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“See? Your stomach agrees with me. Food first.”

He didn’t give Bren time to object, and he headed for the stairs in a hurried quickstep, Bren’s footfalls following him at a drag.

“What time’s that party at?”

“Ten,” A.J. said, pulling the door open.

Their feet echoed in the deserted stairwell, the voices of their castmates muffled by layers of stone and the thrum of whatever song was playing from a distant stereo.

“We can be late, right?”

The tide he’d forced to recede eked its way back towards the shore as A.J. linked their hands together.

“So late.”

31

Bren’s foot skidded in the ice for the hundredth time since they’d left the mall after lunch. A.J. had given up trying to instruct him on how to walk after he’d grumbled, “’mfinearlo” four times. And besides, there were some things you just had to learn by yourself.

“Classes are gonna be canceled if it’s colder than this tomorrow, right?”

A.J. tried to hold back the coo at the back of his throat but didn’t quite manage it. Bren narrowed his eyes from the thin gap between his neck warmer and the Roughriders toque pulled down past his eyebrows.

With the musical a week behind them, and Bren’s extension letter halfway to Ottawa by now, Saskatchewan had decided to roll out the white carpet for its most adorable long-term resident. Last night’s rain had turned to fluffy snow sometime around eleven, and it had continued to fall throughout the night. The result was a Moose Jaw that looked like something from a Christmas card, but with the added fun of a potential concussion hidden under the cheery blanket.

Bren’s gloved hand hooked the bottom of the neck warmer and lifted it enough for him to bring the rim of his coffee cup to his lips before pulling it back down. A.J. considered pointing out that Bren had been the one who’d said it was dumb to take the van to the mall since it was only three blocks away.

“I love the spirit,” A.J. said, trying hard not to look too smug.

He’d given up on warning Bren about winter after the first week of October—there were only so many times he could hear, “Ah, it’ll be fine, Robolad,” after all.

“Piss off, actin’ all cute about it. There’s no way this is normal for November. Where the fuck did autumn go?”

That was another thing he’d given up trying to explain. The negative teens in November wasn’t the norm, but it was hardly unheard of. Holly had needed to change her costume from kitty-cat-princess to kitty-cat-princess-in-a-ski-mask two Halloweens ago.

“Blame the geese. They keep taking it south every year.”

A.J. took a deliberate pull from the frappé he’d ordered and managed to keep the shiver down. The hot chocolate he’d actually wanted couldn’t taste any sweeter than the indignant look Bren had given him when he’d ordered the frozen drink on a frozen day.

“You know it’s going to get, like, a lot colder, right?”

Bren pulled down his toque so the only trace of his face were a couple of freckles.

“Didn’t know they had ostriches in Ireland.”

He pulled the straw out of A.J.’s cup and shoved it into his own.

“What is it with you and birds today?” he asked, his lips wrapped around the straw.

“They’re the original music-makers.”

They paused at the crosswalk as someone in a lifted truck slid through the stop sign, much to the honk-inducing ire of the grey Honda that had the right of way. Scientists really should spend some time studying how the knowledge to drive on ice vanished from Moose Javians brains every summer.

“Fuckin’ mad,” Bren grumbled through his layers.

A.J. waved a thanks at the car that managed to stop for them, and he tugged Bren across the street. Cute as his chilly boyfriend was, a familiar gnawing in his stomach insisted he pay attention to it.

“Hey, Bren?”