like way too much and way too little at the same time. Never in my life had I experienced such an immediate, visceral attraction to someone. But it felt like more than a physical pull. It felt like connection. I wanted so much: wanted to pull him close, wanted to feel his soft curls as they slid between my fingers, wanted to trace the fine lines of his jaw. What I didn’t want was to freak him out.
I cleared my throat. “Don’t worry. Not gonna try to kiss you or anything.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Why did I keep saying such weird shit? Besides, kissing him had been on my mind pretty much nonstop since yesterday. I rubbed the back of my neck, which, despite the frigid wind whistling through the slats in the barn, burned almost painfully hot.
“Um.” Mikah’s eyes flashed wide and fixed hard on the cash box. “So, yeah. I don’t think I fucked anything up. I remembered from yesterday that the trees are seventy, right? And I, uh, followed this very official document for everything else.” He held up the pricing sheet, written out by Abby with glittery crayon on a piece of green construction paper. That adorable, sweet smile was back on Mikah’s face.
A hard gust of wind slammed into the barn, and Mikah wrapped his arms around himself, grabbing his biceps tight. There was no way that damn jacket was protecting him from the cold on a day like this. His fingertips were white, and I realized with a sharp bolt of worry that he was shivering. My desire to stand around and flirt in the drafty barn evaporated. I needed to get him warmed up.
“Hot chocolate?” My voice sounded rough even to my own ears.
“Are you sure you have time? It seems like you guys are pretty busy today.”
Aside from the distant groan of the saws and the ever-present murmur of the wind, it was quiet. I shrugged. “I have time.” I would gladly give up the extra cash and face my brother’s good-natured irritation if it meant spending even five extra minutes with Mikah.
After a moment he nodded, murmuring a muted “okay.”
Mikah followed me at a distance. I glanced back at him, realizing there was a good chance I was making him uncomfortable. I knew my size and taciturn nature sometimes intimidated people. And the fact that I kept gawking at him probably didn’t help. So I tried some small talk, slowing my steps so he could catch up. “Your sister told me you’re from Manhattan?”
“Yeah.” Mikah’s voice was soft and his arm bumped mine as we walked side by side through the newly fallen snow. “We grew up there. But I moved to Boston for college and stayed. I guess I liked it better than New York. It’s a little calmer. Especially Cambridge. Plus I got a job with Boston Public Schools right after finishing my master’s. But then in August, I found out my position got cut. The district laid off, like, a hundred teachers. I was one of them.” He pressed his lips firmly together and shook his head like he was scolding himself for saying too much. His eyes were wary when they flicked to mine.
Okay, so my attempts at light, pleasant conversation were a failure. “What did you teach?” I asked, pushing open my front door and shrugging out of my coat.
“Creative writing and journalism. And one section of AP Lit. But since I mostly taught electives….” He dragged his finger over his throat.
“Damn. That sucks, man.”
Mikah shrugged. “Yeah.”
He stared down at the floor, arms crossed over his narrow chest. I couldn’t tell if he was dying to leave or if he just didn’t mind the quiet. Or maybe he was worried I was about to murder him. In an attempt to ease the awkward silence that slammed down between us like a metal gate, I turned on some music, Christmas with Elvis and The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. The noise seemed to calm Mikah, and he drifted over to the low bookcase crammed with all my dad’s old CDs. It was mostly classic country: Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, George Jones. And of course Elvis. Every single album the King of Rock and Roll ever released. I set a pan on the stove and rummaged around in the cabinet for cocoa powder and marshmallows. No instant stuff today.
“You like Elvis, huh?” Mikah asked, a smile in his voice. I smiled too. People loved to tease me about my Elvis obsession. But Elvis was the sound of good days. When I came home from school and heard “Jailhouse Rock” or “Heartbreak Hotel” blasting from the boom box in the living room, I knew my dad would be bright eyed, grinning, excited to ask me about my day. Sometimes he would put Elvis on while we worked in the garage, tuning up the tractor or messing around with carpentry projects. The music made me happy.
“Yup,” I said, eyes raking over Mikah. His lithe frame was clad entirely in black: black jeans, thin black sweater, even his socks were black. I tried not to let myself stare at the perfect lines of his body as he bent down to brush his fingertips over the spines of the large collection of gardening books crowding the bottom shelf. His fingers were long, slim, elegant. I wondered idly if he played the piano.
“Elvis was my first crush,” I murmured. Mikah’s fingers stilled on the books. He turned to me, eyes wide. I refocused on stirring up the hot chocolate.
When I asked Mikah if he wanted marshmallows, he just nodded, looking dazed. And when we sat down, he scooted to the opposite end of the couch. Something deflated in my chest, but I quickly tried to shake it off. More light conversation, then he’d leave. I’d go back to my quiet routine. Wake up, exercise, eat, work, sleep, repeat. It was fine that way.
“So has your dad lived in Jackson long?” I asked, trying to cut the sudden tension in the room with more small talk.
Mikah gripped his mug with both hands, curling in on himself. I wondered if yet again I’d managed to stumble into a conversational minefield. Maybe I needed to work on my social skills.
Mikah’s throat clicked in an audible swallow. “A few years,” he said, very intent on inspecting my Christmas tree.
Once again the conversation faltered. I’d never been good at talking. But I wanted to learn more about this beautiful, adorably anxious man. Besides, the way Mikah flushed at the suggestion of kissing, the recognition in his eyes when I mentioned my crush on Elvis, I was starting to guess he was also somewhere on the queer spectrum. Selfishly, I wanted to know for sure—I just plain wanted him. I also wanted him to be comfortable. Even if he might be into guys, that didn’t mean he would necessarily be into me. All of my stupid inner turmoil bubbled up into my throat, and I groaned. Fuck. I didn’t know how to do this.
Color rose to Mikah’s cheeks, and he lifted his gaze to mine, glancing at me through inky lashes. He really was adorable. Hot tension arced between us, and my whole body clenched with need at the thought of his full lips against mine. Too bad I hadn’t brought some of that damn mistletoe with me. Taking a slow, deep breath, I decided honesty would be the best course of action. “I want to kiss you.” I looked right at him.
Mikah’s breath caught. He took a large gulp of hot chocolate, wincing like he’d burned himself. A tiny bit of marshmallow stuck to his full lower lip. Lust sluiced through me when his tongue darted out to lick it away.
“That okay?” I asked. The words came out low and rough. I cleared my throat. Mikah nodded slowly. “C’mere.” I patted the couch next to me. He slid over, clearly tentative, his eyes still locked with mine.
With equal trepidation I lifted my thumb to his mouth, brushing over it softly. His skin was warm and flower-petal soft. Then his tongue was on my finger, and electric pleasure thrummed over every inch of my skin. One touch and I was aching for him as his lips closed around the very tip of my thumb. His shoulders dropped, and he gasped, an audible release of the tension he’d been radiating since he got out of his car. Mikah smiled a small, almost victorious smile. Then he closed the rest of the distance between us, and his lips brushed the corner of my mouth, the contact still a little cautious.
“Please,” I breathed against his lips, my mouth so dry I could barely grind the word out.
I was frozen on the spot, desire rooting me to the couch. All I could do was stare at him, a little surprised but a lot turned-on as he climbed onto my lap, straddling me. He kissed me again, this time hot and hungry. No one had ever kissed me like this, so open and needy and… present. Now, Mikah was holding nothing back. His lips were plush and smooth against mine, and as his tongue slipped into my mouth, my whole body flushed with delicious pleasure. My brain finally caught up and my hands flew to his slim hips, locking him against me as he pressed openmouthed kisses all over my jaw, my ear, my throat, then back to my lips. The intensity of his need was unmistakable in every tiny sigh and soft gasp.
“Oh God, sorry. Shit. I, uh, kind of lost control there for a second.” Mikah released a shaky laugh and nuzzled his face into the curve of my neck. The intimacy of the gesture only ratcheted up my desire further, lodging dry heat in my throat and pulling a rough growl from my chest. I was dizzy with my need to touch him, to tangle my fingers into his hair, to rub my palms over his skin, to kiss every inch of him.
His lips curved up in a smile against my throat. “So,” he whispered, and his breath was a feather dragging against my skin. “I don’t actually know your name.”
As gently as possible, I clutched his narrow shoulders and pushed him back so I could look in his eyes. They were hooded, long lashes fluttering and pupils blown out. “Matt,” I said softly.
“Mikah,” he returned, pointing to his chest, although I already knew. He leaned forward to skim his lips over mine. Finally I gave in to my desire to fist my hand into his messy dark curls. His hair was even softer than I’d imagined, and I gripped it hard, crushing our mouths together. The kiss deepened, both of us pressing on each other like we couldn’t possibly get close enough. Mikah rolled his hips, rutting his hardness against me, and I trailed my hands down his back to hold him tight against my body.
“Whoa!” Our heads both snapped up at the gust of cold air and booming sound of John’s voice that accompanied it. I slammed my head back against the couch and groaned as Mikah clambered off of me. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought you were alone, dude.” My stupid brother’s dumb voice was heavy with mirth.
Mikah had actually thrown a pillow over his crotch like we were in high school. I couldn’t help but grin. Giving his knee a quick, gentle squeeze, I made the appropriate introductions. Well, as appropriate as possible given the uncomfortable circumstances. “John, this is Mikah. Mikah, this idiot is my brother, John.”
“Pleased to meet you.” John inclined his head, doing his dumb charming cowboy routine. Mikah nodded but mostly looked like he wanted to die on the spot.
“Did you need something?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Well, it’s getting kinda busy out there. Could use your help.” John looked suddenly sheepish. “But, um, I’ll give y’all a minute.” He yanked the door shut, and through the large front window I watched him dart back to the barn with an irritating spring in his step.
“Shit.” Mikah huffed, wheeling on me. “I’m so sorry. Did he know?”
I nodded and traced my fingers over the fine line of his jaw, then over his lips again. They were damp and swollen. “Yeah. He knows I’m gay. He’s probably in seventh heaven right now. Always trying to matchmake.”
Mikah snorted; then we both dissolved into laughter. It felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at ease with someone who wasn’t John or Katie.
“Sorry, though. I totally interrupted your day. And, honestly, I’d better head home. My older brother gets in tonight, and everyone’s freaking out trying to get stuff ready. Luca’s totally my dad’s favorite kid.” His wry expression seemed a little forced.
“Don’t apologize. I’ll take an interruption like this any damn time.” I chucked him under the chin, and he rolled his eyes. Being with Mikah felt surprisingly natural, easy like slipping into a favorite wash-worn T-shirt. “Can I get your number maybe?” I asked, desperately hoping he’d say yes.
“Fuck yeah.” Mikah beamed and wrenched his phone from his back pocket. I gave him my number, and he texted me so I had his, the distant buzz sounding in the pocket of my coat. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow, like maybe get a drink or something?” His nervousness was back, like maybe he was worried I would say no.
I knew that tomorrow the farm would likely be slammed with people hurrying to get trees and greenery, now that the holiday season had officially begun. I also could not have cared less about ditching all of my work duties to spend every possible minute with Mikah. “Yeah.” I brushed his hair back from his face because I couldn’t seem to stop touching him. “Do you like hiking?”
He made a seesaw motion with his hand, and I remembered that the guy didn’t seem to own any functional winter clothing. “I’ll try it,” he hedged, looking incredulous.
“Okay.” I heaved myself off the couch before tugging Mikah to his feet. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let him go. Instead I hurried to the entryway and handed him his impractical jacket. “Meet me at three at the Cache Creek Trailhead. And try to dress warm.”