The weather outside was frightful.
Really frightful.
Literally.
The wind outside was howling and there was enough snow on the ground to warrant salting the roads. There was frost caked on the windows, but inside it was toasty warm. Lucas sat on the floor, legs crossed beneath the coffee table as he worked to meticulously wrap presents. Presents that would be torn apart like one of their father’s victims, with no thought to all the hard work he’d put into it. Still, he did it anyway. The other adults would appreciate the vibes. Well, Noah, Zane, and Felix would. And probably Freckles too.
Christmas music played softly from the surround sound speakers, the fireplace crackled softly, and peppermint hot chocolate steamed in Lucas’s mug beside the gift he diligently wrapped. August moved around the house in his well-fitted black pants and a hunter green quarter-zip that made his green eyes look almost supernatural. Every timehe passed the firelight, it gilded the edges of him like he’d stepped out of some epic romance.
The whole house smelled faintly of peppermint, woodsmoke, and pine sap. It was a cozy bubble, an inverted snow globe where the storm raged around them. An unexpected weather event—something called a ‘polar vortex’—had snow dumping down on them, the likes of which Lucas had never seen in their town before. August had attempted to explain a polar vortex to him but when he’d started using words like ‘cyclostrophic balance’ and ‘angular momentum redistribution’ they’d ended up having sex in the shower.
Noah had called Lucas ‘sapiosexual’. It meant an attraction to intelligence. Lucas wasn’t attracted to intelligence. He worked at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. He’d have never been able to concentrate if that were true.
He was attracted to his husband… andhisintelligence.
But mostly it was his voice and his hands and the way he stared so intently at Lucas when he was explaining something. That focused look always made Lucas feel like the world had narrowed to a single point: him. Lucas understood why most of the students were in love with his husband.
They were supposed to be heading to Dad’s tonight to join the kids—who had refused to leave Thomas’s house since Christmas break started—but they had to wait for the city to salt the roads as they weren’t prepared for this weather so early in the season. There was always snow but it was postcard and greeting-card levels of snow, not raising-a-national-hockey-star levels of snow. The kind of snow thatmade the whole world feel padded and distant.
Cricket had called to say she would ride to the mansion later with Lola and Calliope. The two had invited the heavily pregnant Cricket out to the homestead two days ago. They were trying to get her mind off the fact that their son seemed to think he could take up permanent residence in her womb.
At her last visit, the midwife had said they needed to consider a c-section instead of a homebirth soon. Cricket had been so upset, Calliope and Lola had insisted she come stay the night and do ‘girlie shit’ which, when it came to those girls, could have meant anything from braiding each other’s hair to toppling a hostile foreign regime.
He was putting the last piece of tape on a package when his phone signaled a FaceTime call. The sound felt oddly loud in the quiet, cozy room, like reality trying to pierce their snow-wrapped bubble.
“It’s the kids,” Lucas said.
August stopped unpacking his books, crossing the room to sit behind him on the floor, his warmth seeping into Lucas’s back comfortingly. Lucas’s shoulders dropped a little at the familiar weight of him. He hit the button to answer.
“Hi, babies,” Lucas said.
“Hi, Daddies,” the three chorused, sweet as could be.
Ara had flour on her nose, Adi was streaked with red frosting, and Allister had green lips.
“Whatcha doing?” Lucas asked, knowing the answer already.
“We’re making Christmas cookies with Jett, Jagger, Oscar, West, and Theo.”
Lucas smiled at the roster of names. He’d once asked them why they just didn’t say ‘their cousins’. Adi had condescendingly reminded them that Theo was—technically—not their cousin but their uncle. August had snickered at Lucas’s discomfort, likely remembering the uncomfortable conversation they’d had to have on how uncle Aiden became grandpa Aiden.
“Oh? Where are your grandparents?” August asked.
The phone swung wildly to show Thomas leaning against the counter, Aiden in his space, both wearing green pajamas with candy canes and Christmas trees — the same pajamas all the kids wore. The soft overhead lighting made the two men look like a Hallmark card. When the camera swung in the opposite direction, a gaggle of children were gathered around the wooden prep table in the overly large kitchen, trying—and failing—to decorate sugar cookies to look like gingerbread men. It was a bloodbath of shattered cookie limbs, scattered gumdrop buttons, and red frosting streaked like blood across what Lucas could only assume was leftover flour on the table.
There was far more icing on the children than the cookies. The kitchen was loud in the happiest way — kids laughing, fighting over bags of frosting, stealing the silly chef hats off each other’s heads. Someone shrieked victoriously in the background; another wailed that their gumdrops were stolen. The chaos was deafening and joyful.
Thomas and Aiden had likely diligently watched over the dangerous parts such as getting the cookies in and out of the ovens, but now that it was time to decorate they wereletting them run wild, enjoying the chaos.
“Do you miss us?” Lucas asked, heart close to busting at seeing so many happy children.
“No,” the girls chorused. “Grandpa just made us call you so you wouldn’t feel sad you had to be away from us ’cause you love us so much,” Adi said.
“Well don’t sugarcoat it,” August murmured, amused.
“I miss you, Daddies,” Allister said quietly.
Lucas’s heart popped like an overfilled balloon at the earnestness in his voice. He could practically feel the wobble in Allister’s lower lip. That soft, uncertain look always undid him faster than any tantrum ever could.
