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"Good afternoon, Ray’s Festive DecoRayting Service, Ray speaking. How can I help you today?”
David cringes at the hyper-cheerful tone that greets him on the other end of the line. Ray’s bubbliness grates at the best of times, and right now he’s worn so thin that it might just tip him over the edge. But decorating the store for the holidays is a no-brainer: David was aware of that even without Alexis regurgitating her recent lecture on capitalising on the festive market at him, thank you so much. It’s just, right now he hasn’t the mental space, let alone the actual time, to sort it out. What with sourcing new festive product lines, fielding Roland’s thrice weekly foot cream enquiries and wrestling with spreadsheets to try to understand if he can afford to pay himself next year, David’s feeling a little frazzled. And to be honest, the ladders and cables and… maybe hammers and nails? He’s not sure… anyway… whatever is entailed in hanging lights is really not in his wheelhouse. So when the flyer for Ray’s latest business venture had come through the door of the Apothecary, he’d taken a deep breath and made the call.
“Hi, Ray, it’s David Rose here. I’m looking for some help decorating the Apothecary.”
David barely has the sentence out of his mouth before Ray is charging in, enthusiasm turned up to eleven as usual.
“Ohhhhh, David, so good to hear from you. Are you well? Great to hear that Rose Apothecary will be getting into the festive spirit!” He chatters on, without pausing to take a breath, let alone leave time for David to respond. “We have a selection of extremely good value packages available for the discerning business owner. Shall I talk you through them? Our bronze tier package is simply hanging lights throughout the store, in locations of your choosing of course. Then our silver package incorporates fresh festive garlands and a wreath – you know, holly, ivy, that sort of thing. And our gold package also includes a real 1.5 metre Scots Pine tree and complimentary decorations.” David squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take a deep breath as the monologue continues. “We can offer lights for rental – or hang your own, including a detangling service if you require. I’m the Elm Valley record holder for speed light-detangling, you know. What did you have in mind? I’m sure an elegant establishment such as Rose Apothecary would benefit from some seasonal foliage to add to the festive ambience – perhaps our silver package would suit?”
David has to shake himself briefly, gearing his brain back up to talking after sitting through the lengthy spiel. “Umm, actually Ray, I already have a wreath and some greenery on order from one of my suppliers… I'll take the bronze package, thank you.”
“Oh, I see. That's fair enough, no problem David. And do you have your own lights, or will you be renting? I can offer a choice of bright white, warm white, blue or multicoloured, all suitable for exterior or interior hanging, and with a choice of ten different options of flash sequence, so you can change it up throughout the day! Isn’t that wonderful David?”
“Mmm, mmhmm…” David bites his tongue: flashing lights would clearly be incorrect… and the mere prospect of a gaudy multicoloured array in his store… it doesn’t bear consideration. “I’ll stick with warm white thank you Ray.”
“An excellent choice David, you do have such a discerning aesthetic. Much like my own – we're so similar!” David grimaces, glad Ray can’t see him. “And can I tempt you with a selection of festive Rose Apothecary branded mousemats to augment your seasonal product selection? I find they’re always very popular – such a useful stocking-stuffer!”
David politely turns down Ray’s many attempts at up-selling hideous logo-strewn stationery, and eventually agrees a time for him to come and hang the lights the following Tuesday. Then he rewards himself with a muffin from the café: he surely deserves it after enduring that call.
The pine and juniper candles from the new festive range are selling well – David had known they would be a winner as soon as the samples arrived. He’s in the back room grabbing a box to restock when the bell rings.
“Hello?”
“Coming!” he calls, picking up the box and pushing through the curtain with his shoulder.
The man standing by the produce display isn’t a townie – in fact he doesn’t look like he belongs in Schitt’s Creek at all. If his mid-blue button down and straight-legged denim are anything to go by, he’s an accountant, or something of that ilk. Probably stopping off on his way through to buy a Christmas present for his mom. Or wife. Most likely his wife… those doe-eyes and that quietly confident smile are surely not the face of a single man…
“Hi, I’m Patrick,” the man says, moving toward the cash and offering a hand to shake.
David wrests his focus back to the present. “Umm, hi?” He stalls. Why is this customer introducing himself?
His brain eventually registers the man’s – Patrick’s – outstretched hand, and he fumbles the box down onto the counter with a clunk. “David Rose. How can I help you?” he finally manages, as Patrick grips his hand, briefly but firmly.
“I’m here to put your lights up. Ray left you a voicemail to let you know it would be me coming today? He had an appointment for a photoshoot.”
“Oh, okay, umm no, I don’t think I got that…” David looks away as he trails off, fingertips plucking at the top of the candle box as he realises it’s a fib. Truth be told, he did get a message from Ray, but he’d gotten distracted after the first few meandering sentences: his mother began wailing about Kristen needing a blowout and the motel hairdryer being too hot for her delicate sensibilities. He’d completely forgotten to come back to it.
“Okay David. Well, I was just popping in to let you know I was here first of all – my car’s round the side with everything we need. I’ll go grab it now." He pauses, and then: "It was the multicoloured lights you wanted, right?”
David’s fairly sure he visibly blanches. His mouth definitely gapes and his arms sweep around to encompass the store, as if to highlight the restrained palette.
Then Patrick’s face creases into a smile. “I’m joking David – even I can see that wouldn’t be in keeping with your store. I have the warm white lights you requested in the trunk. Be right back!”
David huffs out a held breath once Patrick is out the door. This man must be incredibly sure of himself, trolling him like that when they’ve just met.
A minute or two later, Patrick reappears, stepladder over his right shoulder and a box balanced in his left arm. Troll or otherwise, David's not about to let him chip the paintwork battling through the door on his own: he darts forward to open it. Striding into the store, Patrick bends to put down the box (does this man know what those jeans do for him, David wonders? Not that David’s looking, but that ass was right in his eyeline…) and sets the stepladder down. Then he’s leaning against the centre table, ankles crossed, looking for all the world like he owns the place. It’s only as Patrick folds his arms (the forearms aren’t a hardship to look at either…) that David registers the toolbelt that has appeared around Patrick’s waist…
He buffers… then there’s the sound of a polite throat-clearing… fuck: he’s been caught staring… and sure enough, looking up, there’s a definite smirk on Patrick’s face. Flustered, David scrabbles for something to say.
“Umm, you look very well equipped…” Patrick’s barely-there eyebrows quirk. Ohmygod.
“And that’s something, that’s what I just said to you…” he trails off.
Patrick’s smirk widens into a full grin as he pulls out a tape measure from the tool belt with a flourish. And then, with something approximating a wink: “Well David, why don’t we see how things measure up?”
“Mmm, mmhmm.” Despite himself, David finds he has to tuck his grin away into his cheek, not wanting to give away that actually he might be a little charmed by this man’s confidence and his teasing that somehow has made David feel like he’s on the right side of the joke.
“So, where would you like the lights?”
“Oh, um, I’m oscillating between two options at the moment.”
“Huh.” A look of soft amusement passes over Patrick’s face. “Well, I would like to give you more time to… oscillate, but Ray needs me to pick up some supplies from the wholesaler before my next appointment this afternoon. So, uh, why don’t you tell me what the options are and maybe I can advise you on what’s most practical.”
They spend the next ten minutes debating the merits of having the lights solely around the windows and draped from the higher shelves, versus a more complicated set up with lights woven between product displays. Much though David loves the idea of how his products would look with the soft lights glowing amongst them, he eventually lets pragmatism win over, when Patrick points out the possibility of products being dislodged with the latter option. He doesn’t want to risk any breakages.
As Patrick gets to work, David finally returns to the box of candles that has been abandoned on the counter.
They work around each other in the store for a while, chatting off and on. It’s oddly comfortable. Patrick mentions that he’s only just moved to Schitt’s Creek and is lodging with Ray. David squawks gracelessly at that: he’d thought there wasn’t a worse accommodation option in the town than the motel, but the notion of having to deal with Ray’s relentless cheerfulness before his first coffee of the day is horrifying. He's glad he'll never be subjected to that.
David replenishes the candles, then moves on to straighten bottles and jars on the centre table. He finds himself explaining (even though he’s not sure Patrick actually asks) the way the store supports local vendors with its consignment model. Patrick moves the ladder to hang the next strand of lights while David waxes lyrical about the talented artisans he’s managed to sign up. He offers to recommend some products to suit Patrick’s skin type, and can almost hear the smirk in his voice when Patrick responds that he’s happy using bar soap. He’s pretty sure that’s a deliberate wind up, but he rolls his eyes emphatically anyway.
When the centre table is all arranged back to his exacting standards, David steps back to the counter to line up the lip balms by the cash. He can’t resist sneaking a glance up at Patrick on the way: the flex of the muscles in his forearm as he twists the screwdriver is mesmerising (and he can’t help noticing there’s no ring, so that’s something). David shakes out his hands. He needs to get a grip. The first sight of a cute guy in this place for weeks, and now he can’t focus for more than thirty seconds: he's behaving like a horny teenager. He drags his eyes back down to the lip balms. Alexis has clearly had her thieving paws in here again, miscreant that she is: she thinks he doesn’t know, but he can always tell when the lids are misaligned with the labels.
He moves along to check the rotation on the chilled produce. The last of the quince butter is getting close to date: David makes a mental note to try to up-sell the next customers who come in for cheese. It really does go perfectly with Heather’s soft-rinded chèvre. Closing the chiller door, he turns back toward the centre of the store. A quick movement at the top of the ladder catches his eye. Was that Patrick looking away from him? He thinks it was. Maybe? No, probably not. Patrick isn’t also stealing furtive glances at him, is he?
"So, David, is it just you running this place?" David’s spiralling internal monologue is broken by Patrick’s warm voice. He hums in the affirmative.
"Must be hard work dealing with everything on your own.”
Well, David isn’t sure what Patrick is implying here. Does Patrick somehow think he's not capable of running the store on his own? Just because he knows his limitations and called in help for the lighting? That’s pretty snippy.
“Um, excuse me?” There’s a sharp uptick in David’s voice.
“I always wanted to run a small business,” Patrick continues, unperturbed, “but I never had the imagination to spot a niche and come up with the right idea to fill it. This is such a great concept you have here.”
Oh. That gives David pause.
“I’m not sure I’d ever have been brave enough to do it on my own anyway – you must have a lot of guts.”
This guy is too much: how can he be so open with an almost-complete stranger? And okay, maybe he jumped to conclusions about what Patrick was getting at: that was a very nice thing to say. Patrick is still up the ladder, back toward him, but David has to look away and school his face even so, as he digs for something genuine to say in return.
“Well, I guess I was at a point in my life where I didn't have much to lose when the lease of the store came available. It still took a lot of prodding from my gremlin best friend for me to take the plunge though.” Patrick chuckles at this. “And you’re right: it is hard. I mean, not all of it, of course. Working with my vendors to source products, and the design aspects, those bits I love. And I enjoy helping my customers find just the right products for them. Well, most of them.” He grimaces as images of Roland and Bob pop into his mind. “But the paperwork and the finance are the real drag. I’m never sure I’m doing them right. And I really wish they didn’t take so long.”
Patrick pauses what he’s doing and turns towards him – smiling, which seems a strange reaction.
“Maybe I could help you with that sometime? It might surprise you to hear this, but hanging festive lights is not my full time job: my actual role with Ray is business consultancy.” He gestures to his clothing – which, now David thinks about it, is indeed oddly business-casual for what is essentially a manual job. “I’m just lending a hand today because he’s busy with photography and real estate appointments.”
David raises an eyebrow: “Lucky for me I guess.”
“Yeah?” A hint of pink rises on Patrick’s check: it’s adorable, and David focuses hard to stop his brain racing off thinking of ways he could make that happen again. “Well, I’ll leave you my business card when I'm done – give me a ring sometime if I can help. I’m a dab hand with forms and spreadsheets.”
“Mmm,” David hums again, “I might just do that.” And he turns his attention to centering the placement of the plants in the window display. He’s glad no-one else is around to see the smile that has crept unbidden onto his face.
Just as he’s finishing packing up, Patrick says “Oh, I nearly forgot: Ray threw in a little bonus for you, as a thank you for taking up his services.”
David grimaces from his spot behind the counter. “Please tell me it’s not a mousemat?”
Patrick chuckles. “No, don’t worry, no mousemats on my watch.”
“Oh, thank god. What is it then?”
Patrick pulls something green out of the box. “Ray mentioned you already had a wreath on order. But he thought this might be a nice addition.”
Mistletoe. Which, well. David’s not sure how he feels about that. That kind of stuff is all well and good in a rom com, but he’s been the subject of far too many sloppy, drunken (and often unwanted) attempts at mistletoe kisses to still be enamoured with the supposed romanticism of that particular tradition.
“Oh. Umm… I’m not…” But he stops, noticing Patrick’s face fall slightly. Oh. Oh. Was Patrick maybe thinking…? No, probably not - probably he just doesn’t want to deal with Ray’s questions if he comes back with it. Still, he back pedals, just in case:
“Well, it would add to the festive ambience I suppose.” He thinks on his feet: “How about over here, right behind the counter? Maybe over the door to the back room? I wouldn’t want any customers to feel awkward with it being over the shop floor.”
Patrick’s face brightens again. “Good idea David. Very considerate.”
“Mmm. Okay, let me just take this box back through first in that case.” David grabs the half-empty candle box, pushing through the curtain to deposit it back on its shelf, then he takes the opportunity to peer into the boxes of other candle fragrances to check stock levels. He’s definitely going to need to place another order before the end of the week.
Turning back towards the store, David sweeps the curtain open with his right hand – and stops short: he’s face to face with Patrick, who has one arm raised, evidently just finishing hanging the mistletoe.
“Oh!” He’s too close to Patrick: so close he can smell the fresh scent of whatever ghastly drugstore 3-in-1 shampoo Patrick uses. But he’s rooted to the spot. “Um, that was quick!”
Patrick doesn't move either, he realises. And isn't that a thought.
“Ah, I just used some sticky tack,” he offers by way of explanation, lowering his arm and resting his palm a little awkwardly against the doorframe. “The mistletoe’s light, it doesn’t need anything more.” And then he rubs his other hand on the back of his neck, looking down at the floor. David is entranced.
When Patrick looks up again he has a soft smile on his face. “It was lovely meeting you today David. I’m really glad Ray had that photoshoot.”
Butterflies swirl in David’s stomach.
“Me too,” he manages, eyes glancing up to the mistletoe before he realises what he's doing.
The tiniest smile flickers across Patrick’s face, and he moves almost imperceptibly closer. David could swear the air between them is charged. His heart is thumping.
“Can I kiss you, David?”
He nods, melting inside. “I’d like that.”
And Patrick’s lips meet his, soft but sure – just for a moment, maybe two. When he pulls back, checking in again with a questioning tilt of his head and warm eyes, David is bereft, lips tingling.
He reaches a hand to wrap gently around the back of Patrick’s head, thumb resting lightly on his cheek. As he leans back in, Patrick follows his lead easily. This time the kiss is less chaste: Their lips move across one another greedily: pressing, exploring. It’s electric. David has kissed probably thousands of people, but this doesn’t compare. His knees actually go a little weak. As if he can somehow tell, Patrick slides his arms around David’s waist, thumbs stroking his lower back through the soft fabric of his sweater, and it anchors him through the tumult in his chest.
He sweeps the tip of his tongue lightly across Patrick’s lower lip, asking, and the other man’s lips part willingly, letting David tease into his mouth. As he flicks his tongue along the inside of Patrick’s top lip, Patrick lets out a small moan. David has never heard such a sexy sound in his life. He could live here, wrapped in Patrick’s arms. He deepens the kiss further, urgently – until the rumbling of a truck passing by yanks him back to reality. He pulls back in a hurry, remembering where they are – in his store. Which is open for business. In full view of the street and anyone who cares to look in.
Patrick freezes – concern writ large on his face. “David, did I go too far? I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
David cuts him off with a quick peck. This guy is almost too considerate. “No, no, not at all,” he rushes to reassure. “That was… it was perfect… I just remembered where we are, and that someone could walk in at any moment.”
“Oh!” Patricks eyes go round. “Oh, yeah, that would not be ideal for business.” And then the most adorable blush rises fully across his cheeks and the tops of his ears, and David didn’t realise it was possible but suddenly he’s even more enamoured with this gorgeous man.
“Mmm, no. But, um…, um, would you… what I mean is…?” He’s flustered. Why is he flustered? This is something he’s good at: David Rose is a seasoned pro in the field of kissing, dating, and all the rest. But normally he keeps an armoured shell around himself, protecting the delicate shards of glass that were once his heart from further damage. Patrick, though, seems to have broken right through that shell with nothing more than a few gentle gibes and a bucketload of sincerity.
Of course, Patrick saves David from himself: “Can I take you to dinner tonight David?” His eyes are earnest now. Until the corners of his mouth quirk downward into a cute little upside-down smile as he says “I’ve heard the food at the café is moderately edible.”
David manages to keep his grin in check, twisting it into his cheek as he nods. “Mmhmm, yes. That sounds nice.” And what he means is: you are nice. You’re the nicest person that has ever wanted to kiss me, and I’m terrified of messing this up… but maybe I can be kind to myself this once and let myself have this.
He must zone out a bit, wrapped up in his own thoughts, and trying not to catastrophise before… whatever this is… has even started, because the next thing he hears is “...does that work for you David?”
“Hmm, sorry?”
“I was just saying, how about 8 o’clock?”
“Oh, um, yes, that sounds perfect.” And what he means is: you’re perfect. And as he thinks it his full smile does slip out, before he can hide it away. Patrick's face lights up too.
“Great. I’ll see you then.” And then he’s grabbing his ladder and the empty box and heading towards the front of the store. David follows him to get the door, and Patrick gives him another of those terrible winks as he heads off round the corner.
When he’s gone, David glances back over his shoulder to the doorway behind the counter. Maybe there is something to be said for the romance of mistletoe after all.