A Small Miracle Happened
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
Loose Id Titles by Mari Donne
Mari Donne
A SMALL MIRACLE HAPPENED
Mari Donne
www.loose-id.com
Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.
Dedication
For my kids, who always love lighting the candles. And for Lori, who reads and understands.
Chapter One
First night—Wednesday
Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you.
You must be he I was seeking.
—Walt Whitman
Dan drove down Victoria Terrace, scowling at the row of boring, ticky-tacky houses. How did the rest of that old song go?
And they all looked just the same
. But at least the houses in the lyrics were different colors—these were blank and beige. Their garages took up far too much of the facades for elegance, as if the designers had put more thought into sheltering automobiles than the humans who owned them. Dan had lived in this development for almost two months, and if he hadn’t rented a place on a corner lot, he would have had to check the house numbers to see which one was his.
He turned onto the ludicrously named Prince Albert Circle. That
had
to be a joke on the part of some developer or street planner. It was a circle, more or less, but there was nothing princely about the street or the seven identical buildings that huddled around its borders. It was very late in November. The sparse, scrawny trees were bare of leaves, and the grass had gone dormant. He’d come home early because it was the day before Thanksgiving, but the weak afternoon sun filtering through a few clouds did little to brighten the scene. The entire block was so colorless it could have been a sepia-toned photo.
Except for a second-floor window on the unit directly across from his. A rainbow flag hung there, its cheerful colors shouting a welcome reminder that the entire world was not beige and brown.
Another flash of color near the same building distracted Dan. It was the bright blue of a sweatshirt. Someone was standing on the porch. Dan slowed his car to a crawl. Maybe it wasn’t
him
. It could be the older man who lived next door. Condos 307A and 307B were attached, their front entrances side by side. They shared the small porch.
No, it
was
that guy. The tall one who had moved in last week. The one with the broad shoulders and the rainbow flag in his window. He was bending over to pick something up, and—whoa!—he would henceforth be labeled as the guy with the sweet ass, broad shoulders, and rainbow flag.
The triply attractive neighbor straightened, looked around, and stared straight into Dan’s eyes.
Well, maybe not
straight
into his eyes, because Dan was not getting a heterosexual vibe from the expression on that pleasant face. He realized he’d been caught staring, tapped the gas pedal, and turned in to the driveway of 301A.
He parked his car in the garage, but instead of using the door that led into the kitchen, he walked around the front of the building to check his mail. There was no package, and no note mixed in with the flyers and bills saying a parcel was being held for him at the post office. With a grunt of disappointment, he went inside, then tossed the mail on the kitchen counter.
Dan usually liked returning to his place after a busy workday, but tonight, all he saw was its deficiencies. He’d needed to find somewhere to live quickly when he’d been offered a job in this sterile area of a small Midwestern city. The condos were recent construction, but so poorly built that few people had been willing to buy them. The developers had been forced to turn the majority into rental units.
He noted the crack at the upper corner of the doorway between the kitchen and living room had widened and now nearly reached the ceiling. The landlord had assured him it was only a sign of the building settling, just as he promised the shuddering in the bathroom water pipes did not herald catastrophic flooding.
Dan doubted both, but the flaws bothered him mostly because they were reminders that he had no sense of belonging here. Like the building, he hadn’t finished settling in his new location. He hoped he’d eventually settle in more gracefully than the condo.
An off-key clang caught his attention. Even the doorbell didn’t work properly. He hurried to open the front door.
The owner of the rainbow flag stood there. He wore the blue sweatshirt Dan had noted earlier, old jeans, and ancient sneakers. His hair was a pleasant sandy shade, but he needed a haircut. He was younger than Dan had realized, and his smile revealed a crooked tooth. Somehow all this struck Dan as charming, and he smiled back.
“Are you Daniel Sobol? This was on my porch, and I wondered if it belonged to you.” His voice was a smooth baritone.
Dan looked at the label on the brown box almost entirely covered with packing tape. To him, the address looked like 301A Prince Albert Circle. But he could see how the house number could be mistaken for 307A. He laughed, suddenly feeling warm in spite of the chill air gusting into the hallway. “Yes, that’s my grandmother’s writing. She learned her numbers in Europe, old-style. Everyone says her ones look like sevens.” He held open the door. “Come on in. And let me take that.” He reached out for the box, then led the way to the living room. He set the package on the coffee table.
The man followed him in, looking around. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched a little, appearing not quite at his ease, but not uncomfortable either. His gaze assessed the room, then returned to Dan. He smiled. Maybe he liked what he saw?
“I was hoping to get this in time for the holiday.” Dan took his penknife out of his pocket, then opened the box.
The guy stepped forward, peering curiously at the contents. “Thanksgiving?”
“No.” Dan slipped off the blue-and-white cloth protecting one of the objects in the box. “When I told my grandmother I couldn’t find a menorah here, she sent this.” She’d remembered which one he’d liked best as a kid too. It looked like a row of people dancing, candles held in their upraised hands. The sight of it brought back memories. He could almost hear his sister complaining about her bad luck spinning a dreidel, and smell the latkes and brisket his father and grandmother always made on the eighth night. He could imagine his younger self, so excited when it was his turn to light a menorah, not least because it was the only time he was allowed near even a tiny open flame.
“Menorah?” The big guy was blinking at it. “I thought those were for Hanukkah. Is that how you say it?”
“Yes.” Close enough. Dan wasn’t about to repeat Uncle Aaron’s lectures on the proper pronunciation. Of course, Uncle Aaron would have also insisted on calling the menorah a
chanukkiyah
. Dan could see his mother rolling her eyes as her brother lectured, and was surprised to find he missed even that staple of family gatherings.
“I thought that was on Christmas.”
Dan looked up at his neighbor. “It usually starts in December, and can be around Christmastime. But it’s early this year. This is the first night.” There were other goodies in the box—a dreidel, some chocolate coins, and a tin of cookies. He cracked the lid and grinned. Sugar cookies in the shape of the Star of David—
excuse me, Uncle Aaron, Magen David
—nestled inside.
“First? How many nights are there?”
Either this guy was really bored, or he was looking for an excuse to talk to Dan. Which was fine, because Dan had wanted an excuse to talk to him from the day he’d moved in. “Eight, so the holiday will run into December. You light candles each night, starting with one and ending with eight.” Dan set down a box of candles. “If you’d like to stay for a glass of wine and some of these cookies, I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show me your candle?” That was a definite double entendre. The pale blue eyes lit with humor as the man shifted on his feet, his body language communicating assurance. His voice deepened as he added, “Sure, I’d love to see it.”
“It’s a deal.” Several parts of Dan’s body warred with one another. His head warned him he’d probably just promised more than he should to a total stranger. His throat wanted to close with anxiety. And his cock was doing its own thing. He hoped the way he was holding the cookie tin hid its enthusiasm.
He turned toward the kitchen, breathing deeply. When he was sure his voice wouldn’t rise a telltale octave, he said, “My name’s Dan, by the way.” Oops. The guy knew that. His name had been on the box.
But either his neighbor hadn’t paid attention to anything but the house number, or he was still thinking about metaphorical candles. “Good to meet you. I’m Christian Parsons. Call me Chris.”
No wonder the guy didn’t know anything about Hanukkah. Dan bit his lip to keep from saying anything, but Chris added with a chuckle, “I guess if you hadn’t already figured out I’m not Jewish, that would give it away.”
Dan
really
liked the way this guy smiled, using his eyes as well as his lips. “If you were, you’d be the first Jewish person I’ve met around here. It’s not like I’m observant. I don’t think I’d have felt the need to celebrate Hanukkah at all if there had been a menorah on display at the mall like back home. But I hated the idea of not being able to light one tonight.”
Chris nodded. “I get it. The first year I couldn’t go home for Christmas, I had to put up a tree. I never bothered before that.”
As Dan contemplated the sugar cookies he’d just set out on a plate, Chris added, “Holidays are like comfort food. Usually you want something more sophisticated, but there are times when you’d rather have mac and cheese or your mother’s meatloaf than a gourmet meal.”
Perhaps to prove to each other that they were semiresponsible adults, they agreed to have dinner before eating the cookies. Chris knew a place that turned out a decent pizza and suggested pepperoni. Dan side-eyed him for that, but Chris seemed unaware a Jewish guy might have issues with a food made with pork. Since Dan wasn’t nostalgic enough to worry about keeping kosher even on a holiday, he agreed. He even asked for extra cheese, because if he was going to break a dietary rule, he might as well go big. When the pizza arrived, they ate companionably, sitting on the couch and complaining about the deficiencies of the condos. Chris was new to town too. His company had transferred him, and a shortage of rental housing had landed him in this neighborhood, at least for the immediate future.