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The snowflakes floated gently just outside his studio window, glistening in the moonlight. Louis set down his paintbrush and palette to walk over to see just how much snow had fallen. The chair just outside must have held close to a foot of the icy white stuff. Thank goodness his studio was attached to his house.
Walking back to his easel and taking up his brush and palette once again, Louis appraised his work-in-progress. Tilting his head, he wasn’t sure the picture on the canvas quite matched the vision in his head.
It had come to him in a dream—an image of a man busking near a Christmas tree. It wasn’t a Christmas tree as big as the one they put up in Trafalgar Square each year. This tree was much smaller, though no less decorated. Twinkling white lights ringed the tree from top to bottom, and blue, red, and green metallic balls completed the look, each one reflecting the lights and creating small blue, red, and green beams of light.
In the dream, Louis had been in the small crowd listening to the man as he’d played the guitar and sang “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree” in a deep, slow voice. Dream-Louis had been mesmerized by the chocolate brown curls, warm green eyes, and deep dimples of the musician, unable to take his eyes off him.
Real-Life Louis didn’t know if he’d managed to capture the busker with absolute fidelity. He definitely had the clothes right—tight black pants, a long black sweater with a tiny Santa where a pocket would be, and a long, tan coat to guard against the cold. The guitar the busker had been playing had been brown, and Louis thought his artistic interpretation of the instrument was close to the same as in his dream. The busker’s hair, though, and his eyes…. Louis didn’t think they were exactly right.
Before he could do anything about fixing it, his mobile rang. Louis put his painting tools down and wiped his hands off on his apron, then grabbed the phone from where it rested on a nearby chair. He smiled when he saw it was Lottie calling. The minute he answered the FaceTime call, he was being serenaded with “Happy Birthday” by his sisters, his mother, and his brother. When the song was over, Lottie held up a cupcake with one lit candle sticking through the icing. She urged Louis to make a wish, and he did, wishing he would be with someone he loved soon, then Doris and Ernest blew out the candle on Louis’ behalf.
It still stung. Louis had planned to leave early that morning for his mum’s place to celebrate his birthday and Christmas with his family. A snowstorm like England had never seen before had killed that idea. He would be spending the holidays alone.
An hour on the phone with his family relieved the ache momentarily. Lottie told him all about her new boyfriend, Fizzy shared how well she was doing at uni, Phoebe and Daisy were into some new American singer, and Doris and Ernest excitedly showed him some early Christmas gifts they’d opened. As for his mum, she just told him how proud she was of him and made him promise to visit as soon as the snow was cleared away.
To fill the quiet left behind after the phone call, Louis left his painting behind for the time being and moved up to the lounge, turning on the television. After a quick perusal of the guide, he decided to put on Die Hard—very definitely a Christmas movie—while he prepped himself a quick dinner.
After scarfing down a frozen pizza and a beer—not his best birthday dinner ever, but he guessed it would have to do—Louis paused the movie and returned to his studio and the painting of his dream.
The sky above the busker and the tree needed adjusting first. In his dream, it had been dusk, the sky shifting from pink to purple to blue. The stars had been coming out. Louis mixed some new colours and got to work deepening the purples and lightening the pinks.
When that was done to his satisfaction, he went to work on adding colour to the Christmas tree, blending some of the greens to give it more texture.
He decided to add himself to the crowd. It had felt like a little community, all of them listening to the beautiful Christmas carol, bundled up in coats, jackets, and scarves against the cold. The snow falling in his dream had been much gentler and a great deal lighter than the snow currently piling up outside his studio window.
Finally, he returned his focus to the curly-haired busker. He realised the singer’s guitar actually wasn’t the right shade of brown, so he worked on that for a little while, then he added some blond highlights to the man’s hair and a little emerald to his eyes. He stepped back to check out the painting as a whole, but there was still something missing. So frustrating.
When a huge yawn escaped him, he glanced at his phone. It was nearing eleven p.m. He knew he would have the whole day tomorrow to try to perfect the painting, so he washed his brushes and made sure to cap all of his paints tightly.
He hung his apron on the hook on the back of the door, then took one more look at his painting, smiling softly. His birthday luck hadn’t been the greatest this year, but maybe he could at least return to the Christmas tree and the handsome busker in his dreams that night.
Leaving the painting until the morning, he shut off the light and headed to bed.
* * *
The sound of something falling somewhere in the house woke Louis with a start.
As he tried to sort out whether the sound had been part of a dream or something going down in the house, Louis was vaguely aware of the light streaming through his bedroom windows. It was morning, but only barely.
When a crash echoed through the house, Louis had his answer—decidedly not a dream. He jumped out of bed and grabbed the hockey stick Lottie had given him when he moved out on his own—she said he needed to have some kind of protection, just in case.
He padded out into the hallway, listening carefully, trying to pin down where the noise was coming from. He had no pets, so this had to be some kind of intruder.
An “oof” quickly followed by an “ow” came from the direction of the lounge, and Louis’ heart slowed just a little. If this was a thief, it was a clumsy one. Louis was beginning to think he could take him.
Placing the stick’s handle up against his shoulder, Louis advanced down the hallway and into the lounge. The stick dropped to his side as he took in the image before him.
A man stood in the middle of the lounge. Gangly and tall, he was clothed only in a pair of black boxers. Probably not much older than twenty-five or so, he had dark hair and extremely confused eyes. As he became aware that he was being watched, he met Louis’ gaze and smiled sheepishly. He was devastatingly handsome.
Happy Birthday and Happy Christmas to me, Louis thought. Maybe Santa had done him a solid. He placed the hockey stick against the wall and ventured a, “hello.”
“Hello.” The man’s voice was low, with a hint of a northern accent.
“Can I ask how you got inside my house?” Louis glanced quickly out the window. The snow was still piled high, but it wasn’t coming down quite as hard as it had been the day before. Maybe this man had somehow gotten trapped in the storm and come into the nearest home, located the washing machine for his wet clothes, and passed out on Louis’ couch. It was possible….
The man frowned. “I don’t actually know.”
Louis frowned, too. “Do you have a name?”
There was not an immediate answer. The man’s frown grew deeper, and he looked to the ceiling as if his name might be written there. He shook his head after a few long moments. “I don’t remember. Oh, my God, what’s wrong with me?”
Shifting gears, Louis said in a soothing tone, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. How about we get you some clothes so you’re a little more comfortable?”
Opening his eyes comically wide, the man looked down. He had clearly not focused on his barely clothed state. He brought his arms up to cover his chest. He turned that sheepish look on again. “I don’t know where my clothes went. I just woke up, and I was here. I think I knocked over some of your things. I’m sorry.” Sure enough, lying next to the coffee table was a (thankfully unlit) candle and a (thankfully unbroken) frame holding a photo of Louis and his mum.
Louis gave a minute shake of his head. “It’s okay. Follow me. You can take a shower, and I’ll find you some clothes.”
The man nodded, then wordlessly followed Lous down the hallway and into the bathroom.
“Just put your boxers to the side, and I’ll wash them,” Louis directed. “I’ll put some clean clothes right here on the lid of the toilet, okay?”
With a soft, grateful smile, the man said, “Thank you.”
“The towels on the rack are fresh, and you can use whatever you find in the shower,” Louis said. “Anything else you need right now?”
“I am kind of hungry,” the man shared.
Louis grinned. “I’m sure we can pull together a Christmas breakfast after your shower.”
“It’s Christmas?” There was genuine surprise in the man’s voice.
“It is,” Louis confirmed.
“Christmas breakfast sounds good, then.”
“I’ll be right back with those clothes.” Louis left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He heard the shower begin running almost instantly.
Thinking about how this was surely the most bizarre Christmas morning ever, Louis walked into his bedroom to try to source some clothes for his unexpected guest. He found some clean red joggers and a grey jumper. The joggers might be a tiny bit short, but they would have to do.
After locating a clean pair of boxers, he folded everything and went back to the bathroom. He knocked briskly, and a “Come in!” came back to him quickly.
He gingerly opened the door, made sure his guest was in the actual shower—indeed he was—then placed the clothes on the toilet seat. “Clothes ready for you!” he called out.
“Thanks!”
Task complete, Louis closed the door again and made for the kitchen. He needed a strong cup of tea and something he could throw together for breakfast. He found two bagels in the freezer and turned on the oven to bake them, separating the halves and setting them on a baking sheet until the oven was properly preheated. He pulled out butter, cream cheese, and peanut butter, figuring his guest might enjoy options. Louis was not much of a cook, so bagels and tea would have to do.
The shower was still running down the hall, so Louis prepared the strong mug of tea he’d promised himself, then he retired to the lounge to await his guest’s reappearance.
After picking up the frame and the candle that had been accidentally knocked onto the floor, Louis switched on the TV, surfing through the channels to find something to watch while he waited. Passing on several of the holiday offerings he came across, he stopped on what looked like nearly the end of Love Actually, a movie he pretended not to like when he was with his sisters, but which he actually—no pun intended—really enjoyed. It was the scene where Emma Thompson was crying in her bedroom, having discovered that her husband had given a gorgeous necklace to someone other than her. A heartbreaking scene. Alan Rickman was definitely the bad guy of the holiday.
It was about ten more minutes before the shower shut off and five minutes after that before his guest re-entered the lounge outfitted in the clothes Louis had set out for him. Swivelling his head to look, Louis realised he had not been wrong—the joggers were a little short, but otherwise, everything fit. Dressed, his visitor was even more handsome than he’d been in just a pair of boxers—and what was more, he looked familiar, though Louis couldn’t quite put his finger on where he might have seen him before.
Louis shook his head to clear it, set his mug down on his side table, and stood up. “Anything come back to you in the shower?”
His guest shook his head ruefully. “Nothing.”
Shaking his head with a smile, Louis said, “That’s okay. Maybe some food and a little time will help. I found some bagels in the freezer.”
The man smiled, exposing a pair of dimples that were simply stunning. “Sounds good to me—even if I’m not sure I remember which foods I like and which ones I don’t.”
Taking a second to recover from the dimples reveal, Louis checked, “Tea sound good, too?”
His guest nodded. “Sure. Why not?”
“How do you think you might take it?”
His visitor’s smile turned into a frown. “I don’t know. However you do will be fine.”
Louis turned his biggest smile on. “You got it. Get comfy on the couch, and I’ll have breakfast ready in no time.”
While the bagels toasted in the oven, Louis prepared a tray with a mug of tea and the various toppings he’d found in the fridge, then when the bagels were ready, he carried everything back out to the lounge, placing it on the coffee table.
“Breakfast is served!” he announced brightly.
Louis put butter on his bagel, but his guest chose cream cheese.
As they began to eat, Louis caught the end of Love Actually rolling on the television even as another romcom began. It didn’t take long for him to realise it was When Harry Met Sally, one of his mum’s favourite movies. He let it play as they ate their food.
They were not far into the movie at all when his visitor said, apropos of nothing going on in the current scene, “Harry.”
“Pardon?”
“That name rings a bell,” his guest explained. “I think that might be my name—or the name of someone important to me.”
“Harry.” Louis tried it out, gauging whether or not it suited the man. After a moment, he nodded. “It kind of works. Is that what you’d like me to call you?”
The man took a few seconds to think, then he nodded, too. “Yes. I think so.”
“Well, welcome, Harry,” Louis said. “This is not quite the Christmas I expected, nor likely what you expected, but it’s nice to have company—even if we have no idea how you got here.”
Harry offered a shy smile. “Thanks. Hopefully, I’ll remember more details about who I am and where I’m from soon.”
“No hurry,” Louis insisted. He glanced out the window. Snowflakes were still coming down, albeit with less speed than the night before. Turning back to the man…to Harry, he gave a shrug and a smile of his own. “With all that snow out there, you can’t go anywhere anytime soon. Take your time. I’m sure it will all come back to you.”
Once they were done with their bagel breakfast and all the tea had been sipped, they sat in companionable silence watching When Harry Met Sally. However, when Louis looked over at Harry just about halfway through, it was obvious that he wasn’t really engaged in the movie. His eyes were cast downward, and he was worrying his lower lip with his top teeth. Louis wondered if Harry was struggling to remember who he was and where he was from.
Louis picked up the remote to mute the television and cleared his throat. “You know, I’ve seen this a million times at my mum’s house. How about we do something else? I’ve got plenty of games and a few puzzles. I’m sure we could find something fun to do.”
A smile replaced the worried look on Harry’s face. “Sure. That sounds good.”
Louis’ game closet was next to where he had put up his Christmas tree, so it was a little squeeze to get it open, but once he did, Harry gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of games.”
“I have five younger sisters and one younger brother,” Louis explained.
“Ah. That makes sense.”
Louis made a wide gesture toward the wealth of games. “Pick your poison.”
Harry moved in closer and took a good hard look at all the games Louis had amassed over the years. After a few moments, he pointed to Scrabble. “How about this one?”
“Well, you’ll probably trounce me,” Louis stated with a sigh. “My mum and sister usually do, but sure.” He grabbed the box, then headed back to the coffee table, clearing it so they could play.
Harry didn’t just trounce Louis once, he did it twice. As they placed the tiles back in the bag, Louis said, “Well, you may not remember who you are or where you’re from, but you certainly remember your vocabulary.”
Chuckling, Harry asked, “Want a third chance?”
“Why don’t we take a break? It’s nearly time for lunch anyhow,” Louis answered.
“Sure.” Harry took on the task of finishing the clean-up, handing the box up to a waiting Louis.
When Louis returned to where Harry was waiting by the couch, Harry had another question. “I realised that I never asked you what you do for a living.”
Louis couldn’t help but smile. “Let me show you. Come on!”
Obediently following directions, Harry followed Louis down the corridor that led to Louis’ studio. Louis threw open the door. “See if you can guess.”
The minute Harry walked in the large studio space, he gasped, turning in a full circle to take it all in before turning to face Louis. “Did you do all of these paintings?”
“I did,” Louis confirmed, smiling from ear to ear again. “I’ve been drawing and painting all my life. I went to art school, then worked as a graphic designer after that. I did painting on the side and got lucky enough to get my work seen in a gallery show. When my art began to sell, I gave up my graphic design gig to paint full time.”
“These are amazing,” Harry said, stopping in front of a couple of paintings he’d just finished a week earlier—commissions of sights in London.
“Thank you.”
As Harry slowly worked his way around the room, Louis’ gaze fell on the painting he’d been working on the day before—the image from his dream. He walked back up to it to see if in the light of day it seemed more right than it had felt the night before.
As he took in the main figure in the painting, the busker, he did a double take. Brown curls, green eyes, dimples. He looked from the painting to Harry, then back again in utter disbelief.
Harry was a dead ringer for his dream busker. And it wasn’t just the hair and eyes that were the same. Harry had the same build as the busker, the same skin tone, and the same way of moving. The way the busker had moved with his guitar in Louis’ dream would stay with him forever.
The way Louis figured it, this was either just an incredible coincidence or a magical birthday/Christmas gift. Whichever it was, he knew there was a shelf life on his time with Harry. The man would leave eventually one way or the other—back to his real life or back to wherever magical beings lived. Louis needed to not dwell on how Harry had come to him, but rather simply enjoy whatever time they had together.
“Hey, Harry,” Louis said into the silence that his reverie and Harry’s perusal of Louis’ art had allowed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Harry turned from where he had squatted down to study a painting Louis was still working on for his mum. “Are these your siblings?”
Louis nodded. “They are. I was hoping to have it done in time for it to be my mum’s Christmas present, but it’s not ready yet, so now I’m aiming for her birthday in March.”
“She’ll love it.” Harry straightened up and stretched his arms up over his head. “Did you say something about food?”
“I did. I am pretty sure I have enough food in my fridge to make us a decent lunch—and dinner. Want to come in and see what I have and help me decide what to make?” Louis asked.
The grin Harry offered in response nearly took Louis’ breath away. He composed himself as quickly as he could, however, to say, “Follow me.”
In the kitchen, Louis found some cold cuts, some veggies, and a loaf of bread he hadn’t already demolished, along with a couple of different kinds of crisps, so they made sandwiches—experimental ones on Harry’s part—and ate them in front of the TV. The romcoms were still going strong on the channel Louis had turned on hours earlier, and While You Were Sleeping was just beginning. When Louis made to change the channel, Harry made a disappointed noise, so Louis let Sandra Bullock take it away.
When they were done with lunch, Louis demanded a Scrabble rematch. After losing yet again, Louis suggested another game, pulling out both a Chinese checkers board that he’d inherited from his grandmother and the game of Othello that he and his grandad used to play.
They were evenly matched at Othello, but Louis had to teach Harry to play Chinese checkers, so he won a couple of games before Harry caught on and began beating him.
While You Were Sleeping had bled into The Holiday when Louis suggested a break from games. He made them both a steaming mug of tea and muted the TV so they could sit on the couch and talk.
“Is anything coming back to you?” Louis opened the conversation. “Maybe one of the movies or games triggered something…?”
Harry frowned and shook his head. “No. Nothing.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Louis said, shrugging. “I’m sure you want to get your memory back, but in the meantime, I’m truly enjoying having you here.”
“It’s been a great day so far,” Harry agreed. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Louis was about to throw thanks right back at Harry when his mobile rang, the display showing him it was Lottie ringing. Louis excused himself to go back to his bedroom to take the call. He didn’t want to make Harry uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to let on to his family that he had such mysterious company.
He made no mention of Harry as Lottie passed her phone around. He oohed and aahed over the gifts his siblings described, he listened to the little ones sing him “Jingle Bells,” and he promised his mum he’d try to get there for Boxing Day—with any luck the roads would be open. If Harry was still there, he would be as big a surprise for his family as he’d been for Louis.
After wishing everyone a happy, happy Christmas, he left them to their Christmas dinner and returned to the lounge.
He found Harry sat on the sofa still, but he’d grabbed a photo album from Louis’ bookshelves and was slowly flipping through it. He turned his head as he heard Louis come back into the room, meeting Louis’ gaze and smiling hopefully. “Good call?”
“Yes. They’re having a good day,” Louis reported, stepping around the couch to reclaim his seat.
Harry lifted the photo album. “I was being nosy around your bookshelves and found this album. I hope that was okay.”
Louis nodded easily and waved a breezy hand around. “Sure. It’s fine. I know everything is all digital now, but my mum made that album when Lottie and me were little. There are so many old family photos in there—it’s definitely one of the best things she ever made for me.”
“Why don’t you tell me about all of these great pictures?” Harry flipped the book back to the beginning.
Louis closed the gap between them to take half of the album on his lap. “I’d love to.”
For the next hour, Louis took Harry on a tour of his family, sharing his history and all the people he loved most in the world. When they were done, he took out his mobile to show off the people who hadn’t made the album—his younger siblings.
The sun had gone down when he ran out of camera roll, and he gasped. “Oh my God, it’s dark out. I didn’t mean to spend so much time boring you with all my family photos.”
“It wasn’t the least bit boring,” Harry countered. “I hope somewhere I have a family that loves me as much as you and your family clearly love each other.”
“I’m sure you do,” Louis said; he could not for one minute imagine that someone as lovely as Harry didn’t have loved ones who cared for him deeply. “If you still haven’t remembered anything by tomorrow, we can start to do some research. We’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much.” He rested a hand on Louis’ forearm, sending warmth shooting through Louis’ body.
Louis cleared his throat and stood, afraid for what he might do if he continued to be sat so close to Harry. “I should probably figure out what we can have for dinner.”
“Can I help?” Harry offered.
“Absolutely. Let’s see what we can scrounge up.”
Amazingly, Louis found two chicken breasts in the freezer and the ingredients for chicken with parma ham in his fridge and cupboards. He even had some potatoes for some homemade mash. It was his all-time favourite comfort meal to make.
Harry kept Louis company as he thawed the chicken breasts, stuffed them with some mozzarella cheese, and wrapped them in parma ham before putting them in the oven to bake. While the chicken cooked, Louis boiled the potatoes, then mashed them, making some gravy to go on the side. Harry simply asked questions about foods and drinks Louis enjoyed, even while Harry still didn’t remember much about his own likes and dislikes.
As Louis began to be done with measuring cups, stirring spoons, and mixing bowls, Harry took them to the sink and washed and dried them, returning them to the spots where Louis had taken them from. They made a great team.
Because it was Christmas, when dinner was ready, they ate at Louis’ dining table and not in the lounge. If he had been at his mum’s, Louis would have been drinking wine, but he brought out bottles of beer for himself and Harry to drink. Harry deemed that just fine, even if he didn’t quite remember which kind of wine he might like better than beer.
After the first bite of chicken, Harry moaned with pleasure. “This is really delicious.”
Louis beamed at the praise through his own first bite. When he was done chewing, he said, “Thank you. I’m so glad you like it.”
“What was your favourite Christmas when you were a kid?” Harry asked as they worked on eating their meal, aware that they were in no rush.
“Hm,” Louis hummed. “Probably the year I was seven. That was my oldest younger sister’s first birthday. She was just four months old, but it was fun to share it with her. She loved all the lights and bright colours. And the singing—she loved all the carols.”
Harry smiled at Louis’ story. “Do you remember what you got for Christmas that year?”
“A bike!” Louis grinned just thinking back. “It was bright red. I loved it so much. I was outside riding the minute we finished opening presents.”
“Sounds like the perfect holiday,” Harry remarked, grabbing up a forkful of mash and gravy.
“It was,” Louis agreed. “Do you remember any holidays in your past?”
Frowning, Harry shook his head. “No, but that’s okay.” His frown morphed into a small smile. “I’m enjoying just hearing about yours. Any other memorable Christmas happenings?”
“Well, since you mention it, and my birthday is Christmas Eve—”
“Wait!” Harry interrupted. “Yesterday was your birthday?”
Louis nodded. “It was. My twenty-seventh, in fact.”
“Well, happy birthday! I feel like I should sing.”
“You don’t need to! My family sang to me yesterday,” Louis explained.
An adorable smirk took over the lower half of Harry’s face. “I think I will anyhow.” And without any further ado, he did. He sang in a low, slow, beautiful voice, finishing the song with a dramatic flourish. His voice sounded familiar, but Louis couldn’t quite figure out who he sounded like.
Blushing, Louis applauded. “That was really great. Thanks so much.”
Louis spent the rest of the meal regaling Harry with stories from birthdays and Christmases past. By the time Louis popped the last bit of chicken in his mouth, both of their sides were sore from laughing.
Harry helped him clean the dishes and put everything away before they retired to the couch. Louis found the latest Dr. Who Christmas special just beginning, so they sat in silence and watched it, along with the special about the biggest hits of the year that followed.
Another Christmas movie came on when the specials were done, but Louis muted it as he had that afternoon so he and Harry could talk once again. He swivelled his hips and brought one knee to the back of the couch so he could face Harry. Harry adopted the mirror position.
“When I realised that I wasn’t making it home yesterday morning, it was truly heartbreaking. I have never spent my birthday or Christmas away from my family,” Louis said. “Then you showed up, and this has ended up being a really fun Christmas, one I’ll always remember.”
“As the only Christmas which began with an almost-naked man in your lounge?” Harry asked, barely suppressing a grin.
“Well, yes, that, too,” Louis conceded, “but it was great just playing games, watching telly, and making food for two. Vastly superior to the pity party I had envisioned for myself.”
Harry’s smile continued to be one of the most beautiful things Louis had ever seen. “I had a wonderful time, too. I have no idea who I am or where I belong, but being here has made me feel so comfortable and relaxed in spite of all that, and that’s all down to you.”
Louis smiled back at Harry. “It has been my pleasure.”
With just a few feet between them, Louis had an up close and unobstructed view of Harry’s intense green eyes, seemingly bottomless dimples, and perfect red lips. And before he really knew what he was doing, he was leaning forward to capture those lips in his own.
Harry jumped at the touch, no doubt surprised by Louis’ impulsive move, and Louis immediately started to back off.
He did not get very far. Harry reached out a hand to grasp the back of Louis’ neck and pull him back in, connecting their lips for a second time. The kiss was not chaste.
Harry’s lips were soft and full, tasting of garlic and the beer they’d had for dinner. He smelled faintly of Louis’ soap and shampoo. The sensations were overwhelming, amazing, and intoxicating, and Louis knew he would never be able to get enough. The intensity with which Harry kissed him back told Louis he might just be feeling the same.
In the back of his mind, however, he remembered that neither of them knew anything about Harry’s background. They didn’t know if he had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a husband, a wife, or a family. Any of those could be hunting frantically for Harry.
They didn’t even know if he was Harry.
Reluctantly, Louis pulled himself away. “That was incredible,” he told Harry. “But it doesn’t feel quite right given that we’re not sure where you belong.”
Though he seemed equally reluctant, Harry nodded his agreement. Even as he did, though, he leaned back in toward Louis to state, “That was most definitely incredible. I cannot imagine ever forgetting that. Thank you.”
Louis felt a blush creep up his neck, and he had to close his eyes, suck in a breath, and blow it out slowly to prevent a situation in his pants that would have been massively inconvenient. He needed to perform this action two more times before he felt confident that he had averted danger. When he opened his eyes, he caught Harry doing the same, followed by a yawn.
The yawn was contagious, and Louis glanced at the clock on his old stone mantel. It was past half-ten. This was normally not too late for Louis, but the day had started earlier than he had planned, and it had been a busier day than he had expected.
“I am usually a night owl,” Louis said. “But I’m pretty tired from our busy Christmas. How about you?”
“I don’t know if I’m a night owl or not, but I’m tired, too,” Harry replied.
“My guest room is a mess,” Louis confessed. “Are you okay sleeping out here on the sofa?”
“Absolutely.” Harry nodded vigorously. “It’s plenty comfy.”
“I’ll go grab some sheets, blankets, and a pillow.”
Louis collected fresh sheets, his warmest two blankets, and the pillows from the guest room, depositing them in one of his easy chairs. Harry joined in, and the sofa was transformed into a bed in no time.
When that task was done, Louis fetched Harry some red plaid pyjamas that his friend Liam had left after a visit sometime last winter. Liam was about the same height as Harry, so hopefully, the bottoms would not be too short.
“Thanks for everything, Louis,” Harry said as he took the pyjamas in hand. “It was truly scary waking up here with no idea where I was or who I was. You made the day a lot less stressful than it could have been.”
“Well, even though tomorrow is Boxing Day, we can start to try to figure out who you are and get you back to your life,” Louis said.
“That would be great.” Harry’s eyes and smile both shone with gratitude.
“You can use the bathroom first,” Louis offered. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks for everything, Louis. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas.”
* * *
Louis fell asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow. He dreamt once again of the busker by the Christmas tree, only this time, the busker was very definitely Harry. Harry playing guitar and singing Christmas carols in his low, sultry voice.
When he woke, he could still remember the dream. He might share it with Harry over breakfast, laughing about how Harry had made such an impression he was already inserting himself in Louis’ dreams.
His mobile said that it was nine a.m., a respectable hour for rising on Boxing Day. After visiting the loo, he padded out to the lounge to see if Harry was awake.
Instead of Harry curled up under the covers on the sofa, Louis found carefully folded sheets and blankets piled on one side of the sofa and two pillows stacked neatly on the other.
“Harry?” he called out toward the kitchen. “Are you up already?”
There was no response, and the kitchen was empty. He walked back toward his studio. Perhaps Harry had wanted to take a longer look at his art. He called Harry’s name again as he approached the studio door, but the studio was empty, too. There wasn’t anyplace else left to check.
With a heart that was growing heavy, Louis had to accept that Harry was gone. Perhaps he had remembered who he was and where he lived and hadn’t wanted to waste any time getting back home. Louis hoped that was exactly what had happened—for Harry’s sake.
As sad as he was at the thought that he might never see Harry again, he would always have the glorious memory of the Christmas they spent together.
After preparing a cup of tea, he stepped out onto his front stoop to sip it. Though it was still freezing—and his lawn was piled with snow—he was stunned to see that the road looked clear. If the trains were running, he might actually make it home for Boxing Day.
A quick consultation of the internet told him that the trains were, indeed, up and running from his area just outside London, and his Uber app told him it would not take long to get a ride to the train station.
Promising himself he could spend the train ride reminiscing about his day with Harry, Louis put Christmas memories on hold to call his mum and make a plan.
She was beyond excited that he was finally coming. All she asked was that he take the train to the stop just past the one he usually got out at. There was, apparently, construction near his usual station, and it would be easier for him to go to the next stop and just take a taxi home from there. The moment he got off the phone he booked his train ticket.
He packed quickly for the few days he would be home, adding in the presents he hadn’t sent ahead. He downed a piece of toast for sustenance, then he opened his Uber app.
Just over an hour later, he was settling into his seat on the train. In a belated Christmas miracle, he managed to score a window seat. It was always nice to watch the scenery on his way home, keeping an eye out for each landmark that acted as a sign of how much closer he was to his destination. He imagined it would be even nicer when the landmarks were surrounded by snow.
Once the train had left the station, Louis’ seatmate let him out so he could visit the café car, where he bought some watered-down tea and a sausage roll. The journey would only be about two hours—and at the end of it would come his mum’s wonderful cooking—but the toast he’d grabbed had not sated him at all.
As he munched on his sausage roll and sipped at his tea back at his seat, Louis stared out the window and allowed himself to think about Harry and the amazing, crazy, weird Christmas Day they’d shared.
Louis guessed it would forever be a mystery how Harry had come to be at his house. He supposed it was possible that Harry had lost his memory in an accident, found his way to Louis’ house, and located a door or window Louis had inadvertently left open. That was the rational explanation, in any case. Even so, Louis didn’t want to give up the idea that Harry was his Christmas wish and that when Christmas had gone, so had Harry. This idea spoke to Louis’ more romantic side.
Regardless of how Harry had ended up there, Louis would be forever grateful for the unexpected holiday company.
In order to pass the time, Louis fired up his current favourite playlist and caught up on his social media accounts. Before he knew it, the tinny sound of the conductor’s voice announcing his stop coming up caught his attention between songs.
Sneaking out past his seatmate one last time, Louis collected his bag and his coat and headed out to the vestibule to wait for the train to arrive at the station.
After stepping out onto the platform and out of the way of the other disembarking passengers, he stopped to take a moment to orient himself. The other travellers were going out in both directions, but more in one direction than the other. Since he was unfamiliar with this particular station, he followed the bigger crowd, hoping they would lead him to the taxi stand.
As he emerged onto the street, the cold air nipping at his nose, Louis started looking for the taxi stand. He spotted it pretty quickly, but as he walked over, he became aware of a crowd gathering around what looked to be the town Christmas tree. Louis could hear the sound of a guitar emanating from the other side of the crowd. Curious, Louis bypassed the taxi stand, pulling his bag behind him, and gently eased his way into the crowd to check out the mesmerizing musician.
It took him a minute, but he gained the front of the crowd just as a low, slow voice began to sing “Silent Night.”
Other than the fact that it was daytime, not nighttime, the scene before Louis was straight out his dream—the one he’d spent hours trying to recreate on canvas. A large Christmas tree decked with white lights and decorated with blue, red, and green metallic balls, gently falling snow, a large crowd, and a busker with a guitar slung over his shoulder. The busker was a man of about twenty-five with chocolate brown curls, pale green eyes, and dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. He was wearing a brown sweater under a thin jean jacket and not a black sweater under a tan coat, but otherwise, the resemblance was uncanny.
If he hadn’t begun singing, Louis would have thought it was coincidence that just like the man in his dream and his painting, this man looked remarkably like his Christmas visitor, but that voice was quite distinctive—it was the same exact voice that had sung Louis “Happy Birthday” the day before. There could be no mistake. It was Harry. This had to be Harry.
Louis completely forgot that he was supposed to be getting to his mother’s house. Instead, he stood there and listened, mesmerised, as the busker who looked and sang exactly like Harry made his way through several Christmas carols, each earning enthusiastic applause from the crowd.
It was during a lively rendition of “Jingle Bells” that the talented singer’s gaze met Louis’. Louis instantly held his breath, hoping for a hint of recognition. Sadly, there was none. This wasn’t the man he’d spent Christmas with. In recognition’s place, however, was connection—which might, in fact, be better. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before the busker shot Louis a small smile and returned his attention to his audience.
Through the next three songs, Louis stood transfixed by the performer-who-was-not-Harry. And that performer kept returning his gaze to Louis, smiling whenever he did, apparently as taken by Louis as Louis was by him.
After a brisk sing-along of “Deck the Halls,” the busker said he was going to take a break. The crowd moaned their disappointment, but they soon recovered to offer applause. As the people dispersed in small groups, many of them threw money into the man’s open guitar case. There was a decent-sized pile of notes and coins by the time Louis was the only person left.
Hauling in a deep breath, Louis gripped his bag’s handle tightly and walked toward where the singer was collecting up the money, piling the bills together.
When he spotted Louis approaching, the busker straightened up. “Hi,” he greeted Louis, smiling shyly.
Offering his own shy smile, Louis said, “You have a beautiful voice.”
The dimples shared by both the dream man in Louis’ painting and his Christmas guest made another appearance on the busker’s face. “Thank you.”
“It reminds me of someone I shared a very special day with,” Louis explained.
“Really?” the busker asked.
“Truly,” Louis assured him. “I was hooked the moment I heard your guitar.”
A cold breeze swept over them both at that moment, and the busker shivered.
The shiver gave Louis an idea. “Hey, you look like you could use some warming up. I’m heading to my mum’s house to have a belated Christmas. It’s just the next town over. Would you like to come with me? I promise I’m not trying to lure you away for nefarious reasons, just some hot cocoa and a warm fire. I’ll get my little sisters on the phone to vouch for me.”
A brief look of scepticism crossed over the busker’s face, and he stared hard at Louis, clearly trying to sort out if Louis was being genuine. Whatever he saw must have convinced him that Louis was no danger. He relaxed and nodded. “I am cold. Hot cocoa sounds good. I’m in.”
Louis beamed. “Excellent. By the way, I’m Louis.” He held out his hand.
The busker took it. “Nice to meet you, Louis. I’m Harry.”
(End 1 December 2023)