Excerpt

Jasper blinked in the gray light that filtered around the edges of the navy bedroom curtains. His nose was cold.

The air outside the covers was frigid. Damn. Jasper knew he should get up and bump the thermostat a few degrees, but the thought of padding across the cold wood floors was not appealing.

He snuggled more closely to the man at his back. Timothy. A young, thin, whip of a man. Not the sort Jasper ever thought he would end up with, but here they were, two months in, and Timothy hadn't run screaming from the ghosts yet.

The pillow felt like heaven, the comforter held in the heat of two exothermic men. Timothy's half mast erection felt like heaven, too. Jasper smiled, and burrowed in, like an animal in its den, and sighed. This was what contentment felt like.

At least the coffee was on a timer. He would get up when the smell hit his nose.

Which made him realize, that beneath the old scent of incense and beeswax from his altar, and the slight pong from last night's sex, he smelled…cinnamon?

"What the…?" he whispered.

"Huh?" Timothy murmured into his neck. "Summ'in wrong?"

"Go back to sleep."

Timothy relaxed again, his breathing even. Jasper didn't think he'd actually woken up at all.

He heard a thunk from the kitchen, and woke up all the way.

"Damn," he whispered, easing out of the covers and feeling around for the socks he'd discarded on the floor the night before. He really should get slippers, but the thought made him feel like an old man. He'd be shuffling about soon enough. Next came sweatpants, chucked on the chair next to the bed. Pulling a sweatshirt over his head, he paused as he reached the bedroom door.

Should he wake Timothy for back up?

He listened. Timothy's breathing. The gurgle of the coffee pot, finally. And a clicking sound he didn't recognize. No. He did.

Someone was using a whisk in his grandma's favorite Pyrex mixing bowl. Red on the outside, white inside, with one tiny chip on the rim.