Page 35 of Ring Rust

“Let’s go help Stevie and then I’ll feed you dinner,” Beni said.

“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll be right there.” Ryan opened his phone and sent Patrick a quick email explaining how he got his information, then pressed send.

Maybe by the beginning of the year, Ryan would be happy again.

Chapter Eleven

“So,anyway, after I dug the big hole, I had to line it with some plastic. You cannot even begin to comprehend how much plastic it takes to line a hole the size of a pool.”

Jasper stared at his not-really-a-date date, Shawn. Despite his own protests against dating at all, ever again, he could appreciate Shawn as being quite a catch. Objectively, he had it all: A killer body, a strong jaw softened by a neatly trimmed beard, gorgeous brown eyes, a sharp mind.

But somehow, none of it did a single thing for him.

Jasper appreciated Stevie’s efforts and really did want to be happy again, so he agreed to bring Shawn, to show that he was trying. It was just that Shawn was… Well, he knew what Shawnwasn’t. He wasn’t protective and funny. He wasn’t passionate. He didn’t have a mullet Jasper pretended to hate but secretly loved.

He wasn’tRyan, and unfortunately, that mattered more than he wanted it to.

The drive over hadn’t even ended by the time it became painfully clear Jasper had made a mistake. Instead of normal conversation, or even awkward small talk, Shawn delivered afifteen-minute monologue on the history of “ugly” Christmas sweaters.

It was almost charming at first. Harmless, borderline ignorable. But when he segued into acrylic yarn being a “game changer,” then into a decade-by-decade breakdown of washing machine advancements, Jasper found himself wishing he could leap out of the moving car and disappear into a snowbank. The only thing that stopped him was knowing Stevie and Beni would kill him for messing up their guest count.

Now, standing in front of a beautifully lit Christmas tree he couldn’t even enjoy because the entire room was listening to Shawn discuss the history of beaded garland, Jasper wished he could launch himself off the back deck and into another, even deeper, snowbank.

He might have done it that time if he hadn’t been distracted by Ryan standing by the food table, pointing out different cheeses with one hand and using the other to direct people to whatever fruit would pair best. When someone smiled and placed their hand on Ryan’s forearm in thanks, the red cup in Jasper’s hand was crushed by his clenching fist, dribbling warm, mulled wine on his ivory wool sweater.

“Goddammit.” Jasper wiped at the wine with a decorative paper napkin, the kind that lacked any real absorbency, rendering it as pointless as the mistletoe he’d just spotted dangling above them.

“Oh, no. I can go find some club soda. Stay here,” Shawn said, gently squeezing Jasper’s bicep.

“Oh, that’s—I don’t need club soda,” Jasper said. He looked up from his wrist to look at Ryan again, but he was gone from his spot at the table.

“It’ll keep the stain from setting on that beautiful sweater. Stay here and keep blotting, I think I saw some in the kitchen.”

“You stay here. Teach everybody the history of mulling spices, or something. I can find the club soda.” Jasper did his best to smile at Shawn but was distracted by Ryan’s disappearance. Maybe his date had arrived?

Before Jasper was able to make his way to the kitchen, Terrance, Beni’s friend, approached them with a shy smile.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but Ilovemulling spices. Do you really know about their history?”

“Well,” Shawn said. Half his mouth quirked up before he laughed and said, “Yes. I do, actually.”

Terrance’s face lit up. “Go on…”

“Well, there are a few theories about who first used spices to make wine more palatable…”

“Can I speak to you for a sec?” Stevie asked, grabbing Jasper’s arm, hard.

“Ow!”

“Cry about it. Go into the bedroom, now,” she hissed.

Jasper headed to her bedroom and stared out the window with his arms crossed. Stevie shut the door behind him and he crossed them tighter.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. Well, other than this big wine stain,” he said, blotting at his sleeve again. “Do you have club soda, by the way?”

“Yes, I do. But I’m not giving it to you until you explain why you’re being so rude to Shawn.”