The 12 Gays of Christmas: A Holiday Family Bakery Novel Read online

  “Should I use the fancy towels on the rack, or do you have something else hidden under the sink for everyday? And where are the Christmas ones?” He knew Spencer was there. Of course he did.

  “Well,” Spencer showed himself, though not as much as Getty, who pulled back the curtain with a screech of plastic rings on metal. “I…” His skin was wet and shiny. The fur—a stripe of it on his belly that grew fluffy and wild atop his dick, already thick with arousal—was darker from the water.

  “Spence?” Getty’s face shone with cheerfulness not related to the holiday spirit.

  “You can use the good ones,” Spencer said.

  “Because I’m special.”

  “Because you are. And I hope to get the Christmas stuff up from the basement this weekend.”

  Getty stepped from the tub. “I can help… Get it up, that is.”

  The more Spencer saw of him, the harder he was to resist, especially with such a lascivious smirk. “I’ll bet you can.”

  The bell on the door downstairs rang, and suddenly the mood changed.

  “I left the shop unattended.”

  “Yo, bro!” Troy called up the stairs. “You up there?”

  “Damn it.” Getty grabbed the towel and held it in front of himself. “Is Isabelle with him?”

  Spencer scratched his head. It was a silly question. Getty knew as much as he did. “I’ll take these out the front way.” Spencer picked up Getty’s jeans. “I’ll pretend I’ve been out there a while.”

  “With my pants?” Getty asked.

  “Whatever.” Spencer handed them off. “You can probably get most of it with a towel.” He turned. “Don’t forget a clean shirt. I know you know… where the bedroom is.”

  Spencer took a frustrated breath on the other side of the closed bathroom door. “I hope Chachi had better luck than I did,” he said to the all-occasion angel he yanked from its spot. “Time to swap you out for your Christmas sister. Deck the halls and all that crap.”

  Getty opened the door a crack. His jeans were on but unbuttoned. The waistband of his undershorts was folded under, and he was almost more enticing now than he had been totally naked. “Who you talking to?”

  “No one. Finish getting dressed.” Spencer took off down the stairs.

  “How come you never worry about stolen fritters when you’re in charge?” Troy asked as Spencer re-entered through Holiday’s front door.

  “The store was only unattended a second. I went out for the mail.”

  “What’d we get?” As usual, Troy was stuffing his face with merchandise, this time jelly cookie wreaths. Half a dozen sat in front of him. Who knew how many more were in his belly?

  “Oh. I got sidetracked,” Spencer said. “I forgot to look.”

  “Senility is a very sad thing.”

  Spencer leaned against the counter.

  “It’s like you’ve aged right before my eyes. Last year you decorated the apartment for Thanksgivingmas the day after Halloween, just like the shop. It’s December, and there’s nary a candy cane in the place this year.”

  “I did it for Dad last year, because he’d been sick and wasn’t up to it.”

  “And you loved every minute of it. You’ve lost your inner child since then.” Troy touched his brother’s chest on the way across the floor. Spencer wondered if he could feel his heart racing. “Seriously, Spenny, you okay?” His expression said he might have.

  Spencer stood up straighter. “This year’s a little different—busy, busy. I’m the family elder now. Or maybe I just need a good night’s sleep.”

  “So get one.” Troy ate another cookie. “And a real tree this year.”

  “Too expensive.”

  “You stressed about money all the sudden?”

  “All of a sudden.”

  “That’s how old people say it, Elder Holiday.” Troy smiled like a Cheshire cat with jelly-stained teeth. “Are you?”

  “A little. Twelve free wedding cakes are expensive. And as for that good night’s sleep, it won’t happen this week. The first wedding is in five days, and then another and another. I’ll be icing and decorating cakes well into dawn for a while.”

  Getty came down, his damp hair combed neatly, his shirt—Spencer’s—tucked into his jeans. The scent of Spencer’s favorite cologne had arrived a moment ahead. The thought of Getty wearing it made Spencer visibly shudder.

  “What’s going on here?” Troy asked with a glint, just as the sleigh bells on the shop door jingled once again. It was Isabelle, who came in practically skipping.

  “There was a mishap back in the kitchen.” Spencer gave his brother the family signal for shut up—a twist of the head and wide eyes. “Getty had to clean himself up. Grab the vacuum and get on the rest of it, will you?” Spencer turned toward the kitchen himself. “Enjoy lunch, you two.” He grabbed Troy’s arm and jerked him along.

  “What? No kisses?” Troy looked longingly at the kitchen door.

  “Kiss her after lunch,” Spencer muttered.

  “Just ’cause you ain’t getting any...” Troy shoved his brother toward the sink. “Unless… Awwwww!” He threw his arms around Spencer’s waist, placed his head between his shoulder blades, and made the dorky sound again.

  “What?” Spencer huffed, but then he calmed himself. “What?”

  “I’m not supposed to say anything, but Isabelle’s taking her father to lunch to give you her blessing.”

  “Me?”

  “You and him… as a couple.”

  “Oh.”

  “Litt-le town of Beth-le-hem…” Troy actually sang it. “You say that word a lot, bro.”

  “Only when I don’t know what else to say.”

  “It’s good news,” Troy said. “I told her about two of the couples from the cake thing. That sweet couple your age, Karl and John…”

  “Hey! They were at least ten years older than me and Getty… Getty and I. Fifteen, maybe!”

  “Chillax, oldster. The point is, I was telling her how great they were and how cool it was that they were so in love, even at their advanced age. Then… then I told her about the other two, Stefan and what’s his face.”

  “Kevin.”

  “Yeah, him… how sad it was seeing Kevin treated like that by that giant ass wipe with a law degree. Ol’ Kev is obviously kind of desperate, and I tried to make the point that love is pretty rare. If two people are lucky enough to really connect, if that connection is still strong after many, many, many, many years…”

  Spencer frowned at the three unnecessary manys.

  “We all know you and Getty were into each other in high school. Mom knew. Dad knew. As young as I was, I knew.”

  “You were three when we graduated. You did not.”

  “Okay. I didn’t, but Dad talked about it a lot in future years. He liked the guy, and he liked the thought of the two of you together. He sort of longed for what could have been, ya know? When he was sick, more than once, he said, ‘I wish Spenny could find a man just like Getty.’ Who’s more like Getty than Getty? No one. Anyway, I told Izzy—I asked her—‘Don’t you think two people who have never stopped loving each other after, like, a hundred years deserve a shot?’”

  “And that deep and meaningful query led to some big change of heart?”

  “It had to, right?”

  Troy handed off some piping tools Spencer rinsed at the sink. “I don’t know. Did she say as much?”

  “Not really. See, whenever I try to talk about important stuff, she distracts me by putting her hand on my junk, and then we do it.”

  “Well, good luck raising fourteen children without ever talking to one another.” Spencer reached for a dishtowel.

  “We’ll talk when we have to. Right now, I want to play cupid for my really special big bro.” Troy hugged him again. “Before you get too old to do it.”

  “Brat!”

  Jingle bells in the shopfront ended the conversation.

  “Kevin.” Spencer was surprised to him on the shop side of the galle
y door. “Hello.”

  “I have some bad news. Maybe good news. I hope it won’t screw anything up.”

  “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.

  “I’m thinking I should call off the wedding.”

  “Oh.”

  “I heard that!”

  “My brother,” Spencer explained. Troy’s shout from the kitchen had startled Kevin. “Sorry he scared you… and about the wedding… I’m sorry about that too.” He was only really sorry about one of them.

  “Thanks.” Uncomfortable silence followed. “So, that’s one less cake you’ll have to make. I won’t say anything to the press. I don’t want to, you know, cause any bad publicity for your shop.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Spencer said sincerely. “Come in.” Kevin hadn’t moved far from the front door. “Sit. Have a cup of coffee and a croissant.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Kevin demurred.

  “It’s no problem, either.” Spencer held out his hand. Kevin took it. “Or something sweet?”

  “I shouldn’t. You know… calories and stuff.”

  “Please. You look fine. You look great, in fact. I’d kill to have your body.”

  “No.” Kevin settled into a booth across from the Christmas tree.

  “Yes. Ah, to be twenty again.”

  “I’m twenty-nine.”

  “Still younger.” Spencer reached for a ceramic pitcher shaped like a gingerbread man. “Cocoa?” Kevin nodded, and Spencer poured a mug for each of them. “And… sugar cookies. I just brought an entire tray out from the kitchen.” Spencer set it on the table and then got comfy across from Kevin. “Maybe Stefan wasn’t right for you, but, hey, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. I mean, who’d have thought there would be twenty-four gay guys all getting married within a few of hours of here.” Spencer suddenly thought of how far he was going to have to travel to deliver some of his cakes, miles meant minutes—hours—and he had precious few to spare.

  “Spencer?”

  “Yeah, Kevin?”

  “I was just asking if you were single.”

  “Oh.” Spencer waited half a moment for Troy to sing “Come all ye faithful.” He never did. “Well…” Technically, he was, at least until after Getty’s lunch. “Sort of.”

  “This is probably really inappropriate considering the circumstances, but maybe we could hang out sometime. Not a date… just… you know… as friends or something.”

  “Sure. I haven’t had a chance to see Mockingjay Part Two yet,” Spencer said. “You interes—?”

  “Excuse me a moment, Kevin. Spencer…?” When had Troy come in, Spencer wondered. “Can I see you in the back a minute?”

  “Sure.” Spencer stood. Actually, he was hoisted. “Be right back.” He followed his brother to the kitchen. “Yeah?”

  Troy smacked him—three times—hard.

  “Ow! What the hell?”

  “What in frick are you doing?” Troy whisper-shouted.

  “Talking to a customer.” Spencer closed off the kitchen from the shop, and then rubbed his arm.

  “A customer?” Troy raised his palms toward the ceiling. “What’s he buying?” He shrugged with the bushy caterpillars for eyebrows both brothers had. “Nothing. He’s crying on your shoulder, looking for a rebound lay, because his wedding went up in smoke.”

  “He is not!”

  “I rather disagree.”

  “I’m glad his wedding blew up. You yourself said he deserves better not so long ago.”

  “He does. Just not you, though he is just your type, that sweet, somewhat pathetic, self-loathing, bashful, romantic type with a ton of baggage and a big bulge in his pants.”

  “Troy, you’re talking bullshit.”

  “Am I?” Troy got right in Spencer’s face. “Am I? Don’t mess this up, bro.”

  “Don’t mess what up?”

  “The end game—SpeGetty.”

  “The end game’s spaghetti? What does that even mean?”

  “Not spaghetti. SpeGetty.”

  Spencer walked away. “You lost me.”

  “Spencer and Getty.” Troy was right there again, and he backed his big brother against the huge walk-in freezer. “Your squish name… Spencer and Getty… SpeGetty.”

  Spencer rolled his eyes. He tried to move. His brother was strong and held his ground. “I hate those, Troy.”

  “I know you do. But yours and Getty’s make a damned adorable one.” Troy’s breath smelled like cinnamon. He must have gotten into the sweet rolls. “And that guy, as much as I pity him… Spevin? Kevser? No matter how anyone tries to put you two together, nothing good can come of it. Get rid of him.”

  “Troy…”

  “Nothing good.” Troy finally moved, setting Spencer free. “No more cookies. No movies. Certainly no quickie blowjobs or jacking off in the bathroom.”

  “Troy!”

  “I mean it, bro.” A forceful finger came at Spencer as punctuation. “SpeGetty,” Troy reiterated, and then he walked away.

  Spencer swiped a hand back over his hair. He thought about taking Kevin into the john, just to spite his brother. Then he thought of Getty, and imagined the two of them doing it against the sink. That wasn’t what he wanted, though. He wanted candlelight and music, snowflakes dancing outside the window in the light of the streetlamps, and a warm fire that would make them forget just how cold it was out there. “SpeGetty,” Spencer whispered, and he couldn’t help but smile. He would have to let Kevin down gently, even though he’d never meant to lead him on. By the time Getty returned, years’ worth of wanting would all forgotten, and he and Getty could finally be together. “SpeGetty it is,” Spencer said to ceiling. “Better late than never, Dad.”

  Chapter 4

  After being up most of the night decorating the cake for the first ceremony, Spencer was carefully unwrapping it to show off to a group of reporters first thing the next morning, He slowly pulled away plastic and then wax paper, as not to disturb the intricate piping and meticulously placed candy pearls on the four layer tower made especially for Rex and Charlie. Each cake had to be securely sealed, not only for protection, but to keep its delicate flavors fresh and untainted while stored in the cooler. Carefully swathing and then uncovering each one every time he worked on it took forever, while other holiday chores went ignored, but that was how it had to be done. Rex and Charlie would be arriving soon, and even though there would be time for touchups between the day of the photo shoot for the newspaper and the actual ceremony, even though the photog only needed one good angle, Spencer wanted his work to look perfect.

  “Good morning.” Getty let himself in with his key, as he so often did.

  “Hey, Getty.” Spencer had been expecting a phone call the day before—a text, an email, something about the big lunch with Isabelle. He hadn’t heard a word, not from Getty, not from Troy, who hadn’t even come home the night before. “I hate to have to ask, but the handle on the other oven came off now.”

  “Damn!” Getty chortled as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

  “I know. The crappy Christmas curse continues.” Spencer didn’t even try to smile. He no longer saw the humor in his string of bad fortune.

  “‘Crappy?’” Getty cringed as he removed his zip-front sweatshirt. “Have you turned into a Scrooge?”

  “Getting there.”

  “One day at a time, my friend.”

  The word choice did not go unnoticed.

  “Will you be out here a while or are you coming back? I’d like to talk as I work.” Getty hung his jacket on the back of a chair.

  There was plenty to do in the kitchen, and a jab of worry stabbed Spencer in the heart, like the sharpest knife in his butcher block, as he remembered he had to finish ninety-six petit fours, eight genoise cakes, and five croquembouche by the end of next week. “I better tend to this,” he said anyway.

  “Does that mean you don’t want to talk?” Getty’s mouth turned up into smile, and Spencer spared a moment to enjoy it.

  �
��After.” His chest got tighter. He wondered what Getty had to say, and why he had kept it to himself overnight.

  “Fair enough.” Getty picked up his Holiday bakery mug, just like the ones they sold to the public, with Happy Holidays spelled out with holiday symbols for some of the letters, a shamrock for the a, an Easter egg for the o, etc. “Work first, talk later.” He headed for the door.

  “Getty.”

  He turned back. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.” Spencer had wanted to say so much more.

  “No problem.”

  Getty’s hair was plastered to his head by the time he came through from the kitchen. He had sweat on his forehead, his damp shirt clung to his broad, damp chest, and his nipples were practically poking through, He was every bit as sexy from the heat of the kitchen as he had been fresh from the shower, his current scent possibly even more attractive. “That handle was really stripped, and it’s rather warm out there,” he said.

  “It’s rather hot in here,” Spencer mumbled.

  “I heard that,” Getty said.

  “Did you?” Spencer picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV over the counter. “Colder days are coming.” He purposely cut Getty off by turning up the volume on the morning news.

  “It’s going to get nasty out there!” the weatherman warned, standing in front of a map of the state. “Enjoy today, because it could be the last nice one we see for a while.” A storm was on the way, and channel 7’s head meteorologist was practically giddy as he described the havoc it was sure to wreak all over the state. “It’s going to start off as rain, but quickly change over. It could pile up quickly, in amounts none of us are used to—six… eight… even close to twelve in some areas!” The dude seemed close to orgasm at the thought, as if the inches of accumulating ice and snow he described translated to inches up his ass. It was just what Spencer didn’t need, as he was supposed to deliver Rex and Charlie’s wedding cake three towns away in two days. The happy couple worked in a hotel, the same hotel where they would be holding their reception. They had cooler space available, and it was easier for everyone involved if the cake was delivered then.