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“Yes, yes. You’re very macho and sexy,” Arlo said, rolling over to press the tips of his fingers to Bren’s cheek. “But you’re definitely cute too.”

“Dunno why we couldn’t have just gone for a pint.”

That was right at the top of the list of things Bren thought were a good way to celebrate the end of term. The fact that the air was so cold it was making his face ache wasn’t enough to distract from the gnawing in the back of his mind.

He’d aced home ec and phys ed for sure, and much to his surprise, not a single question on his maths final had looked like hieroglyphics—which was a first.

But Mr. Smith was one of those teachers who knew beyond doubt that the author of the novel they’d been studying had said the vase was purple not because it was a nice colour, but because it absolutely and irrefutably represented the darkness within man’s heart—or something. And the dates from Bren’s history class had blurred together when they weren’t painting England in a better light than he thought was fair.

“There’s hot chocolate at the concession,” A.J. said, as if he believed that that was just as good as alcohol.

Bren inhaled a scent of coconut as he pulled Arlo close, drawing himself back to reality with a kiss on his lad’s rosy cheek.

“I still reckon you’re wrong about the suncream.”

Arlo turned so their toque-covered foreheads met, a look of smugness on his face that always came when Bren questioned Canadian traditions.

“If we were out here all day, I’d have put you in sunglasses, too.”

Bren’s eyebrow rose.

“Snow-blindness sucks, Bren.”

He grunted as he pulled himself upright. The glare from the snow that blanketed the world didn’t stop him from seeing that Dustin had stripped off his jacket, skating in a T-shirt a little way ahead of Suveer and Nat. Yu was lost in the crowd.

“Mad, the lot of you.”

Arlo wrapped his arms around Bren’s neck and pulled him back into the snow.

“We were born here. You came willingly,” he said, cuddling closer despite the skaters. “What does that say about you?”

“Good question.”

Bren pushed himself up again. He loved his lad, but his arse was going numb.

“Alright, one more try. But if I fall again, you’re rollin’ me home, like.”

Arlo popped up behind him and slid onto the ice with more grace than he usually showed on land.

“If you’re not too proud, there’s a better way of doing this.”

Bren pulled off a chunk of ice that had fused to the seat of his snowpants.

“I left my pride somewhere over there,” Bren said. “Watchya got?”

Arlo spun around so they were facing each other and extended his hands with a conciliatory expression on his face.

Unable to ignore the fact that the only other people he’d seen doing this were either three years old or thirty, Bren sighed and took Arlo’s hands as he wobbled on his blades.

“Alright. Knees bent, shoulders squared, and eyes on your boyfriend.”

Warmth spread across every inch of Arlo’s face as he glided backwards, the flecks of snow caught in his eyelashes throwing off glints of afternoon sunlight as Bren wobbled with him.

Keep your eyes on your boyfriend. Sure it’s impossible not to, Arlo.

34

A.J. had no idea whether there was anything close to being a “next life” after this one, but if there was, he was sure Bren’s Nan was smiling. He and Holly sat at the kitchen table, frosting the last batch of biscuits while they sang along with the Christmas album playing from the family laptop.