Interlude (The Snow & Winter Collection #1) - C.S. Poe Page 0,1
more stubborn than a mule, is what you are.” Pop moved to stand in front of me as I planted my feet on the hardwood floor.
“It’s a man-cold. I’m being properly dramatic about it.”
“Sebastian Andrew Snow.”
I winced. “Christ, Dad. Leave Andrew out of this.”
Pop pressed his hand to my forehead and frowned. “It’s not a man-cold.”
“You can diagnose with just the hand-to-forehead maneuver, huh?”
“Sure,” Pop answered, a smile reluctantly tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a skill upgrade that comes with being a parent. Now, get in the shower. The hot water will help.”
“Fine.” I slowly got to my feet, collected clean pajamas from the dresser, and padded into the bathroom. I stripped and stood under scalding-hot water until my toes and asscheeks burned, but with the trade-off being I could breathe, if only momentarily, through both nostrils. After soaping and rinsing, I quickly toweled off as the cold, wintry bite in the air worked its way through the steam and heat of the bathroom. I dressed, but before I stepped out, I caught my reflection in the mirror and grimaced. I looked pale, almost waxy, despite the shower. And I had some serious whisker growth beyond my normal scruff. This was somewhere on the scale between lumberjack and homeless, and no points for guessing which end of the gauge I was flirting with. I started cleaning up with my electric razor, then said fuck it, because who was I looking to impress on New Year’s Eve when I was sick and home alone and my not-boyfriend had been radio silent for days?
I walked out of the bathroom and glanced through the open door to our—my bedroom.
I wondered how long it’d be before my brain stopped slipping up. Four years was a long time to spend with someone. A lot of memories—good and bad. A lot of experiences—good and bad. A lot of… good and bad, I supposed. Even if I’d fallen out of love with Neil and had only realized it by the time Calvin Winter had been thrust into my shop and my life, seeing my apartment as mine and not ours was going to take a bit of adjusting to.
Pop had opened the window a few inches, letting brisk air into the room. The cardinals that nested in the tree outside were singing. The bed had been made.
I turned as my dad came out of the kitchen.
He put a teapot and bowl on the table, then sat down. “Come get something to eat, kiddo.”
I took a seat, and Pop poured us each a cup of tea. I normally never drank tea, but it’d definitely be easier on my gut than coffee at the moment. I stirred the chicken noodle soup in the bowl—Campbell’s, can’t go wrong with the classics—then asked, “Do you think I made a mistake?”
Pop took a sip of tea, set his mug down, then tapped his own cheek. “You missed a patch here.”
“I did?” I touched my face before saying, “No—I mean—with Neil.”
“No.” Finality and no room for argument.
I looked down at the soup again, hacking the noodles in half with the side of my spoon. “What about with Calvin?”
“What do you mean?” Pop’s tone softened at the mention of Calvin’s name.
I shrugged but didn’t look up. “I haven’t seen him since he spent Christmas with us. He’s got my phone number, but has only texted me a few times. He’s got a copy of my keys, but hasn’t used them. December was a batshit-crazy whirlwind of a month, but he knows…. I told him I wanted to date. I mean, is the polite ghosting my answer?” I glanced up over the rims of my glasses.
Pop leaned across the table, put his hand on my wrist, and gave it a firm squeeze. “I think you’ve been through a lot, Sebastian, and should take it slow for a while.”
I let the spoon clatter against the rim of the bowl, took my glasses off, and wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt.
“Calvin too,” Pop continued. “He was shot. And you said he came out to his family—hey, kiddo.” Pop stood and moved toward me. He leaned over, wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me against his chest as I started sobbing like a fucking baby. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I like him so much,” I said, turning to bury my face against Pop. “I never felt this with Marcus or Brian or—even Neil. But every day I don’t hear