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Jonny stares up the attic steps, clutching a mug of coffee in one hand and a list in the other. The guests have been fed mountains of french toast and ushered out to Catamount or Butternut for a day of skiing, leaving Jonny alone to deal with the task ahead.
Half-convinced his Inn is haunted by benign spinsters whose greatest menace to Jonny’s sanity is freezing the pipes on the coldest day of the year, or making the toilet in room six overflow, he doesn’t usually head into their likely domain. The attic of the Cozy Windmill Inn is a cold and dusty trove of relics and junk from previous owners, and one of the banes of Jonny’s job is crawling through piles of old newspapers and broken antique wooden furniture for the box that always seems to be in a different place whenever Jonny looks for it.
The box is labeled Christmas Shit, from when Jonny first moved in and discovered that most of the room was covered in what looked like Santa’s vomit: tinsel laying everywhere, ornaments scattered about and disquieting-looking nutcracker dolls happily waiting to be tripped over. It had taken Jonny a good couple of hours to sort through what was truly junk and what was salvageable, a task that merited him enough stuff to turn his quiet country inn into the ballsiest display of holiday-themed decor that he could stomach.
But Jonny can’t deny the guests love that shit.
Jonny’s list has some recent additions, courtesy of Patrick, who decided his time would be much better put towards baking up enough cookies, muffins and pastries to feed the small army that had rented out the Inn for the next five days. Jonny loves and loathes ski families in equal measure. They pay obscenely well to essentially trash his house, and it’s the only time where Jonny permits small children to run around his property and touch things with sticky hands.
He tells himself to keep his mind on the holiday part he and Patrick are throwing for their friends at the end of the week, and then the two days of blissful rest he gets to enjoy with his boyfriend before the pre-New Years madness begins.
By the time Jonny hauls the box back downstairs and into the living room, Patrick’s emerged from the kitchen wearing a horribly stained apron.
“So, status update: the muffins are fine as hell, and I cheated on the cinnamon buns because no one cares if they come out of the tube, and two out of the three types of cookies ended up being good. I was so wrong about the banana and coconut, and I’m sorry for that.” He looks proud though, and Jonny’s reminded again how well Patrick’s taken to his new role as co-innkeeper. Though they had only formally started being together around the end of summer, so far cohabitating on a permanent basis was working out. Patrick still gets to work at Shakespeare and Company, and Jonny gets a few hours a day to himself, which he needs.
“Smells great,” Jonny tells him, and Patrick beams, leaning in for a soft kiss before surveying the Christmas decorations with a snort.
“I always tried to imagine what this place looked like this time of year, and all I could do was picture you walking around in an ugly Christmas sweater and one of those santa hats on, scowling at guests.”
“Well, you got one out of three right,” Jonny replies, handing Patrick a package of lights. “I need those strung out along the porch. There’s another pack that goes around the gazebo.”
“Yes, sir.” Patrick bows a bit and hops to it, leaving Jonny with the enviable task of hanging wreaths over all the guestroom doors, setting up miniature christmas trees on every coffee table and end table, and putting on the CD mix of holiday songs that will play on repeat for the remainder of the week.
As Michael Buble starts crooning, Jonny takes a step back to survey the tree he and Patrick had picked out a few days ago. With a pang, he remembers the first Christmas he did this, unsure about what he was doing, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. The holidays always reminded him of the parties his teams or billet families used to hold, everyone skating together and cracking jokes. He’s not afraid to admit how lonely he was that first year, stuck in a strange town and the owner of a inn full of people he didn’t know.
This year is different, and Jonny actually feels a bit of old excitement as he winds the colorful strands of lights around the tree, applying ornaments roughly two and a half inches apart. He feels a weight on his shoulder, and it’s Patrick’s chin. His cheek is cold from being outside, and Jonny shivers but welcomes the arms that wind around his waist.
“Last year I was home in Buffalo, trying to explain to my parents why I was still doing that ‘acting thing,’ and not settling down and finding a real job. Had no idea this is where I’d end up.” Patrick says, voice low and thoughtful.
“I’m glad you're here,” Jonny tells him, not for the first time. This thing between them, cultivated over years of banter and subtle longing, had made those long seasons alone worth it. If he’d never bought the Inn, he’d never have met Patrick. Simple as that.
*******
Jonny’s reminded why else Patrick being here is good for him when the next morning he has to deal with three sets of parents demanding everything he cook be dairy-free, gluten-free and happiness-free.
“Listen, I told you on the phone that if you had special dietary restrictions, you needed to bring your own food and prepare it yourself. I have a set menu that you knew beforehand and I can’t make each dish special for your kid.” Jonny can feel a migraine growing.
An outraged mother replies, “How can you not have quinoa on hand? What kind of kitchen is this?”
“It’s my kitchen, and you are free to choose between a veggie frittata or a sausage frittata, plus the continental breakfast options.” The worst part is, Jonny’s frittatas are goddamn delicious.
Before the mother can continue on her tirade, Patrick appears at his side, a professional smile on his face. “We are happy to give you directions to a number of stores in town that sell the ingredients for food we can prepare for you. If there’s nothing here you like, the Country Cafe is right around the corner. I’m sure they have quinoa.” Patrick is lying through his teeth on the last one, but Jonny admires his ease with people, a trait he’s never seemed to pick up despite being in the hospitality business.
The parents harrumph but let it go, filling their kids bowl with cheerios and fruit and picking at their muffins. Jonny honestly doesn’t give a shit, but goes around taking orders from people who end up appreciating the fuck out of his frittatas.
The days pass in relative harmony. Jonny goes out every morning to shovel the walkway from the parking lot, liking the exercise and enjoying even more crawling back into bed with Patrick, who bitches about the cold and Jonny’s sweat. Jonny likes to lay on top of him, body pressing him into the mattress, and just breathing in his presence.
Wednesday night he attends a holiday party with Patrick at the theater company. He sits on his bed, fully dressed, and watches as Patrick fiddles with his socks. He’s wearing a blue sweater Jonny bought as a pre-holiday present, and thinks about the other gifts he’s got hidden in Patrick’s closet, one in particular one he’d been hesitant about, considering the newness of their relationship.
Yet he’s reminded again how easy Patrick fits into his life once they’re at the party. Patrick lights up any room he walks into, that’s something Jonny’s always admired about him. He’s a natural performer, something that Jonny’s only ever been on the ice. Sometimes he wonders what Patrick would’ve been like as a hockey player, and whether his showmanship would’ve extended to goal cellies or theatrics in the locker room. The thought makes him feel conflicted, because in what world would hockey player Jonny get together with hockey player Patrick? He thinks this reality suits them well enough.
Patrick, tipsy from hard cider, takes his hand as Jonny admires the photos of past performances on the wall. “That was from my first season here. I was like, twenty three and a total rookie who got cast as Benvolio in Romeo and Juliet. They went for a super young crew, to make it look more realistic. Ended up making out with Romeo at the wrap party.” Patrick gives him a sly look, and Jonny rolls his eyes.
“Did the Meiers ever let you take someone back to the Inn?” He asks, thinking of the previous owners, an elderly couple who had been family friends.
Patrick laughs. “Nah, I was always too scared to. It was like bringing someone back to my grandparents house. I never had a serious relationship with anyone after I left college.” Patrick bumps Jonny’s shoulder. “Until you, that is. I actually thought of bringing someone back once, just to see if it would make you jealous.”
“I would have hated it,” Jonny admits, not wanting to think about Patrick bringing some stranger downstairs for breakfast, eating the meal Jonny made for them
“Yeah,” Patrick says softly. “I knew even then that I didn’t want to ruin things between us. I’d walk through that door at the end of the day and you’d look up from the desk and frown at me, and it would make me so happy to be part of your world, even if I was an annoyance in it.”
Jonny squeezes his hand, and wraps the other around Patrick’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. Patrick’s lips taste like apple, and Jonny feels, once more, the overwhelming sensation of rightness.
“You were definitely an annoyance,” He tells Patrick when they come up for air, and Patrick laughs. Then Jonny continues, “But I never wanted you to leave, not even after that first summer.
“I never wanted to be anywhere else,” Patrick replies.
******
Despite a few more bumps in the road, the ski families depart on a Thursday afternoon to be home in time for Christmas. This leaves Jonny and Patrick with a whole afternoon to kill before they host their family and friends-only holiday party on Friday.
Having made the decision the night before, Jonny takes Patrick to Laurel Lake. Covered with a thick sheet of ice, the lake offers a beautiful view of some of the mansions that were once owned by the Gilded Age elite. Patrick looks surprised and a little apprehensive when he sees the two pairs of skates Jonny’s stashed in the trunk.
“Jonny, you should know I’m a terrible skater. If this means we have to break up, then do it on a weak patch of ice so I fall in and don't have to deal with it.”
Jonny snorts, shoving the skates at Patrick and leaning over to lace up his own. “I don’t care if you’re the worst skater ever. Anyway, it’ll make me feel manly to hold you up. This is classic date-night material here, so soak it up.”
“Yeah, like this freezing cold air. Jonny, we are seriously the only ones here. Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Yeah, I checked with the local bureau before we came. Stop worrying and lace up so I can take my boyfriend ice skating.”
Patrick grins, “I love it when you talk sappy to me.”
Patrick proves indeed to be a terrible skater, tripping and falling more times than is probably comical, but Jonny cracks up every time. “You suck as a boyfriend.” Patrick informs him as Jonny lifts him off the ice for the umpteenth time. “Seriously, I’m going to move with in Duncs and Seabs. I bet they never make fun of each other.”
“They smoke too much weed to laugh at anyone but their customers. And everyone thinks its charming as fuck.”
“Jonny, don’t make me laugh right now or I will lose my concentration.” Patrick stubbornly resists Jonny’s helping arms, making his way across the ice in incremental movements, more of a shuffle than anything. “I have no idea how you were able to do this professionally.”
Jonny shows off a bit at that, going in circles around Patrick and doing some backwards skating drills that had been part of his routine since midget hockey. Patrick groans at him, trying to speed up but flailing his arms around. Jonny catches him before he faceplants again, and Patrick finally lets himself be led around in Jonny’s arms.
“This is the smoothest shit you’ve ever pulled, I’ll give you that.”
“This is actually the first time I’ve skated since I retired.” Jonny says and then blinks, because where did that even come from?
Patrick must sense that he didn’t mean to say anything and keeps silent, letting Jonny dictate the flow of the conversation just like he’s dictating their movements.
After a few moments of aimless skating, Jonny says, “At first I didn’t even want to look at a pair of skates, it hurt too much. I’d spend all my time sulking in my room and wanting to scream over how unfair it was that I had come so close to my goal, for it all to be snatched away. And then, when I bought the Inn, I started wanting it again. And I pushed it away, that feeling, because it had no place in my new life and I had to focus on this business being the best it could be.”
“So why are you doing it now?” Patrick asks him, leaning back against Jonny’s chest as they glide across the ice.
Jonny’s glad he isn’t looking at Patrick’s face when he says, “Because I wanted to share this with you. This was my whole life for a long time, and now that things have changed I guess...I wanted you to be a part of who I used to be, a little bit.”
Patrick’s silent for a bit, but Jonny knows it’s not a bad silence. Eventually he turns in Jonny’s embrace, slowing down their movement, and grabs onto Jonny’s shoulders. Jonny takes the cue and starts skating, moving Patrick backwards as he moves forward, Patrick trusting Jonny to guide him. Patrick’s put himself in Jonny’s care, living in his house and sharing his business. He’s placed his faith in Jonny to steer them, and he won’t let him down.
“I think I’d fall in love with Jonathan Toews no matter who he was,” Patrick says, and leans his face up for a kiss. It’s the most high-school thing ever, but Jonny digs it, cradling Patrick’s face in his hands and trusting his feet to keep them going no matter what.
****
“Did you put crack in these cookies?” Patrick Sharp moans around another bite, making obnoxious faces at Jonny.
“Secret Kane Family recipe,” Patrick informs him as he walks by, carrying another tray of appetizers.
Looking around the room makes Jonny realize just how many people have come into his life since he moved to the Berkshires. In one corner are his Great Barrington friends, headed by Duncs and Seabs who supplied the coffee beans and leftover coffee cake from their cafe. Next to them is Leddy, who owns the bookstore, and Patrick Sharp’s wife Abby, who co-owns the artisan butchery with her husband. Hossa, whose landscaping firm helped Jonny re-do his lawn and parking lot area the spring he moved in, chats with Joel, owner of the bar he and Patrick like to visit to hate-watch Bruins games.
Patrick’s Shakespeare friends mingle with the group, making good-natured cracks about Patrick’s newfound inner domestic goddess. Patrick retaliates by lobbing crackers at them.
The door opens, sending the bells clanking against the pane of glass as Shawzy steps in, shaking snow off his hat and making room for his girlfriend. Despite the whole internet-hoax incident from the summer, Jonny still tolerates his younger workers. Where Shaw goes, Bollig isn’t that far behind, carrying an enormous cheese platter as his host gift.
The group descends on it like a pack of wild lions, and Jonny observes with a sense of whimsy that’s quite unlike him how much of a family he’s made for himself here. His real family is in the other corner of the room, ensconced in the comfiest chairs Jonny could find and in the middle of a heated game of scrabble with Erica and Jackie Kane, two of Patrick’s sisters that made it up for the party from Buffalo. Patrick’s face when he saw them come through the door would’ve been enough satisfy Jonny for the rest of the evening.
As the night continues, and people get tipsier, Patrick sticks closer to Jonny’s side. They don’t say much, letting the general noise of the room wash over them, lulling them into a comfortably drowsy state.
At one point, Jonny’s mother comes over to brush his hair away from his face and kiss his forehead. “I’m so happy for you Jonathan,” she whispers, and Jonny blinks back tears, instead reaching up to embrace her. “Me too, maman,” he replies.
****
After the guests leave and Patrick eyes the dishes in the sink with a disgusted grimace and then ignores everything to follow Jonny into their bedroom, Jonny pulls the gift out from the back of his closet.
“I know it’s not officially Christmas yet, but I wanted you to have it now.” He watches as Patrick looks the strange, long shape over, confusion on his face.
“Jonny, what is...” Patrick tears off the wrapping paper to find a sign, painted in the same cream and forest green colors as the Cozy Windmill Sign by the road. The addition, meant to hang underneath the main sign, reads : Jonathan & Patrick, Innkeepers.
“I know it’s fast.” Jonny says quickly, “And we don’t have to put it up right away. But I wanted you to know that, for me at least, this is a permanent thing.”
Patrick closes his eyes, face scrunching into something worrisome before he flings himself into Jonny’s arms. The sign stabs into his side and Jonny barks out a pained noise, which is immediately covered up by kisses.
“Jesus Christ, you complete sap.” Patrick murmurs before licking into Jonny’s mouth.
Jonny lets himself be kissed into sloppy oblivion for a few moments before pulling back. “So you’re cool with it?”
“Yes,” Patrick replies. “Of course I want to be your innkeeper boyfriend.”
Jonny feels light and hears himself laugh. And he can’t seem to stop grinning, which makes Patrick smile too. “Best Christmas ever, or best Christmas ever?”
“Both,” Jonny says, and lays Patrick down to prove it.
The End