“And Mal did?” Steve asked, laughing. He knew Mal wasn’t into the club scene either—maybe once a month they’d hit a bar and dance, but it wasn’t usually their thing. His ex, Richard, on the other hand….
Corey shook his head, and his grin faded. “Chris, the guy I was seeing a year ago, loved clubbing. It wasn’t a good weekend if we didn’t spend Friday and Saturday night out dancing until the early hours. It only counted as a good weekend if Sunday was spent recovering from a hangover and catching up on sleep.”
“Oh, jeez.” Steve gave Corey’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Sounds like we both lucked out in the love department and ended up with the booby prize.”
Corey’s smile returned. “Yeah. Maybe we should set up Richard and Chris? Sounds like they’d make a perfect couple with their love of the nightlife.”
Steve snorted. “They definitely deserve each other.” He finished wiping down the benches as Corey let the sudsy water out of the sink. “Hey, Corey?”
“Hmmm?” Corey looked up.
“I’m glad you’ve started hanging out with us. We may not be the most exciting bunch of guys, but we have a good time, and I’m glad you’re around.”
Corey met his gaze and nodded. “I’m glad to have met you all too.”
* * *
Matt was strumming his guitar, the gentle melody carrying through the house, adding to the festive mood. Steve could make out the tune—“Away in a Manger”—and it brought back happy memories of his childhood and home. As he finished the washing up, he thought of his mum and similar days in the weeks before Christmas. She’d prepared food for days, and Steve had loved to help. They’d made seasoning to stuff the turkey, and baked mince pies and fruitcake. And of course, they’d made the pudding. He just wished he’d paid more attention at the time, but back then, he’d been more focused on listening to his mum’s stories and licking the batter from the spoons.
His mum had usually made the pudding weeks in advance. Steve didn’t have that luxury because he’d been so busy in the lead-up to this week away, and it hadn’t even crossed his mind. It wasn’t until he’d asked his mum for the pudding recipe, the day before the trip, that he’d remembered. Okay, so he hadn’t exactly remembered but when his mum had scolded him, he’d realised his mistake. Still, it would taste okay, just not as good as it could be.
Steve picked up a tea towel to dry the mixing bowls. He wondered if his mum and dad were pissed he wasn’t home for Christmas. He’d been there last year, but this year he couldn’t face the trip back to Adelaide, not in the wake of the break-up with Richard. His parents had understood when he’d missed the first Christmas to go away with Richard when their relationship was new—the Gourmet Pudding Christmas, as he thought of it. And they’d loved meeting Richard last year, so happy that Steve had brought home a partner. Steve pictured his mum and her welcoming smile when she’d taken Richard into her arms. She’d always wanted Steve to find Mr Right and settle down to his happy ever after, so she had been delighted.God, I’m lucky to have such great parents. He knew they would have loved to see him for the holidays, would have comforted him and tried to give him the best Christmas possible, but he couldn’t bear the thought of their sympathy, not when he’d been such an idiot. And being around his sister, Sasha, her adoring husband, Gerald, and her three kids would have been like rubbing salt into the wound.
Twice! He threw the tea towel onto the laminate. He’d been a fucking idiot two times!
Once. Now once he could understand. But after having his heart broken the first time, you’d think he would have learned his lesson. Was it too much to want a relationship that was monogamous? He understood that monogamy wasn’t for everyone, but he wasn’t into the whole open relationship thing. The part that pissed him off the most was he and Richard had never actually had that particular talk. They’d moved in together, which Steve had assumed meant something. Something called commitment. He clenched his jaw.Stupid, stupid.He closed his eyes briefly. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he blew it out through his mouth, hoping the action would calm his anger.
Once the tightness in his chest was gone, Steve resumed his clean-up and focused on the music—“The Little Drummer Boy”—and the conversation coming from the deck. Better to listen to that than his own thoughts. Corey’s laughter carried into the bright kitchen and Steve actually found himself smiling. Funny how Corey had a way of cheering him up without doing much at all.
Just thinking about the other man seemed to lure him to the kitchen.
“How’s the chef doing? All under control?”
Steve’s smile widened as he turned from the cupboard where he was replacing the clean bowls. “Getting better all the time.” He glanced at the large wall clock. “Good timing actually; it’s time to get the pudding out of the water. We need to let it hang.”
“Hang?” Corey’s eyes widened.
“Yeah. Instead of placing it on a plate, the pudding is suspended. Supposedly it keeps the round shape and dries the cloth properly.” At least that’s what his mum had said.
“Really? I thought we agreed we didn’t care what shape it is?”
Steve nodded. “I guess you’re right, but hanging is what the recipe says to do, and my mum would kill me if I didn’t follow the recipe to a tee.” He picked up a couple of tea towels to protect his hands from the hot handles, and took the large boiler from the stove, hefting it to the sink. It weighed a ton, with the volume of water and the weight of the pudding. He lifted the lid and stepped back as the steam formed a cloud that raised an immediate sweat on his face. “Jeez, that’s hot. Instant facial.”
Corey chuckled, then raised an eyebrow as Steve turned one of the stools that lined the island bench upside down on top of the bench.
“This is how we do it at our place. We use a wooden spoon to hook through the string loops on the pudding and raise it from the water. Once most of the water has drained back into the pot, the pudding is suspended by placing the wooden spoon across the rungs of the stool.”
“If you say so.” Corey didn’t seem convinced, but wandered over to get a closer look at what Steve was doing.
Steve took a couple of wooden spoons from the utensil drawer and, after studying them for a moment, chose the largest. He used the spoon to fish around in the cloudy water and retrieved the loops that were tied securely around the muslin, holding it together around the pudding. Steve gently raised the heavy pudding from the pot, holding it out of the water. He had one hand on the spoon end and the other on the “handle” end, the pudding suspended perfectly in the middle. Water droplets fell back into the pot as steam continued to fill the air.So far, so good.
“That looks awesome. Well done, man.” Steve glanced at Corey and smiled at the compliment, glad the pudding was turning out to be a success. He was pleased to be on the receiving end of Corey’s praise and to see the warmth in Corey’s grin. However, his happiness was short-lived.
“Fuck!”
Steve yelled as the wooden spoon split in two with a loud cracking sound, and instantly the pudding plunged back into its bath of nearly boiling water. Steve was too slow to get out of the way. The weight of the pudding falling from where it had been suspended over the water caused a massive splash of scalding water over his face and hands. Excruciating pain flashed at his wrists and his face.
“Fuck!”
