The King of Cups

By Elinor Gray

American college student Charlie Porter is stuck in London for Christmas, thanks to massive winter storms that blanket Europe. He's facing a holiday spent in a hostel eating cold beans out of a can, when Hugh Campbell, his friend from university, surprises him with an invitation to Scotland. If Charlie is going to miss Christmas with his own family, he might as well spend it with someone else's. But nothing is ever that simple, especially when Hugh's mum puts them up in Hugh's old bedroom together. Charlie's been nursing a crush on Hugh since they met, but he can't ruin a perfectly good friendship over that.

Hugh knew his mum and dad would see right through him, but he should have expected that Charlie would get the boyfriend treatment. Rather than dispel any illusions, he and Charlie agree to let the matter lie and to act as normal as possible. But when Hugh's friends get on his case about Charlie, he'll deny his attraction until the sun comes up. Not that anyone really believes him.

Without the distractions of school work or flatmates, the tension of being alone together grows. Charlie is headed home after the New Year, and then will be gone for good by the summertime. Can they sort out their feelings before it's too late? Or will this just be another missed opportunity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elinor Gray
• Release date: Nov 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311830364

Elinor Gray

Elinor grew up in Baltimore, got a BA in Philadelphia and an MA in London. Now she lives in Portland, Oregon, with her wife, daughter, and several cats.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Charlie Porter scrubbed his hands over his face for what felt like the thousandth time, cringing at the grungy layer of airport sweat on his skin. Around him, the displeasure of hundreds of thwarted travelers made his stomach ache, but that might have been the third overpriced Terminal 5 lunch in as many days.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the snow was still falling. The winds had died down today, giving everyone a measure of hope, but as the wind had dropped so had the temperature, and now every plane at Heathrow was grounded for fruitless de-icing. There were two days until Christmas.

Beside him, a young couple were slumped in a close approximation of a heap in the black leather seats they shared, their two kids grumpily asleep in their arms. Charlie was glad the baby had quit whining, but he was very close to taking up the mantle himself.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and saw the missed text from his mother. She was holding out more hope than Charlie had left that he would make it home for Christmas. She had approved international calls in this particular crisis, so he put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. His mom picked up after two.

Hey, baby, she said, sounding as tired as he felt.

Hi, mom, Charlie said.

What's the word?

Nothing, he said, putting his face in his free hand and smushing his words into his palm. Nothing is taking off and nothing's landing. There just aren't any flights for them to put me on.

Christine Porter sighed in sympathy and said, I'm sorry, honey. What time is it there? Can you stay another night at Hugh's?

Yeah, he's not leaving for his parents' until tomorrow morning.

Charlie heard the sound of his mother typing something, probably revisiting the weather website she'd been checking for him, and then she said, That storm doesn't look like it's going anywhere. Man, that thing is huge. I think I can see the eye over Dublin.

Not helping, mom, Charlie said. What am I going to do? I don't think I can handle another day at the airport. He let out a shaky breath. I might not be able to fly out until after the holiday.

They were quiet for a moment, and then his mom said, Well, baby, that might be for the best. As much as I want you home safe and sound, I really don't want you to have to spend Christmas in the airport.

Me neither, Charlie agreed, hanging his head. His neck ached from the long hours spent sitting, waiting for nothing. His mouth felt dry, sticky, and his throat was sore. He could be getting sick from the airport air, and wouldn't that make for an awesome Christmas morning. Where am I gonna go? he asked. The dorms are closed.

Get a hotel, his mom said. A hostel if you want it, but treat yourself to a private room or something, just for a night or two. Put it on your dad's credit card. We can do Christmas when you get home, Charlie. Your aunt and uncle are going to Colorado this year, thank God, so we don't have to entertain anyone. It'll be okay.

Charlie's throat was tight, and it wasn't the suspicious tickle of an impending cold. He hid his eyes behind his hand and took a slow breath.

Don't cry, sweetie, his mom said softly. It's going to be okay. It's just Christmas.

Logically, Charlie knew that was true. Christmas morning for the Porter family involved sleeping in (Santa had never made an appearance at their house; Charlie's dad had made sure of that) and opening their stockings before breakfast (toys and trinkets and stuff Charlie's mom bought him and his brother at the hardware store, or the supermarket, or the local elementary school craft show). Then they had breakfast, which consisted of cinnamon roll pancakes and piles of bacon and bowls of fruit, and lasted at least an hour. Breakfast was followed by presents from under the tree. Cheesy as it sounded, Charlie always liked watching his gifts be received more than opening his own. Not that getting presents wasn't fun.

But it was tradition, and doing it on any day but the 25th wouldn't feel right, regardless of how secular their Christmases were. The idea of missing that morning with his family, especially after five months abroad, felt like it was squeezing Charlie's heart in his chest. He took another shuddering breath.

Yeah, he said roughly, I know.

Get outta there, Charlie, his mom said. What time is it? Almost eight?

Charlie said, Mhm. His face was wet. He wiped it on his sleeve. He was too hot in his jacket, but he hadn't been able to put anything down for twelve hours. Fuck. If he could just get home, he could forget how miserable airports made him.

Go back to Hugh's, get some sleep, and call me in the morning. Tell that poor boy we'll buy him a week's worth of groceries for putting you up. I'll be up tomorrow to check the weather again for you, and we'll go from there. Does that sound good?

Yeah, Charlie said again. Thanks, Mom.

You're welcome, baby. I love you. Now get the hell out of that airport.

I love you too, Mom, Charlie said. He didn't want to hang up. Even if being called baby by his mother made him cringe a little.

Bye, baby.

Bye.

Charlie wiped the slightly damp face of his phone off on his jeans and stood up. Shouldering his bag— thank God he was coming back for a second term, otherwise he'd have multiple months' worth of shit to carry around— he headed for the terminal exit, dialing Hugh's number.

Jesus, Yank, aren't you gone yet? Hugh asked as soon as he'd answered. His warm, Scottish brogue made Charlie's stomach tingle pleasantly, and he smiled, despite his exhaustion and discomfort.

No, Charlie said. He was taking long strides, eager to get out of there. Can I come back one more time? This'll be the last time, I promise.

No, it won't, Hugh said fondly. Come on back, Charlie; I'll meet you at the station.

True to his word, Hugh was waiting for Charlie in the Tube station, outside the toll barriers. He had his hands and his chin jammed down into his jacket against the cold, but he lit up and stretched out when Charlie let himself through. He was tall and lean, a good three inches taller than Charlie, and his mass of curly red hair stuck out in a crowd. Not that the Tube was particularly crowded on a snowy Tuesday night right before Christmas. The sight of him shouldn't have made Charlie's face heat with pleasure: that was outside the bounds of appropriate platonic friendship sensations.

There you are, Hugh said, reaching out to take Charlie's suitcase from his hand without asking, as if it was nothing. I timed it perfectly, you know. Only been waiting half a minute.

Charlie smiled at him gratefully, shrugging into the second strap of his backpack. Thanks, man. I'm serious.

Think nothing of it. Hugh started up the steps to the street and Charlie fell in beside him. He wanted a shower and some weird British telly, and to be home with his family two days ago.

Listen, Charlie said, as they stood on the corner of the intersection, snow still falling around them. The streets were unusually quiet for the neighborhood, and Hugh was only waiting for the light for show. If I can't get a flight, and I can't get a hotel this close to Christmas... He hesitated. He'd only known Hugh for a few months, and he was asking a big favor. Do you think I could stay at your flat until I can get home?

The light changed, and Hugh glanced at Charlie as they crossed. I don't see why not, he said. I'll have to to ask Yuki and Brian.

Right, of course, Charlie said, nodding. There was snow getting down the back of his collar. He was grateful to finally reach the front