“Wine.” A large glass.
“I’d love some wine, thank you.”
“I was going to heat up chilli. There’s enough for two, would you like some?”
“Please. That’s really kind of you to feed me.”
Phin let go of his irritation at the situation he’d found himself in. There was no point being peeved. This was all his fault. Whatever had led to Maric being stranded out there had nothing to do with him. He needed to be the kind person he knew lurked somewhere inside him. Tomorrow, he’d drive Maric to wherever and get back to his…self-imposed isolation.
His phone rang as he handed a glass of red wine to his—I wish you weren’t so fucking tempting—guest. Tom again.
“Hi.” Phin went back to stir the chilli.
“Please come.”
“I already said no. And there’s no way I can get through this snow.”
“It’s not that bad.”
Phin laughed. “You’re kidding right? Drunk already? You’ll be asleep before midnight.”
“Ha ha. Though you’re probably right. Please come.”
“I’ve only just got back and I’m almost snowed in. It’s blizzard conditions.”
“What? It’s no more than a couple of inches.”
Phin heard someone shout “You should have gone for that penis extension surgery, Tom!”
“The doctor said I should be happy with the eight inches I’ve got!” Tom yelled back.
Phin chuckled. “It’s deep here, Tom. I’m not going out again tonight. Too dangerous.” The price he paid for living on the moors. “I have…” The words died on his tongue. What had he been going to say? “Chilli to eat.” No, that hadn’t been it. An unwelcome guest? Is he?
Tom sighed. “There are only so many times people will keep trying, Phin. You make it hard to like you on occasion.”
Irritation flared and Phin cut him off. He stirred the chilli, scraping the spoon on the bottom of the pan more violently than he’d intended and splattering the sauce on the work top.
“Were you supposed to be going out?” Maric asked. “To a party? I’m sorry.”
“I’d already said I wasn’t going. I worked over Christmas. I’ve been on call since midnight and I’m tired. The weather’s terrible. And I wouldn’t want to go even if I could. I… I’m sorry I hit you with my vehicle. Sorry for being a dick about it.”
“Thank you for apologising. Though are you only saying that because you’re stuck with me?”
Phin heaved a sigh, his irritation surging back. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you were just around that bend. I did everything I could to avoid hitting you, but I still did. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s snowing too heavily for me to take you to a place where someone else can look after you. Really sorry. I’m sorry I don’t have a bed you can sleep in. I’m sorry it isn’t Christmas in this house. Okay? Enough sorries?”
Maric made his way across the room to him. Before Phin could move out of the way, or come up with another sorry, the guy had flung his arms around him. Phin was so shocked, he froze.
“I’m sorry for being in the way,” Maric said. “I’ve spent my life being in the way. Thank you for looking after me. It’s really kind of you.” He gave a short laugh and let Phin go. “That smells good.”
Phin was still reeling from the unexpected embrace. “Rice or bread? The rice only takes a couple of minutes in the microwave.”
“Rice then. Shall I lay the table?”
“Bowls in that cupboard. Cutlery in that drawer.”
“Do you have scissors and paper?”
“In the drawer of the dresser.” Why did he need those? Well, the scissors could be a weapon, but paper?
He should have told Tom he had someone here. He’d meant to, so why hadn’t he? He knew nothing about this guy. He might be dangerous. A thief? What was in that sack?
When Phin carried the bowls to the table, his jaw dropped in astonishment. Maric had cut delicate snowflakes out of two sheets of printer paper and made circular place settings and coasters. How the hell did he do that so fast? Not that they were any use other than as decoration, but they looked…beautiful.
“They’re lovely.” Phin poured more wine for both of them. “How did you make them without folding the paper? They’re…amazing.” Impossible.
“I’m just good at it.” Maric beamed. “None of the four are identical. Just like snowflakes, though we have to take the word of scientists that no two snowflakes are alike because they can’t prove it. It’s extremely unlikely that two are identical but not impossible. That would be quite a job, wouldn’t it, if you were trying to confirm it one way or another? Bit like looking for a four-leafed clover. But in the cold. And with a microscope. And there are such things as four-leafed clovers, so if you look long enough, you’ll find one. But I never have.”
You are a little weird.
“Do you like snow?” Maric asked.
“Yes.”
The wide smile he received for that answer made Phin glad he’d not added…some of the time. He did like snow, unless he had to drive in it, or treat an animal in it, or when he knocked a guy over and ended up bringing him home. Especially if that guy was tempting the fuck out of him.
“Sure there’s not someone you need to contact?” Phin asked. “You can borrow my phone if you like.”
“I’m fine, as long as you were telling the truth when you said you weren’t a murderer, cannibal, vampire, demon, werewolf or a gargoyle.”
“I said possibly.”
The skin crinkled around Maric’s eyes as he smiled, and dimples formed in his cheeks. The strength of the surge of lust that hit Phin came as such a surprise, that he smiled back. Then his cock twitched in his trousers. Oh God.
“This is really good.” Maric tucked into the chilli. “Perfect meal for a cold night. Is there garlic in it?”
“No.”
“Oh. I can’t take vampire off the list then. Though I’m not sure vampires would eat chilli. I suppose it depends on your definition of a vampire. Nightwalking, b-b-blood-drinking monster or someone who looks like the rest of us and occasionally sparkles. Plus, you didn’t slurp up my…you-know-what.” Phin gulped.
More than a little weird. “How would you test for the other species?”
“It’s not a full moon so I can’t tell if you’re a werewolf, unless you can shift at any time. Plus, wolves live in packs and you live here alone, plus you don’t look very hairy. Are you hairy?”
“No.”
“Fetch!” Maric snapped and pretended to throw something.
Phin rolled his eyes.
“Definitely not a werewolf. They can’t resist going for balls.” Maric grinned. “Demons hate the cold so…unlikely. Gargoyles are very rare and nowhere near as good-looking as you. Murderer…unlikely to shit on their own doorstep. I’m relying on that to be true, though since no one knows I’m here, I suppose it’s moot. But you don’t seem a murderous type. I mean you’d probably have aimed for me with your car if you were. Unless you deliberately clipped me so you could bring me back here and then…”