Chapter Thirteen

Tristan was driving Heath to meet his parents. No more snow had fallen but the temperature was so low, it still covered the fields. At least the roads were clear. From the moment Tristan had asked him to meet them and Heath had said yes, Heath had spent far too long panicking about it. Tristan knew how nervous he currently was because he’d gone really quiet. Heath rarely went quiet. His hands were fidgeting on his lap, his head was down and he kept giving heavy sighs.

“You should take up knitting,” Tristan said. “Keep your fingers occupied.”

“Ha ha. If you weren’t driving, I’d have them all over you.”

“Stop worrying.”

“Hmm.”

“What is there to worry about?”

“What if they don’t like me?”

“The dog will, even if they don’t.”

At least that made Heath laugh. “I assume the dog loves everyone.”

“Almost.”

“Oh God. I bet the dog’s obsessed with you and hates anyone who smells of you. He’ll see me as his rival and chew on my important bits.”

“No, he won’t. Anyway, you should be safe. You’ve showered.” Tristan hid his smile.

“Yes, but you’re imprinted on me now. And dogs know. They have the most amazing sense of smell.”

“You smell great to me.”

Heath whined.

“But you do have those dog biscuits you made in your pocket, don’t you?” Tristan asked. “That should fend him off.”

“I wasn’t worried about dogs until you told me about Monty. He sounds like a complete lunatic.”

“Stop worrying. He won’t eat you. I’m the only one allowed to do that.”

At least that made Heath laugh again.

“We’re almost there. Take a few deep breaths.”

Tristan pulled up in front of the old Georgian house that had been his home until he went to university, and heard Heath gulp.

“It’s very big.”

Tristan leaned over and kissed him. “I never tire of you saying that to me, but try not to say it in front of my parents.”

That got him the eye roll he expected. Tristan climbed out of the car and lifted the bag of presents from the boot. He and Heath had baked a variety of Christmas cookies as a present for Heath to give his parents. Heath had also insisted on buying a large bunch of flowers. He picked them up from the back seat and joined Tristan at the door.

“We’ll sneak in and surprise them.” Tristan used his key.

“What if the dog thinks I’m a burglar?”

Tristan was about to answer when two-year-old Monty came racing into the hall. The golden retriever bounded over to Tristan and smacked him hard with his tail as Tristan tickled his head. Heath was backing away and it was too late to tell him not to because Monty had already launched himself at him. The flowers went flying as Monty planted his paws on Heath’s shoulder. Heath staggered backwards as Monty frantically licked every inch of exposed skin.

“Get down, you daft dog.” Tristan pulled at him, but Monty wouldn’t leave Heath alone.

At least Heath wasn’t freaking out, just giggling as he tried to extricate himself. The moment Monty was back on all fours, he pressed his face into Heath’s groin and sniffed delightedly. Heath fumbled in his pocket for a dog biscuit. It dropped to the floor where it was snaffled up and Monty went for Heath’s groin again.

“Oh bloody hell, do something,” Heath pleaded. “I don’t need to meet your parents with a wet patch on my trousers. Especially not there.”

But as Tristan tried to pull Monty off, somehow, the two of them and the dog ended up on the hall floor sprawled amidst the destroyed flowers, just as his suntanned parents came out of the drawing room.

“Monty! Here!” snapped his father and the dog went straight to his side, sat down and looked up at him adoringly. “You just have to be firm.”

“I am so sorry,” his mum said. “What a welcome.”

Tristan pulled Heath to his feet and brushed bits of flowers from the sweater Heath had bought yesterday.

“Oh you brought flowers.” His mum kissed Tristan. “It was a lovely thought. Thank you. Bad dog!”

“Mum, Dad, this is Heath.”

Heath put out his hand and though Tristan’s father shook it, his mum pulled Heath in for a hug.

“I’m so pleased to meet you. Call me Jenny. The irresponsible dog-owner and failure-as-a-trainer is my husband, Simon.”

“Monty is perfectly well-trained,” protested his father. “Leave the poor boy alone, Monty. Down boy!”

Heath pulled the rest of the dog biscuits from his pocket and pushed them into Tristan’s hands. Monty sat at Tristan’s feet and swept the hall floor with his tail.

“Last one,” Tristan said and Monty ran off with his treat.

“Come and sit down and let’s have a drink before lunch,” said Tristan’s father. “We’ll open presents. I do like a second Christmas. We also have a surprise for you.”

Tristan took hold of Heath’s hand and they walked into the drawing room together. Tristan gave a gasp of shock when he saw Fabian and Stef. He felt Heath’s fingers tighten around his. Maybe it was Tristan’s imagination but he thought he saw a look pass between his mother and his brother. Then Fabian’s mouth quirked in a grin and Stef was definitely looking sheepish. What the fuck?

“Heath, this is my brother Fabian, in case you hadn’t already guessed. I thought you were in Costa Rica charming birds into posing for you.”

“I came back to spend New Year with Stef.”

Heath dropped Tristan’s hand and reached to shake Fabian’s. Then he hugged Stef before moving back to Tristan’s side. He shot Tristan a look as if to say what the hell is going on?

“Heath passed the Monty test then,” Fabian said. “He’s picky.”

“Monty did destroy a bunch of flowers,” his mum said.

Tumblers were clicking into place. Tristan took a deep breath. He both could and couldn’t believe it. “You set us up?”

“What?” Heath whispered.

Tristan glared at his brother.

Fabian shrugged. “The Ring doorbell told me you’d arrived and I didn’t want you to wreck the place.”

“Wreck it? It was a complete tip!” Tristan snapped.

Fabian winced. “Anyway, when Stef told me Heath was a neat freak and needed somewhere to stay, it made sense. Sort of. We had no idea whether you’d hit it off. Mum said it was good for you to have company after…well… the fiasco.”

Irritation was turning to anger. Tristan turned to his mother and she gave a tiny shrug.

“I was worried about you, darling.”

“What’s the problem?” Fabian smiled. “You two are a thing. That’s great.”

Tristan glanced at Heath. He wasn’t sure how Heath would feel about being manipulated into this. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Then again, did it matter? “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Heath nodded and slid his hand into Tristan’s.

“They’ve no idea how we first set eyes on each other.” Heath grinned and squeezed his fingers.

“And they’ll never know.” Tristan smiled back.

“Hey, what?” Fabian frowned. “What won’t we know?”

“You’ll never guess how we actually met,” Tristan said.

“Now that’s just throwing down a gauntlet,” Fabian snapped back.

“You’ll never guess.” Tristan shrugged.

Tristan’s father handed out champagne. “Well, however you met, we’re delighted to get to know you, Heath. I apologise for Monty’s exuberance but you might be interested to know that Monty hated Grant. Wouldn’t go near him. So Monty has definitely given you a yes. ”

No one but Heath and Tristan understood why that amused them so much.

Tristan watched Heath carefully for the rest of the day, through the present opening, the week-late Christmas dinner his mother loved making, through the chocolate eating, the games playing, right through to the evening. The six of them and Monty were sprawled on couches in the drawing room and Heath was nestled against him.

He’s right for me. Tristan could so easily have ended up with the wrong guy. It didn’t matter that they’d not known each other for long. Heath was the light of his life. He made Tristan see possibilities, encouraged him to strive harder for the things that were important. With Heath by his side, he could do anything. That was how Heath made him feel. Nothing like Grant who wanted him to be subsumed into his world, his circle of friends, his father’s company.

Tristan tugged Heath close and kissed him, then deliberately said, in front of his family, because this time there was no risk of the wrong answer, “I love you. Do you love me?” He knew Heath would say yes. Though he had a piece of paper saying yes, possibly in his pocket. But he wanted Heath to say it.

“Yes,” Heath said. “Oui. Si. Ja. Sim. Evet. Tak … ”

Tristan kissed him before he said yes in every language.

They had to detour on the way back from Tristan’s parents’ because a road was closed.

“It shouldn’t take us more than an extra ten minutes,” Tristan said.

“I had a lovely time at your mum and dad’s. All those presents… It was really kind of them. Even if they had been intended for Grant.”

Tristan groaned.

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Your mum could have got her money back, probably, and she didn’t. They were gifts to me and I’m not complaining. They were all lovely.”

“Grant wouldn’t have thought so. He wouldn’t have said anything until we were away from there but…”

“Then he’s an arsehole. I’ve… I’ve never had so many presents. It was wonderful. I really don’t mind that they were intended for Grant. Honestly. Your mum has lovely taste.”

Tristan smiled.

“Hey, is that the supermarket we went to on the way to your place?”

“Yes.”

“Pull in for a moment. There’s something… Wow.”

“Okay.” Tristan turned in.

Heath was trying to tell himself he must have made a mistake, that he’d misremembered, but he was sure he hadn’t.

“What’s wrong?” Tristan took hold of his hand.

“Look down the road. Look for the place where we bought the tree. It was a parking area with a brown portacabin, right?”

Tristan tightened his hold on Heath’s hand. “That’s… That’s not possible.”

There was no open parking area. Instead, a line of small shops stood where they’d driven in and bought the tree.

“It must be further down the road,” Tristan said. “I mean, the portacabin would have probably been moved but you can’t shift a car park.”

He drove down the road. Heath checked on the other side too, just in case, but the place wasn’t there.

Tristan pulled up.

“Do you have any explanation?” Heath whispered.

“None that makes sense.”

Heath took hold of his hand. “Then we accept it for what it was. A bit of Christmas magic. And I know there is no such thing, but we saw that tree change too.”

“Oh my God,” Tristan muttered.

“Do you think the tree will still be there when we get home?”

“Let’s see.”

It was. And at the top of the tree was a little Santa waving his hand.