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“OK, that’s kinda fancy, like,” Bren said, impressed.

“Yeah, my dad had that put in a little while after he inherited the place. Ironic, right?”

Bren had to agree. All that view and no way for him to see it.

“Bedrooms?” Bren asked.

“Two, and one bathroom, but there’s no running water in the winter—the pipes freeze over—so it’s kind of a nightmare flush situation. I’ll explain later.”

“Christ, Arlo. You really weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t fancy.”

“Told you.”

The wind hurled snow against the windows as Bren rocked on his heels. They’d have one night here before he had to fly home. Maybe it had made more sense to stay in town after all.

“So, what do we do now that we’re here?”

“Well, we can’t really go outside right now,” Arlo said, looking Bren in the eye as he took a step closer. “Wanna help warm up the cabin?”

***

“Grand? That’s it?” A.J. asked.

He stopped his fingers from completing another lap around the thin spiral of ginger hairs in the middle of Bren’s chest, but couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“What? It’s grand so I said it’s grand.” Bren’s eyes flitted back to the scene outside the loft’s window.

The snow had stopped somewhere between the second movie they’d barely watched and the game of rummy that they kept having to restart. Shining in place of the flurries were towering streaks of light, rising to dance above them like some otherworldly veil pulled by a giant hiding behind the inky sky.

“Do you know how far those particles traveled to make it here and hit the earth at just the right angle to make that happen?”

Bren considered the towering mountains of pink and green above their heads and gave a singular nod of approval.

“Maybe you’d be more impressed if we went outside? View’s probably better if we walk past the trees.”

Bren’s arms wrapped around him so fast A.J. might have just asked him to jump out the window, and A.J. let himself be held, willing his body to remember each detail of the warmth that pressed against his bare skin and the tingle of cold that burned the edges of his mind.

The light swayed in its dreamlike dance across the night sky, painting the canvas of white in a troupe of dancing shadows. In a few minutes, the clock would strike midnight, and the New Year would begin. Bren would be gone before the Hogmanay ended—which was a word he only knew about because of Bren.

“I really wish I was Irish,” A.J. said, eyes fixed on the shimmering sky. “Even if it meant ‘grand’ was the only way I could express wonder.”

The show of light and shadow outside the window might have finished an entire dance routine by the time Bren replied.

“Me too.”

Not a hint of uncertainty.

“Hey!”

“What?” Bren asked, head cocked like he had no idea what was happening.

“You’re supposed to say you wish you were Canadian.”

“Then you’d be the one leavin’.”

A.J. tried to free his hand to shove him but Bren held tight. “You know what I mean.”

Bren stared through the window like he’d stepped into the Agora, but his argument came out as a shrug.