matter what, something Ivan found remarkable.
“This is great,” Ivan said.
Patrick smiled up at him. “It is. I’m so looking forward to our dinner tomorrow! Thank you for cooking goose.”
“One big honking bird,” Ivan said, laughing.
“The joke might be a little overdone,” Patrick said, but he was grinning. He unfolded thin white paper to reveal a beautifully intricate snowflake. “Sure you don’t want to try one?”
“I’m sure.”
“What was happening in your life last Christmas?” Patrick asked.
Ivan had to think about it. “Nothing very good. The restaurant had problems because the owner was putting all the profits up his nose. I was living in a trailer out by Carbondale and it sucked. But I got a good review in the Denver Post for my steak pie. I haven’t made that for you, have I?”
“No. I’d love to try it.”
“You’re easy, man. It’s great to cook for you.”
Patrick inclined his head crisply. “Thank you.” He took another piece of paper from the pile. “Were you seeing anyone?”
“Not really. I hadn’t been back here long.” Sipping the creamy, rummy eggnog, he pursed his lips. “How about you, lover? What were you doing last Christmas?”
“I was living in New York. I went home to Boston for Christmas, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant. My boyfriend wouldn’t come with me—he said my parents were stuck up—so I went alone and we were on the outs, so I wasn’t happy.”
“Was that the bartender, the one who almost came here with you?”
Patrick nodded. “He wasn’t very nice, honestly. It was way past time to break up with him. You just get used to things being a certain way.”
“Are your parents stuck up?”
“Yes. But they are still my parents.”
“Do they like your boyfriends as a rule?”
“They’ve only met one or two.” Patrick placed another snowflake neatly on the pile. “They’d rather I wasn’t gay, but they’re big on dignity, so they’re polite enough.”
“They’d hate me, wouldn’t they?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Not exactly in their world, am I? All rough edges and crooked teeth.”
“You’re a James Beard–winning chef. That will impress them.” Patrick touched his ankle. “And seriously, they love me, so when someone is important to me, they do their best to like them, too.”
“But they don’t always.”
“Of course not.”
Ivan thought of Dag, the polished Dane, with a twist of worry. “Have they ever met Elena?”
“Several times, when she lived in New York. My mother isn’t crazy about her, but my father thinks she’s hot.” A smile quirked his lips. “One is connected to the other, I’m quite sure.”
“Wouldn’t they like it if you were with someone like old Dag?”
Patrick looked perplexed. “Dag?”
“The new guy in the kitchen. The Scandinavian.”
“The ski bum? You must be kidding. He’s a player. I don’t like players.”
“I’m a player.”
“No,” Patrick said, putting down his scissors. “You pretend to be, but you have a very passionate heart.” He inclined his head. “You just haven’t had anyone love you through thick and thin, that’s all.”
Stung by those blue eyes, Ivan looked away. “Wow.”
Then Patrick came to sit beside him. Touched his hand. “I think I fell in love with you at first sight, Ivan. And I’m pretty sure you felt the same way. Let’s try to just enjoy it, shall we? We got lucky.”
Ivan pulled him close, his hand spreading open over the tumbled blond hair, feeling the preciousness of his skull. “Yeah,” he growled. “Yeah, I did. Thank you.”
“I really don’t like jealousy. It will ruin things.”
“I’ll do my best.” He thought of breakfast. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to cook you my very best French toast. You will so love it.”
“Ivan, I’m going to get fat!”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “We’ll work it off.”
Elena finally remembered to call Maria Elena on the evening of Christmas Eve, when she was setting up the kitchen in Julian’s house to make tamales with Portia. They had dozens at the restaurant, but when Elena told the girl about making them with the women on Christmas Eve, Portia really, really wanted to try it. And Elena didn’t mind it.
Mama answered with a slightly irritated “Hello?”
“Hi, Mama,” she said. “How are you?”
“Elena, h’ita! It’s so nice to hear your voice. What are you doing? We got your package yesterday—so many presents for all the little ones, you must be getting rich!”
Elena laughed. “It’s just little things, Mom. Be sure and put out all the chocolate on Christmas Day.”
“I guess since you sent it, you’re not going to be here on Christmas this year, huh?”
One year, Elena had flown into Albuquerque and