Home for Christmas Read Online Free PDF

Home For Christmas
     
     
     
    Connell turned up the collar of his jacket against the cold mist rising from the Savannah riverfront and then buried his hands back in the pockets of his jeans. He hadn’t expected the weather to be quite this cold, even in December—it was the South, after all—but it had grown steadily cooler and more overcast as the afternoon wore on. Now, close to sunset, it was chilly enough that standing on the sidewalk was starting to feel uncomfortable. He wouldn’t be surprised if it dropped below freezing tonight, though he hoped to be indoors—in the warmth of his lover’s arms—long before then.
    The steam rising from the river was condensing into a light mist in the air around him, and Connell was thankful for the rainbow-striped scarf his sister Kate had insisted he open as an early Christmas present. His plane had landed around midday, and he’d taken a taxi straight from the airport to the tiny pocket park on the Riverwalk. It was empty then except for a handful of holiday tourists, so he’d spent some time exploring the shops lining the river, festooned for the holidays with sparkling white lights and ropes of evergreen bound with red ribbons. He couldn’t resist stopping in the year-round Christmas store, finding the perfect ornament and stowing it carefully in his backpack. He hoped it would help him explain why he’d flown all the way from London on Christmas Eve to be with the man he loved. By the time he’d made it back to the far end of the Riverwalk, he could hear the soulful notes of a saxophone reaching out to entice him.
    As much as he wanted to see the surprise on Spence’s face when he greeted him, Connell couldn’t resist watching his lover first, from the shelter of a doorway across the cobblestoned street. The sax’s vibrato added a sultry tone to even the most traditional carols, echoing the seduction that had called to Connell through Spence’s music the first time they met, when Connell had come to Savannah on a weekend trip to meet friends. The horn’s liquid notes had drawn Connell to Spence like a fly to honey, and Spence had proven even more irresistible than his music. Connell had never met anyone as open and honest and genuinely caring as Spence, and from the first time their lips met in a tentative kiss that quickly turned passionate, his heart was lost. They’d explored Savannah and gotten to know each other and made love again and again during the weekend of Connell’s visit, and he knew he’d already fallen a little in love with the musician after those few short days. Kissing Spence goodbye at the airport had been one of the saddest moments he could remember.
    Over the months that followed, they’d kept in touch through online chats and long late-night phone calls, talking about everything and nothing—work, music, books, art, politics, backgrounds, friends—and rather than wearing itself out as in his experience long-distance friendships often did, with each contact Connell’s attraction grew stronger. When a business conference brought Connell back to the States several months later, he’d added a few extra days to the trip to visit Spence again. They’d barely made it out of Spence’s apartment the entire weekend, and the second time they’d parted had been even harder than the first. If all went as Connell planned, he’d never have to face that heartache again.
    The saxophonist’s mood seemed to darken with the weather, more joyful carols giving way to melancholy renditions of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and “Blue Christmas.” A fine drizzle began to fall, dampening Connell’s dark curly hair even beneath the shelter of the doorway and making him shiver, but the musician didn’t seem to notice, his notes sliding sensuously from one bluesy tune to another. He nodded thanks without lifting his head when a couple holding hands tossed some folded bills into the instrument case, its hand-lettered sign indicating that