The Working Elf Blues Read Free Page B

fought not to cover his ears, suddenly self-conscious. They were one of the most sensitive areas on his body. Elves either loved them to be touched or hated it, no in between. Garnet had always loved it. He wondered what Wes thought of them.
    "Why have you come back every five years since that first time?" Wes asked. "Why did you never try to explain to me before?"
    Uneasy, Garnet shifted in his seat. "Technically, we're never supposed to tell anyone what we really are. I've broken a lot of rules by telling you. By being here now."
    "Then why did you come?"
    Garnet gave Wes a helpless look. How to explain? How did he say that as a young elf he'd fallen in love with a human boy? That he'd spied on and secretly yearned for that boy as he watched him grow into a man, that the moment he'd realized the boy shared the same desires as himself had been one of the happiest moments of his life? Because it meant Garnet had a chance. But wasn't that why he'd come here—to explain, to take that chance?
    "I've watched you for a long time." Garnet kept his eyes on his cup of cocoa, focused on the white blob of his melted marshmallows. "You were so sad the first time I saw you. At first I only wanted to check in, see if that sadness had gone away. But when I saw you that second time, I… Your eyes were the same, and the last time too, and I…" Wanted to take your pain away. Wanted to help. Wanted to stay. Just… wanted.
    "You what?" Wes prompted when Garnet trailed off into silence.
    Garnet forced himself to look up. "I wanted to be there for you. With you. I want… you."
    *~*~*
    Wes stared at the man—elf—across the table from him as the words echoed in his head. Garnet wanted him ? It seemed almost as impossible to believe as Garnet being some toy-making elf from the North Pole. And yet, there he sat, with pointed ears and small, fine features and eyes so intensely green Wes could think of no comparison for them but emeralds. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since the accident, and Garnet looked only mildly worse for wear. A normal human wouldn't have come out of that crash so unscathed, if they survived it at all.
    All signs pointed to the fact that Garnet must really be what he claimed. That didn't make it any easier to accept. Wes had always considered himself to be a very pragmatic sort of man. His folks had died when he was so young his memories of them were hazy at best. After that came his first set of foster parents, Neil and Sharon. Decent enough people, if a little distant. Then Mitchell, Sharon's burly, kind-hearted brother, who'd officially adopted Wes and treated him as his own.
    They'd had four blissful years before a bad fall and a blood clot stole Mitch away. He'd left everything to Wes: his house in the city, the cabin, his dogs, and his love for woodworking. When Wes was eighteen, it all came to him, and he'd breathed new life into Mitch's old business—hand-crafting canoes, dog sleds, toboggans, and a variety of furniture pieces. He made a good living now, which was how he could afford to take a month off at the cabin every December.
    But he was a simple man of simple means who worked with his hands and rarely allowed himself to be fanciful. Elves and Santa and flying sleighs didn't fall into the category of realistic. Real was spending every Christmas alone because he didn't have any family to speak of. Real was lonely mornings and lonelier nights. Real was spending most of his time with a pack of loyal dogs because he didn't know how to relate to people who'd grown up in a normal household, not a series of foster homes where he always felt like he already had one foot out the door. Aside from his parents, no one but Mitch had ever wanted him enough to keep him for long.
    "You don't know me," he told Garnet, not unkindly. It was the simple truth.
    "I do know you." Garnet's voice held surprising strength. For the first time, he looked at Wes head on, unblinking, not as if he might scurry away at any moment.