Winter Wonderland (7 page)

Kyle fumbled with his phone until he could depress the home button to reveal the time. Eight thirty. No wonder he felt like marinated hell.

His mom leaned in the doorway. “Kyle, honey, go back to sleep. It’s far too early for you to be awake.”

It was, but thanks to Linda Kay’s accidental intimation someone in the family was hurt, there was no way he’d fall asleep again before ten. He shook his head. “If I’m going to fix the sculptures before I go to Marcus and Frankie’s, I should get started.”

Jane leveled a glare at her daughter. “She can wait until tomorrow, or another time when you can build new ones.”

Intellectually Kyle knew Linda Kay made the sad, kicked-puppy-dog face because she knew it would slay him. That didn’t stop the look from doing exactly what it was meant to do. “It’s okay. If I start now, I can maybe get a nap in.”

He slugged some decaf and stared out the sliding door to assess the damage to his work while his mother hurried to cook him bacon and eggs. His dad and brothers heaped snow from the drive behind the garage, but they’d started piling high because they anticipated they’d need a lot of space. They’d overshot, however, and a huge section had come crashing into the backyard and onto Linda Kay’s snow garden. He’d have to inspect closer to be sure, but he was pretty sure he’d have to rebuild the dragon and the princess both. Which would take him hours. Plus he’d be exhausted afterward.

Jane brought him his plate and wagged her finger. “Do
not
make yourself too tired to go this afternoon. I know you’re looking forward to it. She
can
wait. She won’t like it, but she can do it.”

Kyle darted a glance to the couch, where Linda Kay knelt, face pressed to the window. “I can make it work.”

“You spoil her.” Jane sighed and kissed his cheek.

Kyle kissed her back and took his plate to the table.

It turned out he could save most of the dragon and the princess too, but the repairs were delicate and time-consuming, and in the end he spent almost more time fixing them than if he’d started completely fresh.

“You need to finish later,” his mother called out the door. “It’s after one. You’ll want to shower before Paul comes to get you.”

Yes, he very much did. But he hadn’t finished the princess’s face, and Linda Kay stood next to him, breathless as she waited to see if her brother could rehang the moon. “It’ll only take another minute,” he insisted, and picked up his carving knife.

W
hen Paul arrived at the Parks farm, Daryl Parks got off his tractor and came over to shake Paul’s hand. “Good to see you, Paul. How’s business?”

“Going well, thank you.”

“Say, do you guys repair iPods? The one we use in the shed stopped working, and I can’t even find a way to open the thing up.”

“Well, I can repair them, but I’m not certified. And I have to tell you I’m about a one-to-one ratio, fixing vs. breaking it more.”

Daryl chuckled. “That’s a sight better than I’ve managed. Would it be okay to give it to you today, or should I bring it by the shop?”

“I can take it, sir.”

Daryl grinned and slapped Paul on the shoulder. “Come on. Kyle’s in the back. I’m coming along to watch, because he never stopped to take a shower like Jane told him to, and he’ll be fit to be tied now that you’re here.”

Paul wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he followed Daryl Parks.

The farmer gestured to the far side of the yard. “We were clearing snow this morning and accidentally busted the dragon and the princess. Linda Kay sobbed like you wouldn’t believe. Guess this was a very special princess. Jane told her to leave him be, but Kyle wouldn’t hear of letting her wait. That boy’s soft as jelly for his sister.”

Daryl led Paul to the side of the garage, where Kyle crouched diligently over a five-foot sculpture. Linda Kay stood bundled beside him, watching intently—until she saw Paul approaching. Then she poked Kyle in the arm and whispered, loud enough for them to hear in Logan, “Hey. Your boyfriend is here.”

Kyle had been in a kind of work trance, but at this he startled and rose, giving Linda Kay a look that said there would be retribution later. “It can’t be two fifteen already, can it?”

“It’s two twenty, actually,” Daryl said with a grin.

Kyle winced and clutched at his hat. “Oh my God, I haven’t showered or
anything
.”

“Which is your own fault, because your mother called you at least four times.” Daryl glanced at Paul and indicated the sculptures with his head. “So, what do you think? He’s not bad with a pile of snow, as far as I reckon.”

As understatements went, this one was a whopper. Behind Kyle was a dragon, at least ten feet long and four feet high. Its tail wound around a real rock, which had been painted to look like a gold nugget. Its head rested on a stump—subtly, as the dead tree was clearly for support only—and it breathed snow-fire that arched across a small snow-brick wall. It was so alive it looked ready to leap across the fields. The scales, the eyes, even the fine detail on the flames were stunning.

But the dragon was nothing compared to the snow princess who stood beside him. She was a
sculpture
, carved out of a single, solid block of snow. Her shoulder-length hair blew in unseen wind. Her snow-cape billowed over a poufy gown with intricate beads and folds. Her crown sat boldly on her head, and in her hand was a star-shaped wand with gold beads in the center. What caught Paul by the edge of the heart, though, was the face. It was a beautiful, wide-smiling face, with a stubby nose, slightly slanted eyes and bit of tongue protruding past the lips.

In short, it was an ice princess with Down syndrome.

Paul realized they were waiting for him to respond, but all he could do was shake his head and keep staring in wonder. “Amazing,” he managed at last. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kyle used a mittened hand to shield his eyes from the weak afternoon sun as he looked back at the house. “I really do need to shower. Do you think they’ll be mad if we’re a little late? I can be fast.”

Paul would see to it they weren’t. “You go get your shower. Don’t rush.”

Kyle blew him a kiss then pointed the knitwear at his father. “Help her mist them down so they freeze hard tonight. Just a
mist
.”

Daryl waved his son off, and Paul stayed to watch as Linda Kay, carefully supervised, misted her snow sculptures with the large spray bottle she’d been clutching. Several times she cackled, a noise both wicked and charming at once. At one point, as if seized by sudden joy, she held the spray bottle aloft, tipped her head back and sang loudly and in no key whatsoever, “
Valley high, I call yoooooooou.
” Then she resumed her spraying, until her father told her she needed to stop or she’d wreck them.

She relinquished her bottle to Daryl, but she tugged on Paul’s arm when he tried to leave. “Take my picture,” she said, beaming. “With the snow princess. Because we’re both pretty cute, right, sexy man?”

“Linda Kay.” Daryl’s tone was a warning.

Linda Kay chuckled again, sticking out her tongue. Laughing, Paul got out his phone and urged her to get closer to her doppelgänger. He took several pictures, one with her standing at attention, one with her mimicking the pose, and one with what Linda Kay called her baby-eyes pose, which Paul assumed was supposed to be bedroom eyes. In each photo, her tongue protruded.

After four more photos, Linda Kay attached herself to Paul’s arm. “Okay, hot stuff. Let’s go get hot chocolate and snuggle, okay?”

He couldn’t help but laugh with her, and though Daryl tried to get him out of his role as escort, Paul gave him a nod to let him know this was fine. She had such
joy
. Plus, she was all kinds of saucy and smart. A little inappropriate, missing several social cues, but on the whole, delightful.

Once they were in the house, she showed him where to put his boots, made them each a hot cocoa in a Keurig machine, and tugged him toward the den. “Come on. The babies are all sleeping, so we have the TV to ourselves. We’ll watch a movie while you wait for Slow Poke.”

Jane Parks appeared from around a corner. She smiled briefly at Paul and greeted him before turning to her daughter. “Kyle will be ready in a few minutes. You do
not
have time for a movie.”

Linda Kay crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. I’ll show him just the
valley high
.”

She plunked Paul on a soft brown sectional and bustled to the DVD player. Soon the opening titles of
South Pacific
played on the screen. Tongue out in concentration, Linda Kay punched at the remote until she queued up a scene. She bounced and giggled as she pushed play. “Here we go.
Valley high.
”

The scene was a bunch of soldiers on an island—well, an island movie set, because it was an old movie, from an era when there was no such thing as green screen or special effects. A black woman started to sing about a lonely island, and when she got to the chorus, Paul realized she was singing
Bali
, not
valley
. A quick check on his phone revealed this song was “Bali Ha’i”, where the matriarch of an exotic island lures the lead so he can fall in love with her daughter. Linda Kay, however, was clearly singing
valley high.
Singing it at the top of her lungs, from the bottom of her belly. She sang to the woman on the screen, to the far side of the room, to the window. She sang with abandon, and with no clear words ninety percent of the time. Until the song called for
valley high
.

As the song wound to an end, abruptly a bright tenor filled the room, sending a tingle down Paul’s spine. Kyle—hair artfully styled, green sweater making his complexion glow, jeans snug enough to show off his slim hips—sailed into the room, arm extended as he joined Linda Kay in an unusual duet. When he sang with her, she hit more of the words, but mostly she garbled along until she got to the good parts.

Paul noticed Kyle got all the words right, except like Linda Kay, he sang
valley high
.

When they finished, Linda Kay clapped and pulled her brother down to kiss him on the cheek. “I love you, Kyle David.”

“I love you too, Linda Kay.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m going to go with Paul for a while. I’ll be home around dinnertime, and I’ll kiss you before I go to work. Okay?”

She swatted him playfully and stuck out her tongue with mischievous glee. “Go on, you lovebird. I’ll catch your act later.”

Kyle raised apologetic, slightly helpless eyebrows at Paul. “So. Should we go?”

Paul rose. “Ready when you are.”

Chapter Six

Pa
ul followed Kyle outside and held open the door to the truck for him. Once they were inside, Kyle all but melted into the passenger seat, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. For making us late. For my sister and her bald innuendos.”

“We’re not that late, and your sister is charming.” He glanced across the seat. Kyle looked exhausted. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Three hours? Maybe four.” He ran hands over his face. “I should have listened to my mother and done the sculptures another day.”

Three hours, and he had to work tonight. “We can reschedule. The guys won’t mind, I swear.”

“
No.
Thinking about going with you today was the only thing that got me through my horrible shift last night.” He yawned, tried to swallow it and failed. “It’s times like this I wish I could mainline caffeine the same as everybody else.”

Paul’s cheeks stained at the
going with you
remark. “Does sugar help you at all? I know it’s short term, but it’s better than nothing.”

“A little. That’s a good idea. I’ll grab a big bag of candy before I go in tonight.” The next yawn he managed to tame, sliding it into a smile. “So. Tell me about
your
Saturday.”

Paul thought back to his awkward meal with his parents, and his night of watching movies he was embarrassed to talk about. “Not very exciting.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

The image he’d been working to ignore since Tuesday night, Kyle intense and pressing Paul into the door of the shop, rose from the mist. Determined to bottle those odd feelings up again, Paul nodded at the grocery bag and reached for a more inane line of discussion. “What did you end up baking?”

“Cupcakes.” Beaming proudly, he withdrew a bakery-style box, opened the lid and revealed a tray of frosting Santas. “It’s a little early for Christmas, but Linda Kay feels we can start celebrating as soon as there’s snow. So we’ve had Christmas music on since late September, and we make Santa cupcakes.”

The cupcakes were as artistic as Kyle’s snow sculptures, with details Paul longed to examine more closely once he wasn’t driving. “They look great. What flavor?”

“Red velvet for Santa, naturally, and cream cheese frosting for his beard.” He licked some frosting off his finger after he closed the box and put it back in the bag. “Where is their house again? I wanted to say it was on Maple. The old Carlson place?”

“Yeah. We helped Marcus fix it up all summer, and then he and Frankie painted it. They only moved in a few weeks ago, and they haven’t let us visit yet because Frankie was still decorating.” He smiled and rubbed his jaw. “I think Arthur’s sore about it, because he’s dragged his feet about redesigning his cabin, and now Marcus beat him.”

Maple Avenue was one of the two nicer residential streets in Logan, though that was a relative term. One hundred years ago the house Marcus and Frankie had bought had belonged to one of the mill owners. Back then Logan had been something to write home about, and this was the street you’d tell stories of. Big, straight trees, wide boulevard, fancy streetlights. The house they’d bought had fancy gingerbread on the eaves and lattice windows, and shutters, and heavy woodwork inside above hardwood floors. Of course, most of it had been a mess when Marcus bought it.

Now it shone once again like a pretty jewel in the center of its block. Several evergreen bushes decorated the walk. A white wrought-iron fence lined the property, as well as a quaint little gate whose hinges Paul had oiled himself. The house itself was painted a mint green with light brown shutters a shade darker than the sharply pitched roof.

“It’s
beautiful
.” Kyle stood in the center of the walk, spinning around, taking it all in. “I can imagine how this will look in the summer, full of flowers.”

The front door opened, and Marcus stepped onto the wide porch with a wave. “Hey. Good to see you, Paul.” He bear-hugged Paul before engulfing Kyle’s small hand in his meaty paw. “Kyle. Welcome to our home. Come on in, both of you. We’ve got cider and coffee on.”

Kyle kept smiling. “This is
beautiful.
My God, if you had stenciling on the woodwork, I’d think this was Mormor and Morfar’s house.”

“Who?” Paul asked, frowning.

Marcus’s lips spread inside his dark beard. “If my high school Swedish holds, that would be Kyle’s maternal grandmother and grandfather.”

Kyle nodded. “There’s this little house behind the main house on our farm, closed off by some trees. The farm originally belonged to my mother’s family, the Hults, and they had a big Swedish-heritage thing going on. I think we have about fifty Dala horses on the property. When I was young, my great-grandmother and great-grandfather lived in the cottage. They came over to the main house to eat sometimes, though Mormor cooked all the time too. Mom and Grandma did their laundry. They were both born in Minnesota, but their parents had been the original immigrants to the area, and they felt it was their job to keep the Swedish flame alive. So they were Mormor and Morfar. Their house is a bit smaller than this, and it’s nothing but storage now. Linda Kay thinks it’s her castle, but Dad locks it so she can’t explore.” He took a deep breath and smiled. “I remember it smelling like this. Meat and sugar and spice.”

Frankie appeared in the doorway from the dining room, wearing an apron and beaming with pride. “Welcome, Paul, Kyle. Marcus, will you take their coats? Can I get either of you anything to drink? Ooh, and is that the dessert you brought, Kyle?”

Kyle showed off his Santas, Paul passed over his assorted beverages, and once they had their winter gear off, Marcus ushered them into a well-appointed living room where Gabriel and Arthur waited, sipping coffee. Frankie brought in coffee for Paul and mulled cider for Kyle. Gabriel and Arthur had claimed the love seat, though they weren’t snuggling so much as casually touching one another. Kyle took a wing-backed chair by the fireplace, and Paul the edge of the full sofa. Marcus perched on a settee near the parlor, rising occasionally when Frankie called him from the kitchen.

They chatted about the weather, about the repair shop, about the remodel. When Arthur unrolled blueprints onto the coffee table and explained the upgrades he wanted to do to the cabin, Frankie hurried in, wiping his hands on a dishtowel as he
oohed
and
ahhed
with everyone else.

“We finally decided we’d go with four bedrooms, not three,” Gabriel said.

“Why so many bedrooms?” Kyle asked.

Arthur gave Gabriel the kind of gooey, besotted look Paul hadn’t thought his old friend and former lover capable of. “Because we intend to fill them with kids.”

Kyle blinked. “Wow, really?”

Gabriel smoothed a hand tenderly over the cabin plans. “We’re applying to be foster parents. We talked about surrogacy or adoption, but there are so many foster kids who need good homes.”

Arthur put an arm around Gabriel, looking proud and content. “We’re starting with two, but I figure the worst thing an extra bedroom means is somewhere else for people to escape for peace and quiet, or to store things.”

“I think it’s wonderful.” Frankie leaned on Marcus, smiling.

Kyle, Paul noticed, still reeled a bit from the revelation. He glanced at Frankie. “Do you two want kids too?”

Frankie glanced at Marcus. “Probably not. We’d love to play uncles, but that’s it.” He raised an eyebrow at Kyle. “What about
you
?”

“I guess it would depend. It’s not a lifelong dream or anything, but with the right guy, I’d consider it.” He grinned wryly around his mug of cider. “Honestly, I feel like I’ve already put in more parenting than most actual parents. All my nieces and nephews who Mom babysits, and of course Linda Kay.
She
is my kid who won’t ever grow up.” He shrugged. “It really would depend.”

For a second, Paul figured that would be the end of it. Then Kyle looked him straight in the eye. “What about
you
?”

Paul stammered out a non-answer. “I—I guess it would depend for me too.”

That wasn’t a lie, exactly. He honestly didn’t know if he wanted kids or not. His fantasy relationship was always
full
, people everywhere, and maybe some of them were young. But he wasn’t sure he wanted the everyday business of
his
kids underfoot. Which seemed awful, like kids were accessories to pull out of the closet when he was in the mood.

Yet if Mr. Right came with an army of children, Paul knew he’d morph into Mr. Mom on a moment’s notice.

Frankie declared it was time to eat, and they moved the house party into the dining room, where a beautiful oak table decked with fall colors looked like the spread out of a fancy magazine. A small orange Dutch oven full of red chili sat on one side of a leafy centerpiece, while a yellow pot on the other side held what Paul supposed was Frankie’s white chicken chili. Cut, garlic butter-coated French bread steamed in a basket on the side by the venison chili, a glass bowl of dark-leaved salad on the other. On a buffet by the kitchen were Kyle’s Santa cupcakes, lined up to watch them eat.

Everyone effused over how delicious everything smelled, and as they began eating, how wonderful it tasted. Frankie declared the salad the best he’d ever had, and Gabriel confessed it was pecan kale parmesan, and he’d email the recipe. Arthur had a helping of the red chili and asked Marcus if this was his venison. The meal was a tornado of domesticity and friendship…and partnership.

Kyle sat across from Paul, next to Gabriel. In so many ways, he fit right into the group. As much as Marcus, Arthur and Paul were of the slightly more burly persuasion, Frankie, Gabriel and of course Kyle were all…well,
delicate
. Gabriel was mostly lanky and had librarian stamped on his forehead, and when you heard Frankie was a hairstylist, it fit. They were good matches for their fiancés: sweet, gentling Frankie tamed Marcus’s grumpy bear. Sharp, no-nonsense Gabriel evened out Arthur’s rough edges.

Tidy as it was, though, Paul still didn’t think any kind of a relationship was a good idea. His dating adventures in the past year had largely been him finding someone great to cuddle and hang out with or someone to realign his solar system in bed, but never the two together. More than once he’d been told he was too complicated to date, and he’d decided, quietly, that was true.

After Tuesday night, part of him had dangerous fantasies about how maybe Kyle was his Goldilocks after all. Not too hot, not too cold. It was stupid, because he was basing everything on that one moment. One defiant exchange.

He wished it weren’t only that one moment. He wished he could see that Kyle now, though he acknowledged it would make no sense here at the table with everyone else. Shouldn’t there be a hint, though? All he saw was Kyle basically falling in line with Frankie and Gabriel.

“So.” Gabriel wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Let’s discuss this Winter Wonderland business. I think we’ve let the board pretend they have a sense of direction long enough.”

He outlined the plan they all essentially knew about: have a fundraiser similar to the one last year in order to raise money for the library. The year before, Corrina’s initial plan to raffle off sleigh rides had become, at Marcus, Arthur, Frankie and Gabriel’s direction, a ten-thousand-dollar profit for the town. The city council enthusiastically approved funding to help the library board host the event again, and of course everyone dreamed of it being bigger, brighter, better. The problem was no one seemed to have a clear idea of how to make that work.

“There are two issues.” Gabriel ticked them off on his fingers. “One, we must attract people here, without them getting snowed out or in, and we must provide them with something meaningful to do which will cost them money but not us. Corrina seems hell-bent on some kind of vendor fair and has all the neighboring counties in on making crafts, etcetera. I can’t see that being what draws people here from out of the area, though, which is what brought us all the success last year.”

“What made last year special was the quaint, small-town feeling.” Frankie sipped white wine and tapped the side of the glass after. “Even for locals, last year’s sleigh ride event felt like the small town everyone thinks they remember. If we can find a way to make
that
happen, we’ll have it sorted.”

“It doesn’t change the problem of the weather,” Marcus pointed out.

Frankie shrugged. “We could talk to the hotels in Eveleth about making up a special. If the snow is so bad they can’t get from there to here, we’ll have to postpone anyway. That’s the thing—this is a
winter
wonderland. If it’s before December twenty-fifth, yes, we can hang wreaths and so on, but post holiday we could…I dunno. Do snowflakes.”

“No.” Kyle smiled, and Paul shivered because
there
was a little of that look from Tuesday night. “You do Scandinavian folk art. Dala horses. A grandma or grandpa sitting in the corner doing history lessons—
Oh.
” He beamed at Gabriel. “No,
you
telling stories. Like the one about Saint Lucia. If it’s before Christmas, we have a
julbord
. Hell, even post-Christmas, because nobody will know what it is or that it’s meant to be on Christmas Eve. We should include some Norwegian nods too, as some people in town have that heritage, and a lot of visitors will. But lean on stencils and folk art for the theming, and add or remove wreaths and snowflakes as needed. For the kids, you can have a
Frozen
-themed area. Because clearly that movie won’t die down anytime soon. They could feel as if they’re in Elsa’s palace.” He stopped, and his smile arrested Paul. “Oh,
wait.
I’ll
make
Elsa’s palace.”

Marcus frowned. “You can’t call it that. It’s copyright infringement.”

Frankie waved this away. “We’ll call it the snow queen’s castle.”

Arthur slapped the table. “
Hey
. I got it. We don’t build any of these weird little hobbit houses. We decorate the
businesses
on the square. Put on false fronts with the gingerbread and the stencils. We get Marcus to talk to the city and get those empty storefronts open for these vendors. Who knows, maybe some of them will end up opening shops permanently.”