Must Love Christmas (Glasgow Lads on Ice #2) - Avery Cockburn Page 0,3

him into the first room on the right, a large lounge framed by matching beige sofas. On the far end, a dining table sat beside a bay window. The room was tidy but felt lived-in, exuding a casual warmth.

“It’s nice,” Simon said, because he had to say something.

“Furniture’s a bit bland for my tastes, but it came with the flat, so I cannae complain. Sometimes I still do, though,” Garen added with a melodic titter. “Sorry, I tend to babble when I’m nervous. But also when I’m not nervous, so…” His voice trailed off as he twirled the feather duster by the cord at the end of its handle.

Simon noticed that the built-in bookshelf against the far wall was half empty. “Your flatmate’s already gone?”

“Mm-hmm. My best friend and I lived together five years—four years elsewhere and a year in this place. He moved in with his boyfriend yesterday.”

Simon detected a wistful note. “Will it be odd, living with a stranger?”

“Nah, I’m adaptable.” Garen tucked the duster under his arm. “Besides, you’ll not be a stranger for long, Simon.”

The cadence of Garen’s words reminded Simon he’d always had a weakness for Scots. He tried to return the warm smile but felt his own mouth form an awkward contortion.

Garen didn’t seem to notice. “There’s much more!” he said as he swept by into the hallway. “Here’s the master bedroom, which’ll be yours,” he said, flourishing to the left. “It’s got a walk-in wardrobe.”

Simon stepped inside, noting the queen-size bed that would easily accommodate his long legs. “You’re not moving into this room?”

“Too much bother to shift all my stuff. By the way, there’s no designated parking, but Luca usually found a space on the street.”

“Haven’t got a car.” Simon opened the wardrobe, chuffed at the wide, empty space. He could install a breathtaking custom organizational system in there. “Will I need one in Glasgow?”

“I’ve not got one,” Garen said. “There’s plenty of public transport, plus we’ve got Uber now.”

Simon crossed the hallway into the bathroom. “This is massive.”

“The building’s original owner used a wheelchair and lived in this flat. That’s why there’s a lift. Those grab rails next to the toilet come in handy when one is hammered or hungover, by the way.”

Simon made a polite noise, wondering whether Garen was a heavy drinker. He himself was a lightweight when it came to alcohol, thanks to his strict training regimen.

“Do you cook?” Garen asked as they continued down the corridor to the kitchen. “I’m useless at most dishes, but I can absolutely smash a stir fry. I hope you like them spicy.”

“I’m more of a baker,” Simon said, wishing this man would stop assuming they were to be flatmates. He needed to weigh the pros and cons of all five flats before deciding.

“I’d love to bake.” Garen stood beside the kitchen doorway and swept his duster in a dramatic arc, beckoning Simon to precede him. “But it takes too much concentration. I cannae measure three cups of flour without losing count.” He kept talking as Simon examined the kitchen. “And with baking you’ve gotta get everything perfect before it goes in the oven, or else you’re gubbed. At least with a stir fry I can keep adjusting till it’s edible.” He set the duster on the worktop—to Simon’s horror—then opened the refrigerator. “You sure you don’t want a drink? Luca left some kombucha.”

“No, really, I’m fine.” Simon stopped at the sink, which held several unwashed dishes as well as a smattering of dried food stuck to its stainless-steel sides.

“I was set to clean that when you showed up early,” Garen said. “Swear.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and side-eyed the worktop, where bread crumbs surrounded the toaster. “The dishwasher’s brand new.”

The mention of appliances made Simon realize what was missing. “Where’s the washer-dryer?”

“In the basement,” Garen said. “We share a launderette with the other tenants, but it’s almost always empty, except on a weekend, and there’s no charge.”

“But your ad showed a picture of a washer-dryer in the kitchen.” Simon pointed to one of the lower cupboards. “Right there.”

Garen cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t recall Luca stealing any major appliances when he moved.”

“Obviously not,” Simon said, trying not to snap. “I’m just confused because I distinctly remember the ad saying there was a washer-dryer—and that the flat was…on the middle floor.” He took in a sharp breath as all the incongruities added up. “And that it was on Royal Terrace.”

Garen burst out laughing. “You accidentally clicked