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By Kim Fielding

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Get Lit

By Kim Fielding

Uri Kessler is a bit of a klutz. Recently divorced from a guy he married too quickly and yearning to have a holiday that feels special, he decides to make Hanukkah candles. The results are literally a blazing disaster. But Uri’s mishap helps him get to know Oscar Cortez, his sexy new neighbor, and the two men instantly hit it off. While Uri finds himself drawn to Oscar, he’s also afraid to make a mess of their budding relationship. It’ll take a small miracle to make things work between them.

GLITTER.

It covered Uri Kessler’s hoodie front, jeans, and shoes and spread around his feet in an incriminating pool of sparkles. Appalled, he wanted to run away, but he knew he’d leave an indelible trail. So he stayed put until the scowling craft-store employee in the red vest appeared.

“Glitter bomb in aisle eight,” she said into her two-way radio. The response was too staticky to understand, but Uri thought it sounded annoyed.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I was reaching for a bag of scented pinecones, and the jar—I must have hit it with my sleeve.”

The clerk gave him a long-suffering look that said she’d heard this before. “Cleanup will be here in a sec.” She hurried away, leaving Uri stranded.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this red-and-green aisle to begin with. He didn’t celebrate Christmas and had no desire to make a wreath or Santa ornaments or reindeer-shaped candy baskets. But he’d taken a wrong turn as he wandered. The shelf sign below the pinecones said they came in cinnamon and balsam scents, and since he didn’t know what balsam smelled like, he thought he’d give a quick sniff. And then disaster struck.

The next employee appeared, wielding a handheld vacuum and a jaded expression. “Just stay still, please.” She turned the vacuum on and, holding the nozzle relatively close to Uri, gave him a few cursory passes. Then she waved him out of the way so she could clean the floor.

Uri was still clutching his shopping list, now speckled with glitter. “Excuse me?” he said loudly, over the sound of the vacuum. “Where are the candle-making supplies?”

“Aisle seventeen.”

He made his way past rows of paper and stickers, fake flowers and weird wicker shapes, miniature stucco churches and tiny trees. When he was in fourth grade, he’d bought craft supplies to make a tiny model of a nineteenth-century Illinois farm. However, there had been a glue-gun mishap with his diorama, and when he’d tearfully told his teacher about it the next day, she’d sighed and allowed him to write a report instead. He’d gotten a B-plus.

He found aisle seventeen and gathered the items on his list: a hunk of wax, a bag of wicks, a vial of blue dye, and a cheap metal pot. He regretted that he hadn’t grabbed a shopping basket on his way in but was relieved to make it across the store to the cash registers without dropping anything.

The cashier turned out to be the same clerk who’d done the vacuuming. “I’m sorry about the mess,” Uri said.

“No big deal.” She handed him the bag. “Merry Christmas.”

“You too.”

He wasn’t the type to get tied in knots when people wished him well for the wrong holiday. After all, almost everyone around here celebrated Christmas, so it was a safe assumption that he did too. And besides, the sentiment was friendly no matter what. Still, it would have been nice to receive an occasional Happy Hanukkah.

He hesitated when he got to his car, realizing he would spread glitter into the interior. He might have been more upset by this, but his little Hyundai wasn’t exactly a vision of loveliness. Too many door dings and paint scrapes, plus that nasty dent near the front passenger-side wheel well—a reminder of his misjudgment of the distance to the carport post. The passenger-seat upholstery was stained due to a faulty seal on a container of leftover spaghetti. Sauce had gone everywhere, even launching through the vents into the ventilation system. His wonky suspension caused the speed bump in his condo parking lot to pack quite a wallop. To be honest, glitter might be an improvement at this point.

Uri pulled into his parking space seconds before his new neighbor. “Heya,” said Oscar Cortez after they’d both climbed out of their cars. As always, the sight of him made Uri’s heart race. And he couldn’t help but note that Oscar’s Nissan was spotless and dent-free.

Oscar did a double take when he got a better look at Uri. “That’s, uh, a festive look.”

Sighing, Uri looked down at himself. “Don’t come too close. It’s contagious.”

“Yeah, I know. I have three sisters who spent a lot of time on art projects when we were growing up. I swear my parents still have glitter in their carpets.”

Oscar looked impeccable, as he had the other handful of times Uri had seen him. Charcoal slacks, wine-red button-up shirt, nice jacket. His dark hair was arranged perfectly. And his smile…. Uri had been dreaming about that smile since the first time they’d met.

A short walkway led from their parking spots to their front doors, and Uri and Oscar strolled it together. A classy-looking wreath hung on Oscar’s door, and a big pot held a small evergreen strung with lights. Uri’s side was unadorned.

“Have a good night,” Uri said as they both prepared to work their locks. He pretty much ruined his attempt at appearing suave when he dropped his keys and needed to start again.

“You too. And good luck with the sparkly infestation.”

Uri shot a quick look over his shoulder and discovered Oscar grinning at him. “Thanks.”

Inside his condo, Uri toed off his shoes and stood in the entryway as he plotted his strategy. He needed to get his clothing off without spreading the glitter too much, and he also needed to get the candle supplies into the kitchen. After checking the craft store bag and discovering it was mostly glitter-free, he tossed it onto a nearby chair. Then he carefully stripped out of everything but his underwear, turning each item inside out as he went. He bundled them under his arm and was about to take them directly to his washing machine when someone knocked on the door. Shit.

“Who’s there?”

“Oscar. Hey, you dropped your phone.”

Damn. It must have fallen out of his hoodie pocket when he bent to retrieve his keys. He unlocked the door and let it shield him as it swung open. “Um, thanks.” He held out his hand.

Oscar didn’t give it up right away. “It looks like it’s okay. You must have a good case.”

“Yeah.” Uri had learned long ago that it was well worth the money to pony up for the most rugged case he could find. This one was supposed to withstand floods, zombie attacks, and being tossed off high-rise balconies. “Thanks for bringing it over,” he said, even though Oscar hadn’t yet handed it off.

“Sure.” Oscar peered around the open door and laughed when he saw Uri. Not a mean laugh—just pleasant and friendly enough to make Uri’s heart go pitter-patter. “Do you need a hazmat team in here? I work for the city, you know. I could probably pull some strings and bring one in.” His eyes sparkled.

Although the entire situation was silly—especially Uri in his underwear, bits of glitter shimmering on his skin—he decided a small test was in order. “I think I’ve got it under control. Although I wouldn’t mind a bunch of hunky guys in uniform.”

To Uri’s relief and delight, Oscar laughed. “Me either, man. Why do you think I was so eager to offer?” He slapped the phone into Uri’s outstretched hand and winked. “Best of luck.” He waved and stepped away; a moment later Uri heard Oscar’s door close.

A quick inspection assured Uri that despite the drop, his phone was still intact. He carried his clothes to the hallway, where the washing machine occupied a small closet, and he stuffed the clothes into the drum. He was about to turn on the machine when he realized his phone was missing again. Swearing to himself, he pawed through the drum and found the phone tangled in his T-shirt. Once it was safe, he added detergent and pressed the Start button.

Okay, good. Time to get to work.

Normally he would have put on a fresh set of clothing, but the thermostat had been malfunctioning lately, and Uri hadn’t made time to get it fixed. As a result, while the outside temps were in the fifties—typical for this part of California in late December—his condo was near eighty. And that could actually be good, he reasoned. If he made a mess as he worked on the candles, he wouldn’t risk ruining anything but one pair of underwear. And it wasn’t one of the sexy pairs he’d bought on a whim a few months ago, when he was considering wading back into the dating pool. Nope, these were boring gray boxer briefs from Target. Which his handsome neighbor had just seen him wearing.

Dammit.

Uri had watched several tutorials on YouTube that made candle dipping look easy. He’d printed out the instructions, which he now read over one more time. To get himself in the mood, he instructed his Echo device to play Hanukkah music. Pink Martini began to sing “Ocho Kandelikas.” Perfect.

The first thing he had to do was saw the wax into smaller pieces. This took more time than he expected, in part because he was wary of cutting himself. His hands and fingers bore more than one scar. After he’d finally worked the block into small chunks, he dropped them into the pot he’d bought at the craft store and set out a big bowl of tap water, which the instructions said would help cool the wax between dippings. He opened the bag of wicks and searched out an old wooden spoon that he didn’t mind sacrificing to the project. He carefully unsealed the little bottle of dye and set it near the stove. For quality control he unearthed his menorah from a cabinet. It had been a gift from his parents the year after he graduated college and moved away from Chicago, and now he’d use it to make sure his candles were the proper width to fit into the little silver-tone holders.

“Ready to rumble,” Uri announced to the klezmer band that was singing about spinning dreidels. He had a moment of doubt. Maybe he should have tried a different holiday craft. But no, the clay dreidels he’d attempted to make the previous year had been a complete failure, either wobbling erratically or cracking into pieces. Candles were definitely the way to go.

He turned on the burner under the pot and waited for the wax to melt—not the world’s most exciting activity, so it was probably not surprising that Uri’s thoughts wandered. Straight to his neighbor who, apparently, liked men. Hunky guys in uniform, anyway. Presumably that meant he liked men out of uniform as well, and that raised the rather compelling question of what his thoughts might be with respect to Uri. And how Uri could find out.

It wasn’t as if Uri was a complete newbie when it came to romance. After all, he was thirty-two, not a kid. The problem was that he’d fallen into a relationship shortly after college. Tobias’s brother had worked with Uri in a community college IT office. The brother had introduced them, Tobias and Uri hit it off, and six months later they were saying their vows in front of the county clerk. Easy as pie. Until Tobias and Uri grew apart and got divorced.

Here he was a year later with no clear idea how to meet someone new—someone serious, not just a hookup. And okay, not meet exactly, because he and Oscar were already acquainted. The hard part was the flirting. The putting yourself out there as someone who was definitely interested, without risking getting shot down in flames. God, maybe Oscar—sexy, confident, and always put together—was way out of his league. He certainly wouldn’t cause a glitter incident in a craft store.

Oscar was really attractive without being cover-model handsome. He was a little on the short side, and the bit of softness around his waist suggested he liked food better than working out. But that was good because it made him seem so real. Plus he carried himself with confidence, and he smiled a lot—at least during the limited time they’d interacted—which lit up his face and—

Smoke?

Uri blinked out of his reverie to discover a column of smoke rising from the pan of wax. Although time seemed to stretch out, everything that happened next probably took only about a minute. Before he could move, the smoke detector began to wail. Panicked, Uri grabbed a quilted potholder and tried to grasp the pot handle, but by then the flames were rising high, and some of them licked the potholder. It started to burn too. Uri dropped it, knocking the pot off the stove in the process. Some of the wax landed on the burner, causing even bigger flames to erupt, while the rest splattered all over the floor, narrowly missing Uri.

“Shit! Shit!” Somewhere he had an extinguisher. He flailed for a moment before rooting desperately through cabinets. Ah! There it was, jammed in behind the wok he never used. He wrestled the damn thing free, nearly landing on his ass in the process. He had to read the attached instructions on how to use the extinguisher. The fire had spread by then, and now his upper cabinets burned merrily while the floor began to smolder.

He pulled the pin, aimed, squeezed, and… nothing. He squeezed harder. Shook the canister. Skimmed over the instructions again. And then caught sight of the tag announcing that the extinguisher expired May 2014.

Smoke filled the room, making his eyes burn and his throat hurt. He coughed and watched as the entire wall behind the stove belched fire with a mighty boom.

Uri finally gathered his scattered wits and fled.

Still wearing nothing but his cheap underwear, he pounded on Oscar’s door. “Help! Help!” When Oscar’s confused face appeared in the door opening, Uri shouted, “Call 911!”

“HEY. IS there somebody else you want me to call? Friends? Family?” Oscar’s voice was hushed, as if Uri were in the hospital instead of huddled on Oscar’s couch.

Call. Shit. Uri’s phone was surely a casualty of the fire, along with everything else he owned except his car and a single pair of underwear. Anything that hadn’t burned had been damaged by smoke or water, and his only solace was knowing that the fire hadn’t spread beyond his unit. Everyone in the complex had come out to see the excitement, and Uri had watched too, wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket and wearing a pair of Oscar’s flip-flops. Now the fire was out, the firemen had gone, and Uri felt cold and hollow.

“I was supposed to put the pot of wax inside another pot of boiling water, not directly on the stove. I forgot that part.”

Oscar, who must have had no idea what Uri was talking about, patted his shoulder. “Are you okay? The EMTs said you were good, right?”

“Yeah,” Uri sighed. They’d made sure he hadn’t inhaled too much smoke, and they’d treated the fingers of one hand for minor burns. He tried a smile, but it was wobbly. “At least I got you your hunky guys in uniform.”

“That wasn’t quite the scenario I had in mind.”

“Yeah, probably not.” Uri rubbed his temple with the fingers of his unburned hand and tried to think. He had insurance, so the disaster wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and he’d backed up all his important information to the cloud. So once he got a new phone, he could contact his insurance agent and get the process rolling. But in the meantime, his wallet and credit cards were gone. Nearly naked and penniless, how was he supposed to get a new phone? His brain, still numbed by the shock of the fire, chugged slowly through his options.

Oscar sat beside him, making the couch cushion dip slightly. “You have family around here?”

“No. It’s just me and my dad now, and he’s….” Uri tried to remember. “He lives in Chicago, but right now he’s on a cruise for senior singles.” Uri’s mom had passed away five years earlier, and his dad had done the cruise three years running now. He didn’t really want to get married but, he informed Uri, playing the field for seven warm days in the Caribbean was a whole lot of fun. Uri had some acquaintances here, mainly people he knew from work, but their contact information had been lost with his phone. And besides, none were close enough friends to impose on under these circumstances.

Pull yourself together, Kessler. “Um, maybe I can borrow your phone to call my credit card company?”

Oscar patted Uri’s blanket-covered knee. “Of course. Use my phone for whatever you need. While you’re doing that, I’ll find something for you to wear. And—did you get a chance to eat dinner yet?”

Uri shook his head. “No. I was making candles.”

Although Oscar’s brows rose in surprise, he didn’t comment. “Cool. I’m going to use the landline to order us some delivery. Chinese okay?”

As if to answer, Uri’s stomach rumbled. “That sounds great. Thanks.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Whatever you want is fine. Except no pork products, please.” He wasn’t especially observant, but his family had kept kosher when he was little, and some old habits died hard.

“No pork. Got it.” Oscar made sure his phone was unlocked before handing it over. Then after another light tap on Uri’s knee, he stood. “Be right back.”

Uri knew the name of his credit card bank and googled their customer service number. The sympathetic woman promised to FedEx a new card to him by the end of the next day, which was great. But it didn’t solve the problem of where to sleep tonight. Maybe in his office at the college. His keys had survived intact, at least, so he could get in. And maybe if he pushed some chairs together, they’d make a passable bed. Ugh. Even thinking about it made his back hurt. He probably should have taken up the firefighters’ offer for a motel voucher, but Uri’s head had been too muddled at the time.

Oscar brought him gray sweatpants and a purple Sacramento Kings T-shirt. “Sorry. I don’t think any of my regular pants would fit you very well.” He blushed slightly as he patted his belly.

“This is great. I really appreciate it.” Suddenly embarrassed by his almost-nudity, Uri headed to the bathroom. He washed up the best he could, although his skin and hair still smelled smoky when he was done. He pulled on the sweats, cinching the drawstring waist snugly. As he left the bathroom, he pulled on the T-shirt. “This tee looks brand-new.”

“One of my sisters got it free as part of some promotion at work. I watch games maybe twice a year, which made me a big fan in her eyes, so she gave it to me.”

The cotton felt soft and cozy against Uri’s skin. “I got recruited for my high school basketball team.”

“Makes sense. You’re tall.”

“Yeah. I hit my growth spurt early. I was six feet at fourteen. However, I also sucked at basketball. The coach tried but eventually had to give me up as hopeless.” Uri had tended to drop the ball and trip over his own feet.

“I didn’t even try any sports.” Oscar flashed a grin. “I was on the debate team.”

After their dinner arrived, Oscar arrayed the feast on his kitchen table: pot stickers, eggrolls, kung pao chicken, broccoli beef, stir-fried noodles with vegetables, and rice. He opened two bottles of Anchor Steam.

“This is a lot of food.” Uri looked at the impressive pile on his plate.

Another blush from Oscar. “I think I got carried away. It’s been a while since I had dinner with someone else.” He ducked his head and poked a carrot with his chopstick.

“This is really nice of you. Thank you.”

Oscar caught his gaze for a moment. “Just being a good neighbor.”

As they ate, Uri took a more thorough look around. Oscar’s floor plan was a mirror image of Uri’s. If Uri hadn’t known already, he’d never guess that Oscar had lived here less than a month. The walls held nicely framed photos of the ocean and an old-fashioned roller coaster, as well as a black-and-white photo of a tiny stucco house with Mission-style clay roof tiles. An area rug brightened the floor near the sink, and a collection of coffee mugs hung from hooks beneath the upper cabinet. A homey kitchen, comfortable and cheerful. The rest of the condo was like that too, with unfussy furniture and bright knickknacks.

“Are you from Modesto originally?” Uri asked.

“Nah. San Diego. But I got a job here. How about you? Chicago?”

“Yes, childhood and college. Then I lived in the Bay Area. I ended up here for a job too, after my divorce from Tobias.” Uri winced. That might have been more detail than Oscar wanted.

“How long ago was that?” Oscar looked concerned, not annoyed.

“A year ago.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Thanks, but it was for the best.” At least so he’d tried to convince himself. Uri took a big bite of kung pao chicken and ended up with a mouthful of hot chili. He barely cooled the burn with some rice and a swallow of beer.

“So you were, uh, making candles?” Oscar’s head was cocked to the side like a curious puppy’s, his eyes wide as if in anticipation of a good tale. He managed to pull off adorable and sexy at the same time, which really wasn’t fair.

“I didn’t get very far. Only melting the wax.”

“Is it a hobby?”

Uri barked a laugh. “No, this was my first and last attempt at that particular endeavor.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who made candles.”

“You still haven’t. I just set my house on fire.” Uri sighed and put down his fork. “Hanukkah starts in four nights. I couldn’t find any candles locally, so I was going to order them online. But then….” This part was going to sound stupid. “This will be my first year celebrating alone. I wanted to do something to make it sort of special, you know?” He wanted it to feel like a real holiday and not simply something that came in a box from Amazon.

“Sure, I get it.” Was there something wistful in his expression?

“My parents gave me a menorah when I moved away.” Shit. It was ruined now. He sighed as he decided there was no use dwelling on it. “I thought homemade candles would be kind of special. And in the YouTube videos, they didn’t look that hard to make. But I underestimated my klutziness.”

Oscar’s gaze had softened. “That’s really sweet. Not the conflagration part. But you made an effort to honor your parents and your family memories. I like that.”

Put that way, Uri’s attempt didn’t seem stupid at all, even if he’d failed at it. His insides warmed, and not just from the chilies. “So, um, you work for the city?”

“I could tell you what I do, but your eyes will glaze over before I’ve finished. I’m warning you.”

How could Uri not smile along with him? “Try me. I’m an IT guy. I spend most of my day cleaning viruses off faculty computers.”

That seemed to please Oscar, who relaxed his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, beer bottle in hand. “Traffic engineer.”

“So you….”

“Plan the construction projects that make you late to work. Or turn a blind eye to massive potholes and death-trap intersections. Oh, and I do sewage systems too.”

“Ah, so you’re a powerful man.”

Although Oscar laughed, another blush said he liked the compliment. Uri found Oscar’s blushes endearing, and he wondered whether Oscar’s chest also turned that fetching shade in the throes of passion.

Which was not relevant right now.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, although they kept catching each other’s gaze. Despite the circumstances, Uri couldn’t remember when he’d had a more pleasant meal. Usually he got drive-through burgers or nuked something from his freezer, and he ate alone. He should have invited Oscar over for dinner before this.

Oscar walked to the fridge. “Another beer?”

“Better not, thanks. I have to drive tonight.” Without a license. Well, he’d just hope he didn’t get pulled over.

“Right. Where will you go?”

Uri winced. “My office. I’ll camp out there.” He might even have enough change in his desk to buy coffee in the morning.

“That sounds miserable. Stay here instead.” Another blush detonated, the brightest of them all. “My couch is pretty comfy.”

Oh, that was mighty tempting. “I’ve put you out enough already.”

Oscar’s expression grew serious. “You haven’t put me out at all. I’m enjoying the company. I’m actually feeling pretty guilty about benefiting from your misfortune.”

He seemed sincere, and Uri didn’t have it in him to refuse. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” He grinned. “And I guess now I’ll take that second beer.”

HE HAD more than two beers. In fact, he had… six? He’d lost track, but a small forest of bottles sat on Oscar’s coffee table, and Uri was pretty sure that the majority were his. Ordinarily he didn’t drink in excess, but Oscar kept handing him Anchor Steams, and the day’s events seemed worthy of drunkenness. They chatted as they drank, and Oscar found them a wonderfully awful movie to watch. Although they sat close to each other on the couch, they didn’t touch. Uri relaxed so thoroughly that he pretty much became one with the cushions.

“It’s Wednesday,” Uri realized blurrily and belatedly. “You have to work tomorrow.”

“I’m calling in sick.” Oscar gave a credible fake cough.

“Why?”

“In case you need anything. Besides, with Christmas coming up, the office is dead. Everyone’s taking next week off, and nobody’s getting anything accomplished until after New Year’s. Are you on vacation?”

Uri had to think about this for a moment. “College is on break. Usually that’s a good time to do system upgrades, but those can wait a day.”

“Good. Then we can sleep in.”

We and sleep in the same sentence. Uri liked that more than he should have. God, between the alcohol and today’s adventures, his brain was a mess. He should probably sleep now, in fact. Except he was having a really good time simply hanging out with Oscar. He stifled a yawn.

One thought did make its way to clarity: Oscar had no holiday decorations except for the wreath and lighted shrub out front and some cards displayed over the gas fireplace. That struck Uri as odd. Oscar seemed like the decorating type.

“Are you heading down to San Diego for Christmas?”

Oscar shook his head. “Most of the family is in Mexico for the holidays. My abuela still lives there, plus lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. It’s always chaos.” His yearning smile suggested he missed the chaos.

“You’re not going?”

“Nah. Too soon after the move, you know? I need to settle in more first.”

Uri held up his latest bottle, even though it was empty. “Here’s to those of us stuck in Modesto while our people are far away.”

Oscar grabbed his own beer and clanked them together.

Then Uri kissed him.

It wasn’t a huge kiss. No tongue, no lingering press of lips. Just… mwah. That was it. Sort of sloppy because the angle wasn’t great and his aim sucked. But oh, it made his body tingle.

A split second later, Uri felt horrified. What if Oscar hadn’t wanted to be kissed? What if Uri had been reading those lingering glances all wrong, and Oscar was sympathetic but not into him? What if—

Oscar kissed him back.

This was a medium kiss—with lingering—and with the added bonus of Oscar’s fingers in Uri’s tangled curls. It tasted of beer and chilies and was not at all sloppy; it was sweet and warm and completely amazing. That body tingle? It turned into a full-blown buzz, sort of like the time Uri had stuck a fork in the toaster, only way nicer.

Oscar pulled back slightly. “You’re not in the best frame of mind for this.”

“I don’t care. Don’t be a gentleman, Oscar. You have my full consent to take advantage of me. Please?” He was absolutely not above begging.

But Oscar only laughed and rose to his feet. “Rain check. If I take advantage of you, I want both of us to be fully compos mentis. I want it to be memorable.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Ugh. But he had a good point. Uri silently ordered his libido to stand down. Poor libido. Uri had been mostly ignoring it for months, and now when it finally thought it had a chance to play, Oscar was being mature. And responsible. Double ugh.

“What if you don’t want me when we’re sober?”

“I’ve wanted you since the moment we met. I don’t expect future sobriety to change that.”

Oh. Well, then.

Oscar brought him a pillow and enough blankets to survive a blizzard. He helped Uri get everything set up, then handed him a toothbrush still in its package and a sample-sized toothpaste. “Goodies from my recent dentist visit.”

“You have very nice teeth,” Uri assured him.

That made Oscar laugh, which was nice. “You know where the towels are. I left a comb on the bathroom counter. Anything else you need to get through the night?”

“You,” Uri said wistfully. Now that he’d clarified his feelings for Oscar, might as well continue to be fully up-front.

“I’ll be one room away. And Uri? If something is going to work between us—if we’re going to build something together—there’s no hurry. We have our whole lifetime.”

URI WOKE up when he fell out of bed and then had to fight his way free from a tangle of blankets. He didn’t understand where he was until the memories rushed back. The fire. The kisses. An odd mixture of emotions hit him, and as he sat on the couch, trying to make sense of them, Oscar sauntered into the room. He wore an old T-shirt and flannel sleep pants, and his hair was an adorable mess. “Sleep okay?” he asked.

Uri was going to answer—without mentioning the falling-off-the-couch part—but then Oscar yawned and stretched, distracting him. It made Uri think of lazy snuggling and all the other things he’d been missing since the divorce. He ended up just nodding stupidly.

“Breakfast?”

Yes, Uri wanted that. And lunch and dinner and definitely some dessert. But he needed to get his life in order. “No, thanks. I’m going to head to the phone store.” Where maybe they would talk to the credit card company and sell him a replacement phone.

“I’ll come with. And then we can go out for brunch.”

Well, Uri couldn’t very well refuse that.

He showered first and then put on a new set of borrowed clothing as Oscar showered and dressed. They took Oscar’s car, since he was the only one who currently possessed a driver’s license.

The day marched on. They got the new phone. They stopped by the DMV, where they had to wait an hour for Uri’s turn; he finally left with a temporary license. Back at the condo, Uri spoke to his insurance agent and a bunch of other people. He had a long conversation with the condo manager, who scolded him for starting the fire but gave him referrals for contractors. And then, of course, he spoke with the contractors. They didn’t want to work over the holidays, despite his wheedling. It would be mid-January before his home was livable again, and even then he’d face the daunting task of acquiring new furnishings, new kitchenware, new everything. Just thinking about it made him want to hide in a cave.

Except…. Oscar remained at his side all day, smiling and joking and making faces when people on the other end of phone conversations were being difficult. After the calls were complete, Oscar and Uri went to a great place for brunch. Oscar talked him into ordering a weird omelet with peanut butter and apples in it—which actually tasted amazing. And dammit, it was impossible to feel miserable in Oscar’s cheerful, sexy presence. It was like those cartoons where some poor schlump walked around with a storm cloud over his head, only instead of a storm cloud, Uri had his own personal beaming sun.

He was starting to regret missing out on an entire month of knowing Oscar. Why hadn’t Uri been more neighborly as soon as Oscar moved in?

After brunch they checked the mail at their condos, where Uri’s replacement credit card awaited him. He broke it in fifteen minutes later at Target, where Oscar happily helped him fill a cart with toiletries, socks, boring underwear, a pair of inexpensive sneakers, a lightweight jacket, two pairs of jeans, a few T-shirts, and a suitcase to house everything. After that, Uri used his new phone to order a replacement laptop online and got a good discount through the college.

Now they sat across from each other at a nice little restaurant downtown, a huge appetizer platter between them. Uri had trouble taking his gaze off Oscar’s lips. He’d had a taste of that mouth and wanted a lot more.

“You doing okay?” Oscar looked concerned.

Uri realized he’d sighed longingly. He decided to pretend it had more to do with his homelessness than Oscar’s kisses. “Just thinking what a disaster I’ve made of my life.”

“Not really. I mean, you’d made all sorts of arrangements to protect yourself in case of emergency, right? Insurance, data backups. And you’ve handled all the gory details today like a pro. The fire was a hiccup but not a….” He stopped himself with a snort. “I was going to say not a complete meltdown. Sorry.”

Maybe it was the giddy mix of emotions and hormones or maybe Oscar’s not-quite-successful attempt to look contrite. Whatever the cause, Uri collapsed into laughter so uncontrollable that he had to put his head down on the table—and right into a dish of Cajun spice dipping sauce. That only made him laugh more, and he couldn’t get it under control even when the waitress swooped in with a wad of napkins and gave him a you’re-an-idiot look. It didn’t help that Oscar was laughing as hard as Uri, both of them rendered so helpless that neither could tackle the mess on Uri or the table.

Uri was still chuckling as he wiped the last of the sauce off his ear. “Thank you.” He hoped his sincerity showed.

“For what?”

How to put it into words? “Um, turning my frown upside down? You’re a miracle.”

Oscar’s blush was so rosy that Uri could almost feel the heat of his skin. “Like the oil lasting for eight days?”

“Better. Because obviously I’m best off if I stay away from things related to fire.”

“And you don’t want to stay away from me?” Oscar’s expression was unusually serious.

“God, no.”

Oscar’s answering smile could have illuminated a score of biblical temples. “Then stay with me.” When Uri blinked at him uncomprehendingly, Oscar caught his hand. “I know you were thinking about sleeping in a hotel until your condo’s habitable, but don’t. Stay at my place instead.”

“Oscar—”

“If you say a single word about not wanting to impose on me, I’m going to throw my glass of water in your face.”

Uri grinned. “Maybe that’d wash away the rest of the Cajun sauce. But seriously, you hardly know me.”

“What I do know, I like. A lot. God, a man who can keep his head together and his sense of humor intact after losing everything in a fire? A guy who’s fun to spend time with even if all we’re doing is talking to cell phone salespeople? Also a miracle.”

It was Uri’s turn to blush. “I’m just trying to be practical,” he mumbled.

“And so am I! If you stay with me, you can keep an eye on the repairs at your place. Plus you won’t have to deal with all the hassles of hotels. Unlike a room at the Holiday Inn Express, I have a fully equipped kitchen and free laundry facilities. You’ll have more room to spread out and nobody slamming doors or having drunken conversations in the middle of the night.”

Good points, every one of them. And Uri always had trouble sleeping in hotels. Something was always wrong: curtains that let in the sunlight, plumbing that dripped, a mattress that was too hard or too soft, air conditioning that sounded like a jet engine, a smoke detector that blinked at him all night, sheets washed in detergent that made his nose itch. Still, he shook his head. “I can’t.”

Although Oscar frowned, he didn’t give up, and he continued to grip Uri’s hand. “I know, I know, committing to sharing a bed with me—way too soon. I’m the guy who lectured you last night about taking our time. But I have a second bedroom, you know. It’s kinda full of books and boxes at the moment, but I can move stuff around to fit in a bed and stuff. I’ll make it work. I’m an engineer.”

Uri wanted to say yes. Instead he squeezed Oscar’s hand before letting go. “Last night you wouldn’t take advantage of me even when I pleaded. Which was a disappointment then, but you made the right choice. If we’re going to… try for something bigger? I want it to be done right.”

He paused as the waitress took away the remains of their appetizers and set down their main courses: a complicated pasta dish for Oscar and steak for Uri. Everything looked and smelled delicious, but both of them waited to dig in.

“Here’s the thing,” Uri said. “I’m a klutz. You’ve, uh, probably figured that out already.”

“I had an inkling.”

“I don’t want to risk destroying our relationship before we even have one. So let’s give us some time and space first, okay? Then, you know, by the next time I do something dumb you’ll already care about me too much to give up on me.”

Oscar gnawed on his lip before answering. “I don’t think it’s going to take long to slide me into the forgiveness zone. I’ve been having a really nice day with you.”

“Keep in mind what you might have to forgive. I burned down my house.”

“That’s an exaggeration. You merely scorched it pretty good.” Oscar sighed and picked up his fork. “But anything good is worth waiting for. So I’ll wait.”

Both relieved and disappointed, Uri cut into his steak.

URI DID not sleep well in his hotel room. It was too warm no matter how much he adjusted the thermostat. And something somewhere was making a weird buzzing noise, like a tiny out-of-whack motor. The woman at the front desk gave him a pair of earplugs when he asked, which was fine until he started to insert one of them, fumbled, and dropped it onto the bathroom floor, where it rolled under the vanity. Although he tried to poke it out with a pen, he couldn’t retrieve it and was too embarrassed to ask for another pair.

He tossed and turned, sometimes dropping into fitful sleep only to be awakened by dreams of huge flames or sloshing buckets of Cajun dipping sauce.

Sitting bleary-eyed among his rumpled sheets, he decided in the morning that work was a lost cause. It was Friday anyway; might as well take a long weekend. So he showered, sent Oscar a good-morning text, received a nice reply, and headed for the nearest Starbucks. Once he was fully caffeinated, he girded his loins and headed to the mall for a few more wardrobe basics. He rarely enjoyed shopping, even in the best of times, and he avoided malls whenever possible. They gave him headaches. And with throngs of Christmas shoppers, he knew to expect the worst.

It wasn’t as awful as he’d feared, in part because the shops had just opened. Later in the day, the parking lot would resemble one of those reality shows where only the strongest survived, and the stores’ racks and shelves would be postapocalyptic wastelands. This early, though, the atmosphere wasn’t too unbearable, even if every speaker in the building blasted a different carol and every toddler in Stanislaus County was having a meltdown in the aisles.

Moving as efficiently as possible, Uri chose and purchased a couple of polo shirts and a few oxford button-downs, along with some chinos and another pair of jeans. Although his cheap sneakers were fine for casual wear, he bought a nicer pair of shoes for work.

Arms laden with shopping bags, Uri found himself detouring to the men’s underwear section. He didn’t need to go there—he’d bought three packages of gray boxer briefs at Target. Yet there was his hand, reaching as if of its own accord for a pair of crimson micro thongs. He took them to the cash register, where an exhausted-looking clerk rang them up. “Do you want to sign up for our credit card? You’ll get a ten-percent discount.”

Uri wondered how many times a day she had to repeat that. “No, thanks.”

“Okay.” She handed him the bag and receipt. “Merry Christmas.”

“You too.”

Now that his mall errands were complete, maybe he could catch a nap in his hotel room. In which case, perhaps he should stop at a drugstore and buy a multipack of earplugs and, if he could find one in December, a table fan to help move some of the too-warm air in the room. He mulled over whether it might be feasible to fill a hot-water bottle with ice water.

As he made his way through the department store aisles on his way to the parking lot, he came across the Christmas decorations, all steeply discounted at this late date. There were no jars of glitter to displace, but he took care to avoid the glass ornaments and delicate-looking crèches. He stayed away from the candles as well—too many bad associations. But then his gaze fell on a plastic sled, about the size of a loaf of bread. It was being pulled by four plastic unicorns, and Santa sat there, smiling, his usual red cap replaced by one with rainbow stripes.

Uri was surprised to find such an item in Modesto, of all places, and spent a moment happily imagining a manager giggling away as he checked another item off his gay agenda.

Really, how could Uri resist? Especially at 75 percent off.

He carried the sled to the nearest cashier—dropping his clothing bags twice in the process, but no harm done. “Can I get it gift wrapped?”

The cashier, a grandmotherly type with glasses on a chain, nodded. “Of course, dear. Upstairs, right next to guest services. I think today one of the local animal-rescue groups is taking donations for their wrapping.”

Perfect.

Upstairs, Uri chose sparkly red-and-green paper depicting kittens and puppies playing under Christmas trees and a coordinating bow almost as big as his head. Getting everything to the car proved a challenge, but he managed it with no damage and considered that a triumph.

Sitting behind the steering wheel, with the engine running and an air vent blowing marinara-scented fumes in his face, Uri gathered his courage and took out his phone.

Will you have dinner with me Sunday?

He didn’t even have a chance to feel anxiety before a reply arrived.

LOL—I was going to ask you that. How about at my place? Home-cooked meal for Hanukkah?

Warmth spread through Uri’s chest, and it had nothing to do with his car heater.

I’d like that.

URI SWUNG by the condo on Saturday to pick up his newly delivered laptop and noticed that Oscar’s car wasn’t there. He hoped Oscar hadn’t been forced to work on the weekend after taking a day off helping Uri get his life in order. Uri didn’t bother checking inside the charred remains of his own place; he just retrieved the delivery from the parcel locker next to the condo office.

Setting up his new machine back at the hotel didn’t take much time, which left Uri with nothing much to do. If he’d been home, he might have spent the day tidying up, but that wasn’t much of a necessity here. He used the hotel’s fitness center instead and, after a shower, caught the new Star Wars movie downtown. Tobias had refused to watch anything involving sci-fi or superheroes, and on the few occasions when Uri had forced him to sit on the couch in front of any movie where technology played a major role, Tobias had ruined it by critiquing the accuracy of the science and equipment. In contrast, Uri remembered that during their shared brunch, Oscar had spent a good ten minutes talking about how his very first crush had been on Hugh Jackman in X-Men. That made Uri smile.

He didn’t sleep well that night, but not because of the room temperature or weird noises. No, his problem was visions of Oscar dancing through his head. Good visions and most of them not even X-rated. Oscar laughing. That sweet, adorable blush. His fond expression when he spoke of his family, and his fierce one when the discussion turned to politics. His easy acceptance of Uri’s many idiosyncrasies. His willingness to jump right in and help a stranger. The way his ass filled out a pair of trousers….

“Knock it off.” Uri’s voice sounded weird because of the earplugs, so he removed them and repeated it more sternly. “Knock it off. It’s much too soon to be so stuck on this guy. Even if he is almost perfect.” He’d jumped into a serious relationship with Tobias way too fast, and look where that had gotten him. Four years of steadily increasing unhappiness followed by a divorce, a job change, and a move to Modesto, for God’s sake. He should have learned his lesson.

Except looking back on it, he couldn’t remember ever being this fascinated with Tobias. Sure, Uri had thought he was handsome and funny. And they’d had a good time together on weekends, when they’d go hiking or take long drives along the coast. They’d shared a religion and got along well with each other’s families. Moving in together had made good economic sense, and marriage seemed like a logical next step. But Uri doubted Tobias had ever brought him real joy, and he guessed Tobias felt the same.

But Oscar? Just thinking about him made Uri smile. Made him regret saying no to Oscar’s offer to stay at his place. Made him want to count the minutes until he saw him again.

“Augh!” In a fit of pique, Uri threw the earplugs across the dark room. One of them made a thwink sound when it hit the whirling table fan, but at least it wasn’t heavy enough to knock anything over. And he had an entire box of replacement earplugs on the nightstand.

As he sat on the edge of the mattress, too annoyed with himself to do anything else, a memory of his mother popped into his head. She’d been a dreamer, a good balance to Uri’s realist father. She made elaborate scrapbooks with photos of places she wanted to visit, home decorating schemes she longed to copy, and gardens she wished she could plant. She’d go to the library and check out fifteen or more books, far more than she would read before they were due. At the grocery store, she’d buy strange foods none of the family members had ever seen before, and she’d invent recipes to use them. Most of the results were inedible, but a few turned out spectacularly.

On one memorable occasion, Uri’s mother invited her sister, Uri’s aunt Judith, for one of these experimental meals—a casserole starring pickled watermelon rind. It had not been a success. Everyone took a few polite bites before Uri’s dad ordered pizza. As they waited for it to arrive, Aunt Judy turned to her sister with a frown. “Why do you waste time on things that’ll never work out?”

Undaunted, Uri’s mother simply smiled. “Because once in a while, they might. I’d rather waste my life on wonderful possibilities than on boring certainties.” And she’d winked at Uri.

Years later, when she’d grown very ill, Uri and his mother had reminisced often about some of her more dramatic mealtime fails. Uri treasured those moments of shared laughter. She’d also enjoyed leafing through her old scrapbooks, and never once did she seem to regret the effort she’d put into them. Even now that she was gone, Uri’s dad kept her scrapbooks in a place of honor on his bookshelves. Uri always spent hours looking through them during his visits.

Alone in his hotel room, Uri sighed. Oscar was definitely a wonderful possibility. But if Uri allowed things between them to move too fast, would that turn into a disaster equivalent to the watermelon-rind casserole? No way to tell. But Uri knew exactly what his mother would advise.

OSCAR HAD asked Uri to arrive by four thirty, which Uri thought was early for dinner, but he didn’t mind. He’d spent most of the day nervously pacing and bouncing around his hotel room, which really wasn’t big enough for such activities. At one point he’d tripped over a shoe and landed on his face, nearly braining himself on the corner of the desk. As it was, his ankle was a little swollen. He must have twisted it.

But at 4:27 exactly, Uri—carrying a bottle of good wine and the wrapped unicorn sleigh—knocked on Oscar’s door. Uri was worried about the sleigh, actually. It was a stupid, impulsive gift; what if Oscar found it foolish and tacky? But as Uri was trying to decide whether to stash it in his car, the door opened.

It was clear that Oscar had made an effort to dress up. He wore a fuzzy cobalt-blue sweater that Uri immediately wanted to stroke, and he’d tamed his dark hair into an impressive swoop. God, he was handsome.

“Are you going to come in?” Oscar’s grin suggested that Uri might have been gaping for a while.

Uri thrust the box and bottle inelegantly into Oscar’s hands and entered the condo. Weird. He’d spent only one evening, one night, and part of one day here, yet the place already felt oddly familiar. And not just because it was a mirror image of his own burned home. The charming photos on the walls, the bright trinkets on shelves, the comfortable furniture—it was as if Uri had been seeing them for years.

Oscar set the wine on the coffee table but kept hold of the box. “You didn’t have to bring me a present.” Then he bounced on his toes. “But I’m glad you did. I love presents!”

“It’s nothing. Just something silly.”

“Best kind of present! Do I have to wait for Christmas to open it?” He batted his eyelashes pleadingly.

“Nope. Consider it a Hanukkah gift. Or late housewarming.”

Oscar tore into the paper with all the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old expecting a new gaming system. When he saw the image on the box, he whooped with delight. “Is this really what’s in there?”

“Yeah.”

“That is the most amazing thing ever.” Oscar opened the box, removed the pieces, and spent several minutes arranging unicorns, sleigh, and Santa in front of the gas fireplace. He took a bunch of pictures while exclaiming how his mother and his sisters were going to love it.

Then Oscar launched himself across the room and enveloped Uri in a bear hug. “Thank you. It’s perfect.” He gave Uri’s cheek a loud, smoochy kiss before letting go. “But it’s sundown, dude.”

Before Uri could make sense of that—he was too busy swooning over the body contact—Oscar grabbed his hand and towed him into the kitchen. Something delicious-smelling bubbled away in a huge pot. A brisket, Uri suspected. On the stove sat a big frying pan and on the counter beside it, a bottle of vegetable oil and a paper towel-covered plate. Another part of the counter was piled with potatoes and a couple of onions.

“Guess what you’re going to help me make!” Oscar announced.

Uri licked his lips at the idea. Latkes. Tobias had refused to eat them because they were “unhealthy,” so Uri hadn’t had them in several years. But he raised his eyebrows. “Do you really think assigning me a pan full of hot oil is a great idea?”

“You help grate. I fry.”

Fair enough. Uri headed toward the sink to wash his hands, but Oscar stopped him. “Not yet.” He bent to pull something from one of the lower cabinets.

Uri couldn’t see what Oscar had retrieved until it was sitting on the counter, and even then its identity was somewhat mysterious. Plastic, blue, with a smiling face in the center and nine plastic pieces sticking up on top. “A… menorah?”

Oscar beamed. “Uh-huh.”

“You own a menorah?”

“No, you own a menorah. It’s a gift. And look!” He pressed a button in the back. The middle light—the shamash—glowed, and the thing began a tinny version of the dreidel song. “Minimal fire risk! But I guess you’re supposed to say a prayer first, right?”

Stunned, Uri simply nodded. His astonishment ramped up another couple of notches when Oscar pulled a book out of a drawer and the volume proved to be a Jewish prayer book. Oscar had marked the Hanukkah section with a holiday-themed bookmark.

“Where did you find all this?” Uri asked, knowing it couldn’t have been in Modesto.

“Berkeley.”

Uri stared as if he’d never heard of the place. “Berkeley?”

“Yeah. I was going to go yesterday, but good thing I checked the hours first because duh! Of course they’re closed Saturdays. I went this morning instead.”

“You drove to Berkeley to get Hanukkah stuff for me.” That was ninety miles each way, and Bay Area traffic could be challenging even on a Sunday.

“I did. I thought it might be important for you to celebrate your holiday properly.”

Hoo boy. Uri let out a shaky breath. “I got your sleigh at the mall in Modesto. And I was there anyway.”

Oscar grasped Uri’s hand in both of his. “It’s not a competition. You got me something totally awesome. My very first indoor Christmas decoration, in fact. And you thought about me even when you’ve got so many of your own issues swirling around. And you’re here now, which makes me incredibly happy.” He kissed Uri’s knuckles. “That’s what makes a good friendship—or closer relationship. You enjoy the other person’s company. You back them up when they need it. You think of ways to make them happy.”

“You’re making me happy.” Which was a little ironic, because Uri’s eyes stung with tears.

“Ditto. So light the candles. I’m starved.”

Using his rusty Hebrew-reading skills from his days as a Bar Mitzvah boy, Uri read the prayers. When he got to the tongue-twister parts, the echoes of his father’s voice helped him get the words right. Then he pressed the button on the menorah twice, illuminating the shamash and one more candle. He hummed along with the dreidel song.

It was a lot of fun to make latkes together. Uri scraped his knuckles on the grater and cried over the onion, and he didn’t care about either because he was laughing so hard at Oscar’s stories about his sisters.

Afterward they both ended up eating so much they could only slump on the couch and groan.

“I have dessert too,” Oscar said after a while.

Uri looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Jelly donuts. That’s the thing for Hanukkah, right?”

“Yeah, sufganiyot. Although honestly, anything fried in oil is fair game. This holiday is not kind to the arteries.”

Oscar clapped a hand over his own chest. “But it is good for the heart. Thanks for letting me spend my first Hanukkah with you.”

“Thanks for keeping me from spending it alone.” Uri reached over to hold Oscar’s hand. Sex was nice, but so was this kind of touch, uncomplicated and sincere.

Oscar had turned on his gas fireplace, and now the flames danced merrily behind Santa and his unicorns. The entire condo still smelled of brisket and fried potatoes. Mexican pop music played softly on the sound system, and Oscar’s grip was warm and solid.

“Christmas is in three days,” Uri said. “Do you have plans?”

God, when Oscar looked like that—sweetly hopeful—Uri would give anything to make his dreams come true.

“I’d like to spend it with you, please,” Oscar said. “We’ll see if we can make tamales—I’ve never tried without my mom. My family usually cuts decorative shapes into paper bags to make luminarias. You and I can try that.”

“Uh-oh. Candles.” But Uri was smiling.

“We’ll use battery ones.”

Uri listed to the side. But this time it wasn’t klutziness—it was a deliberate action to increase his contact with Oscar. And since Oscar seemed amenable, Uri scooted around until he lay on his back with his head in Oscar’s lap. The couch wasn’t quite long enough, but Uri propped his feet on the armrest and felt as comfortable as a human could possibly be. Until Oscar started petting his hair—then Uri reached the kind of sensate nirvana usually experienced only by cats. He closed his eyes and wished he could purr.

Oscar stroked him for a long time before speaking softly. “Last night I dreamed I was stuck in traffic over at Briggsmore and Sisk. You know the intersection, right?”

Uri chuckled. “I’ve been stuck there many times.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the data, and it’s one of the busiest in the county. All those strip malls, the cars getting on and off the freeway…. Ugh. Anyway, in my dream, cars weren’t moving at all. Everyone was just sitting there honking their horns. Until somehow they figured out what I do for a living, and then they all started screaming at me. They were, like, one step away from attacking!”

Uri reached up to caress Oscar’s stubbled jaw. “That sounds awful.” He’d never given thought to the potential nightmares of traffic engineers. His own bad dreams tended toward scenarios where computer viruses infected humanity or everyone on campus forgot their passwords at once.

“It was awful. But all of a sudden a helicopter zoomed down low, and you were flying it. You called for me to grab on to the ladder and climb up. Which I did, and you whisked me away to safety.” Oscar bent to kiss Uri’s forehead.

“I don’t know how to fly a helicopter. If I tried, I’d probably crash it.”

“Nope. You’re my hero.”

“You’re the one who helped me out of a jam, remember? I haven’t done anything heroic.”

“Of course you have. For the first time since I moved here, I feel like I’m home. Because of you.” Oscar spread his palm across the center of Uri’s chest, a welcome weight. “And I get to spend two holidays in wonderful company instead of enduring one alone.”

As Uri looked into Oscar’s eyes, he could almost see himself the way Oscar described him. Heroic. Strong. Attractive. Desirable. That was an incredible gift to receive—viewing oneself through the eyes of someone who saw the best in you.

Funny thing. Hanukkah was known as the Festival of Lights—and Uri had accidentally celebrated it much too literally. But candles and stove flames weren’t the only kind of lights. A different kind could be kindled in the heart and soul if you allowed yourself to fall in love with the right person. That kind wasn’t a disaster at all.

“I hate my hotel room,” Uri said with a melodramatic sigh.

“My offer still stands. Stay here.”

“In your spare room or in your bed?”

“Either.” Oscar anointed Uri’s forehead with another kiss. “Personally, I’d prefer you in my bed.”

Uri preferred that as well. “I keep telling myself not to move too fast. To be careful not to make a dumb mistake and mess things up. But you know what? Hanukkah celebrates a miracle. I’m willing to see if you and I can get a miracle too. See if we can make this work.”

“Do I get you for eight nights only?” Oscar’s expression was gently teasing, but his eyes sparkled with joy.

“Eight nights is a good start. We can take it from there.” Then Uri added an important part. “I feel good about this. I feel like we’ll be able to keep our flame alive.”

“Me too.”

Uri was going to sit up, but Oscar bent down for another kiss. This one on the lips, not the forehead, and this one scorchingly hot and full of promise.

When Oscar straightened up, he laughed. “Uri, did you know that your shirt is buttoned wrong?”

Uri glanced down. Sure enough, he’d done it up crookedly. Jeez, at his age you’d think he’d be capable of dressing himself. He reached to fix it, but Oscar playfully batted Uri’s hand away. “This doesn’t have to be a problem,” Oscar said with a grin as he began to unfasten the buttons.

No matter what, Uri was bound to break things and knock things over. He’d bump into walls and furniture, crack his head on car roofs, and trip over his own damned feet. He would remain untrustworthy near open flames and, likely, power tools. None of that mattered. Oscar wouldn’t care for him any less because of Uri’s klutziness. And Uri had a premonition that every day from now on, he’d find himself caring for Oscar a little bit more.

Uri tugged until Oscar lay fully atop him, the most delightful weight ever. Then he began tugging at Oscar’s clothes. Uri silently uttered one last prayer that couldn’t be found in any book. Please let the flames of passion become embers of love. And please let them glow forever. A prayer, a dream, a wild hope—one that Uri believed would come true.

KIM FIELDING is pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books span a variety of genres, but all include authentic voices and unconventional heroes. She’s a Rainbow Award and SARA Emma Merritt winner, a LAMBDA finalist, and a two-time Foreword INDIE finalist. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. A university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full-time, she also dreams of having two teenagers who occasionally get off their phones, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a cat who doesn’t wake her up at 4:00 a.m. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.

Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog

Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites

Email: kim@kfieldingwrites.com

Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

By Kim Fielding

Alaska

Anyplace Else

Astounding!

Blyd and Pearce

The Border

Brute

Dear Ruth

Exit Through the Gift Shop

Get Lit

Grateful

A Great Miracle Happened There

Grown-up

Housekeeping

Motel. Pool.

Night Shift

Once Upon a Time in the Weird West

Pilgrimage

The Pillar

Rattlesnake

With Venona Keyes: Running Blind

Saint Martin’s Day

Speechless • The Gig

The Tin Box

Venetian Masks

Violet’s Present

BONES

Good Bones

Buried Bones

Bone Dry

The Gig

DREAMSPUN BEYOND

#8 – Ante Up

DREAMSPUN DESIRES

#56 – A Full Plate

STARS FROM PERIL

#67 – The Spy’s Love Song

#82 – Redesigning Landry Bishop

#91 – Drawing the Prince

GOTHIKA

Stitch

Bones

Claw

Spirit

Contact

LOVE CAN’T

Love Can’t Conquer

Love Is Heartless

Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Published by

DREAMSPINNER PRESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Get Lit

© 2019 Kim Fielding

Cover Art

© 2019 Brooke Albrecht

http://brookealbrechtstudio.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.

Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-784-1

Digital eBook published December 2019

v. 1.0

Printed in the United States of America