Christmas Tales - Brandon Witt Page 0,14

sweetness.

Just for a second.

I continued to glare at him. “Most of the time, the people bringing the casseroles aren’t the ones who committed the murder.”

He snorted out a laugh, and then his eyes went wide once more. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” Humor left his expression, and he muttered something to himself so quiet and quick that I didn’t catch it, and then he met my gaze. “I really am, Samuel. I’m so sorry.”

Those blue fucking eyes.

I could feel my defenses begin to crack.

Faloola deserved better than me.

He held up the dish between us. “May I come in, or would you like to just take this from me and send me on my way?”

There was hope in his words. I swore I could hear it. Like he actually wanted to come in. Probably just thinking with a gay guy so close by, getting laid was going to be cake.

Well, he was probably right. Damn it.

Letting out a sigh, I stepped backward. “Sure, come in.”

Raymond passed by me, glanced around, and then headed to the kitchen like he’d been to my house a billion times.

Sighing again, I closed the door. What the hell was I doing?

I followed a beeping sound to the kitchen.

Raymond was leaning over the oven, punching buttons. He spared me a glance. “It’s only partially baked. It’s a Mexican enchilada recipe my mom used to make. I just used venison instead of beef.”

I stared at him. Surely I was seeing things wrong. Who just walks in and helps themselves to your kitchen?

“What is it?” Raymond looked puzzled, then stood straight. “Oh shit. I didn’t even think. But I should’ve, with the turkey and all. God damn it, you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you? Probably a vegan.”

“No. I’m not a vegetarian. I just—”

“Oh, thank goodness. It’s one thing to love a turkey. It’s another not to eat meat. The universe made the rules, and we, dear Samuel, are omnivores. Our teeth prove it.”

Before I could even begin to process that statement, he turned back, opened the oven door, and slid in the casserole.

“Now, how do you work this timer?”

“Actually, I might put it in the fridge and save it for later.”

More beeping. “Got it.” Raymond looked over at me. “Why? Do you already have tonight’s dinner going?”

“No. I was probably just going to heat some soup I have in the deep freeze.”

He hesitated only for a moment. “Well, not anymore. You’re having Mexican venison casserole.”

I couldn’t hold back a grin, though I tried. “I’m pretty certain that isn’t something that exists out in nature.”

He pointed to the oven. “Your dinner tonight says otherwise.” He glanced around the kitchen. “You’ve done a nice job updating the place. It’s a lot more modern than I expected. You do it yourself?”

I nodded but was distracted by the surrealness of the moment. I had no recollection of the last time someone was in the kitchen with me. Genuinely, no memory at all outside of my folks, which had been eons ago. Hell, there hadn’t been a man in my house since I’d moved back nearly fifteen years ago.

“Well, sir, you did an amazing job. I might have to ask for your input when I start my own renovations, not that I plan on doing the same things you did here, but still.” He cocked his head at me. “You okay? You look a bit scared.”

I shook my head, trying to erase whatever expression I had. Damn him and his bluntness. You’re crying. You look scared. I killed your turkey. It was irritating. I tried to change the subject and landed on the first topic that popped in my mind. “I haven’t had venison in ages. And never in a Mexican dish.”

Thankfully, Raymond didn’t press the issue. “Yep. It’s good, I promise you that. And fresh. Got the doe about a week ago. And I grew the cilantro myself.”

I nodded absentmindedly, then halted. “A week ago? Deer season ended in October.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I need to eat. She was there.” He flinched. “Sorry, that probably sounded like Fal… your turkey. I promise this deer was in the woods. She did not come knock on my door.”

A mix of anger and astonishment rose in me, both nearly canceling out the other. “That’s called poaching.”

Another shrug. “I didn’t kill her for ivory or anything, or for the fun of it. I take life very seriously, and I promise you not one bit of her went to waste or was disrespected.”

I waited for the