Chapter 1

1

December 1st

Victor Hill stared at the door of his and Jian’s quaint house, a knot forming in his belly. Snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, and he wasn’t sure he wasn’t seeing things—Jian’s pickup truck was in the driveway. Jian’s pickup was never in the driveway when he got home.

They hardly saw each other anymore. It had been two years since they bought the house. Victor had dreamed about finally becoming a family—sure, they were only two, but they could’ve gotten a dog or something. He’d always wanted a dog.

Jian had kept his job as a construction worker in Courtland when they’d moved to Northfield, driving fifty minutes there every morning and fifty minutes back, and it had taken almost six months before Victor had managed to get a job. He liked being a school administrative assistant despite never having reflected over there beingschool administrative assistants before he’d seen the ad. It wasn’t what he’d grown up dreaming about becoming, but it was an okay job.

For a while, he believed everything would turn out fine; they finally had enough money not to have to think about every purchase, but money couldn’t buy love.

And he still loved Jian, he did, with every fiber of his being, but these last months he’d come home later and later in the evenings. Yesterday, Victor had lost it. He’d accused Jian…not of cheating exactly—though he’d implied that he suspected it—but of wanting to spend more time with his workmates than with him. He didn’t want to think about all the things he’d said. It had been building inside him for months—the stinging rejections, the feeling of being invisible. And yesterday, when Jian had fallen asleep on the couch yet another night, he’d erupted.

All day, he’d been hiding in his office, answering the phone when it rang, but not talking to anyone he didn’t have to, dreading the evening.

And now Jian’s truck was in the driveway.

It should have made him happy, but it didn’t. Jian hadn’t been home before six one single day in November. Now he was, which only showed him he could’ve been during the last months too if he’d wanted to.

With a deep sigh, he glanced at the other houses on the street. All of them had some form of Christmas decorations up: stars in the windows, Christmas lights, wreaths.

Lori, their next-door neighbor, made the cutest evergreen gnomes trailing the walkway up to her house. She was selling them, and while Victor would love one, he hadn’t been in the mood to decorate.

Their house didn’t have a single light, no gnomes, Santas, reindeer—nothing.

“Are you gonna stand there all night?”

Jian’s gruff voice made him jump. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his almost black eyes tracking Victor’s every move. He’d never been one to smile much, but now he scowled more often than not.

“It depends.”

The frown smoothed out. “On?”

“On what’s waiting inside?”

The twitch of Jian’s lips was gone so fast Victor wasn’t sure he’d seen it. “What’s waiting inside is chicken soup and some freshly baked sourdough bread.”

“What? You’ve cooked?” Jian hadn’t cooked on a weekday for at least four months, and Jian loved to cook. Jian not cooking or baking wasn’t a happy Jian.

“I have. Get your sweet ass into the kitchen, we don’t have time for more daydreaming.”

Victor huffed. Daydreaming

His stomach growled as the scent reached him. He loved Jian’s chicken soup, but it took at least an hour if not more to cook. The table was set. Nothing fancy—a bowl each, a spoon, and the bread. Had Jian made the bread? He gave him a suspicious look.

“When did you get home?”

“A while ago.” Jian served him some soup, not meeting his eyes. The knot in his belly had momentarily gone away, but now it was back.

Victor took a spoonful and moaned at the taste. “Did you bake?” He tore off a piece of the bread and dipped it in the soup.

“Mhm.” Jian filled his mouth with bread, and Victor wanted to snarl at him.

“When did you have time to bake? You said it’s sourdough.” It tasted like Jian’s sourdough bread. “Did you have a sourdough starter?”

“Kept some in the freezer.”

Victor held his breath. He kept some in the freezer? It still took hours—several hours—to make sourdough bread.

“Eat.”

“What?” Victor glared at him.

“Eat up, we have to go soon.”

What the hell?Victor scowled. “And where are we going?”

Jian looked into his bowl. “You’ll see.”

Victor took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. Jian was home, he’d cooked, he’d baked, and since the kitchen was spotless, he’d evidently had time to clean too—Victor shouldn’t complain.