Burying the Hatchet by A.C. Thomas

Author:A.C. Thomas [Thomas, A.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, gay, holiday/seasonal, Christmas tree farm, interracial, enemies/rivals to lovers, second chances, family drama/homophobia, outing, slow burn, size difference, Southern, mutual pining
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2020-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Jake shut down on the walk back to the Jubilee, tearing off his antlers and shoving them in his back pocket with a muted jingle, replacing them with his knit cap.

It was as if they had traveled back in time, and Clayton watched longingly from the sidelines while Jake Carver acted like he’d been carved from cold mountain rock.

Jake pulled away from Clayton as soon as possible and threw himself into his work, distributing trees with a determined sort of stoicism.

Every attempt Clayton made at approaching him was either ignored or rebuffed or, even worse, met with snide belligerence that sent familiar spikes of humiliation down his spine.

Only, now, Clayton had a well of experience to channel those feelings through, to set fire to them until he was burning from the soles of his feet up to the tip of his ridiculous elf cap.

Jake sneered at Clayton’s handling of the ring toss, and Clayton responded with an unsubtle kick at his shins with the steel toe of his boots.

Jake hip-checked him out of the way with an armful of greenery, and Clayton accidentally-on-purpose dropped a small handful of snow down the collar of his jacket. The pained hiss Jake made in response sent something tightening low in Clayton’s abdomen that had very little to do with revenge.

Jake disappeared for a while after that, and Clayton took over loading trees in his absence, moving at half the pace and a fraction of the efficiency.

He was drowning in frustration and pine boughs.

Clayton huffed and struggled beneath the weight of the last tree, an eight-foot pine chosen after much deliberation by a very nice lady now leading him to her battered station wagon.

He stumbled as another set of arms wrapped around the trunk and wrenched it away from him.

Jake heaved the tree up against one shoulder, voice pitched low with disdain. “Leave the lifting to the men, Clay.”

Clayton seized one end of the tree and threw it up on top of the car with a grunt even as Jake effortlessly lifted the rest.

He glared at Jake over the metal roof as they tied it on, biting out between clenched teeth, “Watch your mouth, Carver.”

Jake’s eyes dropped to Clayton’s mouth, dark and sharp like a cliff’s edge that Clayton wanted nothing more than to throw himself over.

He jolted at the slam of the driver’s side door as a cheerful voice called out, “Y’all have a Merry Christmas!”

They broke apart, Jake turning on his heel and stomping back to the lot while Clayton fumed.

Clayton headed over to help Mrs. Bernard shut down the carnival and cut the lights. He stood at the cashier’s table and watched from the corner of his eye as Jake furiously scribbled on his clipboard, gloves hanging out of his pocket.

After he waved Mrs. Bernard off, Clayton shucked his gloves and stowed the profits securely away in his zippered pocket.

Jake now stood beside the open barn door, brow furrowed over his scribblings. Only one of the lights was on inside and bathed the side of his face in a soft amber glow.

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