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"Wallet?"
"Check."
"Ticket?"
Leo flicked the passport in his hand. Between its pages, the flimsy stubs of printed paper flapped briefly in the air. "Check."
His mom's humming sounded focused. Leo was 99% sure she was scanning a checklist to make sure he'd packed everything he'd told her he needed a few days ago. Typical Eloise Knut.
"Then you're all set, honey," she said sweetly. "Nothing to worry about. You're coming home, you won't need much more."
Leo smiled at the airport doors sliding open in front of him. "I know, Mama," he said, warm air instantly settling over the biting cold in his bones, melting the fresh snow that clung to his heavy coat. "I just need to get out of this country before I turn into an icicle."
With the promise of steaming, spicy chicken soup for dinner and a cozy night’s sleep in his old bedroom, Leo ended the call. On the departure board, the flight information he was looking for scrolled up the screen, just as another plane lifted off the ground. Among those scheduled for the afternoon, Leo easily found his own flight details:
14:10 New York-JFK, AA101, Gate F60, Boarding
14:35 Tampa, UA973, Gate F21, Boarding
14:50 Vancouver, AC556, Gate E1, Delayed
— 15:50
15:25 Boston, UA749, Gate E15, Scheduled
16:10 Québec City, AC117, Gate F58, Delayed
— 16:35
16:30 New Orleans, AA107, Gate F57, Scheduled
The line at the security checkpoint could've been worse, given that it was Christmas Eve. The air felt electric. Everyone was impatiently bouncing on their toes, excited to go home on a late run to families and loved ones. Leo thought that even the officers looked merrier than usual as he walked through the body scanner, grinning back at the woman stationed there, her sleek blond ponytail tied in a huge red velvet bow clip.
Why Leo's bag was the one that inevitably and perpetually got checked after scannings, that was a mystery he'd probably never uncover.
Sure, it was frivolous, but since Leo had moved to Toronto a little over a year ago, he had started this new tradition of wandering through duty-free shops in search of silly local souvenirs to bring home. Maple candies mustn't be missing from his mama's purse anymore. Plus, this year, his dad had been very specific about which bottle of syrup he wanted to try with his Boxing Day pancakes.
Having secured his loot, Leo followed the signs to his gate on the jolly notes of a jazzy cover of Jingle Bells, carrying his small suitcase alongside the foggy runway. Leo didn't mind the loop of Christmas songs playing in every corner of the airport. He'd been waiting for this day for months, and intended to enjoy every clichéd moment of it—including humming along happily to Michael Bublé's entire discography.
Porte F, he read the sign above in French. Gate F, his flight yet to be announced.
Leo wasn't sure if he'd ever seen a gate area so packed with people. He barely managed to weave his way between rows of utter chaos, and jumped to claim one last free seat, conveniently close to a smaller departure screen. Only then did Leo easily pull off his beige knitted scarf, matching beanie and gloves. He unbuttoned his long blue coat—not quite ready to let go of the warm, thick wool—to reveal an oversized red sweater with a smiley reindeer on it, plush pom-pom nose and all.
It was Christmas Eve. Leo was going home. Of course an ugly holiday sweater was more than appropriate.
Warmth simmered in his chest with anticipation, spreading even more when he took a moment to look around. The sweet aroma of chocolate and cinnamon filled his next breath. There was a small, crowded café close by and a tiny shop selling sandwiches and cute pastries. Green garlands adorned the display case, and tiny warm lights twinkled between blue and silver glittery balls. A couple came out of the nearby bookstore arm in arm, carrying two small, shiny bags—probably something to read on their flight, Leo thought, or maybe some late, improvised gifts. A woman suddenly took chase after her toddler, who seemed ready to climb the giant Christmas tree in the middle of the corridor. Behind him, Leo heard someone whisper the softest I love you, followed by a tearful, heavily accented Can't wait. See you tomorrow, darling.
Outside, the sky hung gloomy and so dense it was hard to see the rush of workers and machines beyond the glass walls. Maybe Toronto would actually get its forecast Christmas snowstorm, after all.
Leo had made the right choice when he'd moved in to chase his dream. A spot at Chef Kasey Winter’s world-famous Académie de Haute Pâtisserie was a once-in-a-lifetime chance one wouldn’t miss in a million years. However, he couldn't deny the struggle of adjusting to the harsh cold, the frenetic city life, and the constant ache of missing home.
Leo knew New Orleans was always waiting for him, couldn't wait to spend ten wonderful days in the milder southern winter, walking around the streets he missed every day and strolling through the local markets with their unrivaled pralines, surrounded by family and old friends. He'd get to cook his favorite recipes with his mama and finally share some new baking tricks he'd recently perfected at school. Leo could picture it clear as day—sipping hot chocolate on the couch while discussing the final touches to their Christmas menu, sinking into the warmth of his dad's holiday accents, each one coloring the house with sparks of tradition.
There was no room in Leo's heart for any sadness, for any of that biting melancholy that sometimes kept him awake at night. Not when he was only a handful of hours away from everything he wanted most, and definitely not when he could sneak quick, furtive glances at one handsome sleepyhead slumped in the seat in front of him, clearly struggling not to fall asleep on the spot.
Short, messy, chocolate-brown curls poked out of the hood of a black sweatshirt—dark enough to set off beautiful but tired green eyes and perfect, tan skin. The boy kept yawning, covering his face with large hands—red knuckles cracked from the cold—and rubbing his eyes with softly clenched fists. Leo watched him cautiously as the boy absently drummed his fingers on his thigh, as he leaned forward to do the same on the top of his suitcase, tapping a catchy rhythm with the pads of bitten fingertips.
Leo had to blink away his awe, willing himself not to stare.
How could someone be so gorgeous and cute at the same time?
He kept himself occupied by slipping his Kindle out of his backpack and balancing it on his crossed legs. For the first time in months, Leo felt relaxed and unbothered.
Yep, he thought, biting back a smile. The wait is totally worth it.
* * *
This is the final boarding call for flight AA101 to New York City…
The hallway filled with a chiming tune, calling out to a late passenger. Logan lowered his headphones, leaving them loose around his sore neck—mostly because he was dreading any more news about his flight.
His very last-minute, delayed flight home.
Had he been sleeping again, Logan wasn't sure. He was probably getting by on too much caffeine and sugar lately, unable to suppress a nagging sense of guilt that had been haunting him for weeks, making his nights restless.
Always so busy, Bear, Noelle had scolded him on the phone only a few days ago—another soft, loving reprimand, full of nostalgia for his not spending his birthday at home. We miss our baby brother, you know?
And he missed his family, too—so badly. Maybe he'd been a little selfish, coming up with excuse after excuse to get home as late as possible. Projects to deliver, the company Christmas party, the last-minute gift hunt for his sisters and, of course, the Dumais children—a second family in this new city full of promise for which he was eternally grateful. Logan wanted to be there to see the joy in each of their smiles as they celebrated his favorite time of year. But at the end of the day, he knew he would inevitably spend every single night mulling over all that happiness, lying all by himself in his creaking, old twin bed; he'd only feel the coldness of the sheets against his skin, and the emptiness beside him—a constant reminder that, unlike anyone else, he was alone, still, year after year after year.
Logan rubbed that ghostly image from his tired, stinging eyes. The airport smelled of chocolate and sugarcane. He pulled his beat-up headphones back on—he was sure Aubrey would get him a new pair for Christmas—and looked around, soaking up as much of the festive spirit pervading the air as he could.
Logan knew he was loved as much as he loved his family, and that was the only thing that should have mattered. Still, his Aunt Marie's high-pitched squeaks over the phone—Are you finally bringing anyone home this year, mon cher?—echoed in his dreams like the dawn of a recurring nightmare.
The airport was busier now than when Logan had arrived—chattier and much louder. Logan hadn't noticed that—to no one's surprise, really—his flight had been delayed another fifteen minutes. He'd also clearly missed the exact moment the picture-perfect image of a Greek god had sat right in front of him. The boy looked tall, had mile-long legs crossed at the ankles. His round face was framed by honey-blond curls, and the cutest button nose Logan had ever laid eyes on was buried in the dim pages of an e-reader, whose battered case rivaled the pitiful state of Logan's AirPods. The sweater he wore matched the bright red of his frost-kissed cheeks. On his chest, knitted in thick wool, a reindeer with velvety, twisted antlers, big brown eyes, and a puffy nose smiled at Logan.
Logan didn't even realize he was staring until he found himself face-to-face with a sea of blue—a sky to beam at, stretching above frozen ponds in the Quebecois forest. Logan jerked his eyes away in an instant, or at least he tried to—and failed miserably—because those blue eyes were magnets. They caught Logan on the spot as soon as he dared another glance, along with a dimpled smile that shone with its own bright light. Logan fought with his life against the warm heat spreading across his face, paralyzed and definitely staring again—
Coffee, his thoughts urgently pivoted. He needed coffee, tea, a distraction, anything to make him stop gawking at a stranger—a beautiful, handsome, unbelievably gorgeous stranger—like a freak.
Coat in one hand, the other gripping the handle of his suitcase, Logan stood up, poised to leave. Instead of running away, as his shameful mind was begging him to, he mustered the courage to give the blond a sheepish, crooked smile of his own, then spun around to walk quickly in the opposite direction.
~
"Logan—Caramel Brulée Latte to go!"
Logan took the glittery green cup from the counter. "Thank you," he said with a small sigh of relief, offering the barista a tight quirk of his chapped lips.
"Happy holidays!" She smiled back.
Logan simply nodded, sipping a small taste of the burning, sweet coffee. He was debating what to do next when the same telltale tune played in the hallway,
Attention, please. We regret to inform passengers that Flight AC556 to Vancouver, scheduled for 14:50, has been canceled due to ongoing operational issues. Passengers are requested to contact—
The tornado of gasps, groans, and buzzing murmurs that followed covered the rest of the announcement, sending an icy shiver down Logan's spine. It only got worse when he spared a look out the window and saw...absolutely nothing. In the ten minutes he'd spent in line, the last rays of daylight had turned gray and misty. Now, heavy snowflakes cut the sky in slanted patterns, shaped by heavy gusts of wind. Nothing out of the ordinary for an average Canadian winter, Logan had to remind himself before panic could join the conversation.
With a light, shaky tap on his phone's screen, music filled his ears like a lullaby. Outside the coffee shop, Logan found himself searching the crowd for a hint of honey, of blue gemstones and rosy lips—hopefully another warm, kind smile that Logan desperately needed, knew he'd hardly forget. He kicked himself for leaving in the first place because there was no doubt someone had already taken his place. And what were the odds they'd ever meet again?
In hindsight, he could not have seen it coming.
Logan was trying to be careful, pushing through fast-moving bodies and rolling wheels. The fast rap in his ears drowned out all other noises, and Logan missed those distant shouts that were quickly gathering everyone else's attention.
Excuse me, sir—Oh, shit! I'm so sorry! Please! Please? Let me through!
Blue eyes did find him, eventually. But Logan didn't get enough time to decipher their wide-eyed look until a flash of red crossed his field of vision. Someone stumbled in front of Logan. A hand grasped a piece of his hoodie with such a desperate grip that, before Logan knew, the floor slipped out from under his feet, and he was falling face-first onto the floor.
A chorus of curses followed.
"Merde."
"Shit."
Holy fuck, Leo gasped from a little further away, almost jumping to his feet.
* * *
"Oh my God. Oh—my God. Fuck."
Finn kept his eyes shut, his nose wrinkled in a grimace of pain. Someone was struggling to get up across his chest. Someone he'd just tripped over. Someone who was probably about to hit him, hard.
He brought his hands to his chest and face, all wet and sticky. His neck burned, his shirt was soaked.
"Please don't hurt me," he begged.
When no response came, though, Finn slowly blinked one eye open. Straddling his legs he found a boy, full lips slightly parted and wide, green eyes moving quickly over his body, unreadable.
"Are you...okay?" Finn tried.
"Mon café..."
"What?"
"Uh, non. I mean, yes," the boy cleared his voice, blushing furiously as he pushed himself up. "I mean, I'm fine. Are you?"
"Yeah, yeah, no. No, actually, I'm not," Finn cursed, standing up too. "I'm late, and…and my—Alex, he…he's waiting for me, and dad said—" He trailed off, feeling waves of panic crash over him. "No."
"Howdy," a soft voice cut in. A tall, blond man approached them quietly, venturing a friendly but hesitant smile. "I’m sorry. I...uh—I just saw you two..." He stumbled over his own words a little. "Here," he said, handing over a camera lens. Finn's wide-angle lens—painfully cracked over the glass. "It slipped out of your bag when you fell."
Finn stared blankly into his very blue eyes. "Did the flight to New York take off?" He heard himself ask.
"Yeah," the other boy joined in, lifting his chin up to give the blond a funny look. “Like, ten minutes ago.”
"Fuck…" Finn's head fell back in defeat as he let out a frustrated sigh.
His neck felt itchy, something sticky was leaking its way down his chest, and he was totally positive he had whipped cream smeared across his chin.
Because of course this is happening right fucking now.
"I’m sorry," he heard the two boys murmur at the same time.
Finn recovered enough to look between them—two strangers staring at him with concern.
"No," he shook his head, suddenly very aware of what was happening. "No, no, of course none of this is your fault..."
"Logan." Deep green eyes locked with his own for what felt like the very first time.
"And?" Finn let his gaze wander up to bright blue and gold.
"Leo." The blond pursed his lips into a slightly worried smile.
"Actually, Logan and Leo..." Finn coughed nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. The smell of caramel was so insistent he suddenly felt sugar-drunk. "I’m the one here who needs to apologize."
"It's okay," Logan fired back, then laughed as he reached over to wipe a glob of sprinkled cream from the collar of Finn's shirt. "I mean, you got the worst of it, after all."
"Jesus," Finn snorted, feeling the burning heat on his cheeks spread to the tips of his ears. Leo offered them both a clean tissue, and the most gentle smile. "Can I... Let me at least buy you another coffee," Finn said to Logan. Then he turned to Leo. "I'll get you something, too. I swear to God, I would’ve had a nervous breakdown if I'd lost something else today."
"You really don't have to," Leo said, his laugh just a soft breath. He tilted his head slightly, and the cutest dimples made a sweet appearance on his pink cheeks.
"But I'd like to," Finn blurted. "Yeah. Unless your flights leave soon or…or you don't want to, of course."
Leo and Logan exchanged a lingering look, and Finn knew he got himself in trouble.
Not only had he missed his flight home, but the last one of the day had been booked solid since October. A snowstorm was expected overnight—a biblical one—and the chances of catching an early flight on Christmas morning were slim. To make matters worse, the airline's website had kept him locked in a personal fight for days, making it impossible to change or buy any sort of ticket. But most of all, Finn felt inconsolably guilty. Alex, his older brother, was bringing his girlfriend home for the first time to meet the family. Their mom had sounded so happy on the phone that morning. She'd rambled on about their plans for dinner, the new Christmas tree, and the many gifts she'd bought for Natalie because she just couldn't decide, because Finn, baby, what do you think says 'welcome to the family' more? Hearing her joyful voice had crumbled Finn's heart into a million pieces, and as much as he'd wanted to—Finn had tried to teleport himself in the warm living room of his parents' brownstone many lonely times—he'd been stuck between the bare walls of his tiny apartment and a bunch of cold hockey rinks for weeks.
The Marlies hadn't allowed him more than a day off in months, actually. Finn had just had to pull another all-nighter to finish editing all the shots from last night's game—the fifth of a grueling West Coast roadie—and all the Christmas content for the Social Media Manager to post during the short holiday break. As a result, Finn was exhausted, sleep-deprived, nursing a pounding, three-day headache, and missing his family like crazy.
Why these two boys were soothing some of his too many worries, though, Finn couldn't quite explain.
As if on cue, they flashed him matching grins, nodding in sync.
"Yeah?" Finn's breath caught in his chest. A spark of something exciting jolted inside him. "Let me just—let me grab my suitcase. And then we can go, yeah?"
Leo frowned, confused. "Your…suitcase?"
"Yes, my—" Finn reached behind him with a searching hand, whipped around, and a slap of realization hit him hard in the face. In a flash, his eyes went from comically wide to shamefully squeezed shut. "Fuck me," he groaned, smacking himself square in the face.
A short, awkward silence fell between them, until Logan failed to hold back a giggle. A loud, hysterical giggle that made them all burst out laughing uncontrollably.
"Allez," Logan began, wiping tears from his long, thick eyelashes. "Looks like you could use a nice drink, too," he chuckled. "But..."
Finn dragged his fingers down his red-hot face—slow breaths, chest pounding—and just looked between them.
"Wanna tell us your name?" Leo finished.
"Oh," Finn gasped out a strangled chuckle. God, he really was in trouble. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. I—"
The announcement tune jingled again, but none of them so much as blinked.
"I'm Finn." His smile felt recklessly wild as he held out his hand. "Finn O’Hara."