“But my parents wouldn’t treat you with respect, and I won’t subject you to that.”

“How much do they know about me?” Riley asked, afraid of the answer.

“Nothing. I would never tell them how I met you. They simply wouldn’t respect any man I brought to their house as my lover. My sister Kathryn knows, but she doesn’t care how we ended up together. She encouraged me to find out if you’d give me another chance. I’ll introduce you any time you’re ready. If you want to meet her that is.”

Riley smiled at Thorne’s nervousness. “I do.”

The look of pure joy on his face made Riley reconsider the whole waiting idea once again.

“Can you come over on Christmas Eve? I’d love to spend the evening with you.”

Riley nodded. “I’m having dinner with Susan, but I’ll come over right afterward. I’ll even bring leftovers.”

“Perfect.” Thorne glanced at the door and then back at Riley. “If we’re truly waiting, I should go.”

Riley wasn’t feeling very patient, but he was determined. “Christmas is only five days away.”

“And I’ll be more eager than most kids for it to get here,” Thorne said as he slipped on his coat.

Riley smiled as he closed the door behind him. If things went well, this would be a very merry Christmas indeed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Thorne had never cared about holiday presents. Lauren had done his shopping in recent years, but for Riley, he’d need a perfect gift, and it couldn’t be expensive. Nothing too lavish. Of course he had every intention of giving Riley the painting he’d bought for him, or at least having Riley help him hang it. He’d agonized about a present since the night he’d stood in front of Riley’s apartment feeling ridiculous and praying his gesture would be enough. Like many risks he’d taken in his life, it had paid off. That was a good sign, right?

But what could he get Riley that he would believe was sincere? Thorne had considered a set of Brat Pack movies, but Riley probably owned most of them already. Then Thorne had hit upon an idea. It had seemed brilliant at the time; now it seemed absurd. Riley loved food and cooking; and every Christmas when Thorne was little his grandmother had made tiramisu. Just the smell of it meant Christmas to him. His mom hadn’t been much of a baker, so she’d bought the holiday desserts after Thorne’s grandmother died. But Kathryn had their grandmother’s recipes, so he’d called her.

“I need Grandma’s recipe for tiramisu, the one she made every Christmas.”

“Is Riley going to make it for you?” Kathryn asked.

“No, I’m going to make it for him.”

It had taken Kathryn quite a while to recover from her laughing fit.