Short Order

ready to go in six-to-eight minutes, when he knocked on my door. I was so tired I carried my rock-solid dinner with me.
“What the hell is that?” John recoiled, taking a step back and staring at Mr. Hungry-Man.
It wasn’t hello or how are you, so I stood still to get my bearings. I held up the box and peered at it.
“Dinner. Why?” Nothing seemed to be falling out of the box. Why was he getting so upset?
He laughed a few rusty barks, which quickly turned into guffaws. Tears streamed down his face.
“Hey, not all of us are cooks.” I lowered the box. “You need something? Cup of sugar, maybe?”
His laughter tapered off and died. He wiped his cheeks with his fingers, then stared at the tears a minute, surprise shining from his eyes. Finally, he looked at me, his eyelashes stuck together in a few places. “Yeah. I need you.” His voice slid over me like smoky molasses. It slowly dripped into my imagination.
If I’d been less tired, I would have jumped him right there. But while the spirit was willing, the body was wilted lettuce. He’d asked for help. I could give him help. Just barely.
“Sure. Let me take a shower and eat, then I’ll be right down.” I started to close the door, but he grabbed my Hungry-Man and walked it back to the freezer. He shoved it in with the others. His face scrunched in a grimace.
“Just put on some shoes and a coat. You’re eating downstairs.”
My tired brain recorded one more whiff of the aroma coming up from his kitchen, and I did as he commanded. It was next time, and I was sorta ready.
His place, like mine, was furnished in jewels from the past. As I expected, our floor plans were almost identical except he had a front and back door. His fireplace was alight with a warm, cheery fire. His rooms ranged from stately and formal to cozy and intimate. But none reflected the holiday season: no tree, no garland, nothing.
“You should come down to the nursery.” With a groan, I sank into the dining chair he’d indicated. “We can fix you up with a tree and evergreen swags.”
He put a plate in front of me without comment. The best-looking roast beef and new potatoes stared up at me. I started to drool. While he set his plate down and sat, I breathed in the home-cooked meal and then sighed.
“This looks perfect. Thanks. I’d call it pot roast, but I’m sure it has some fancier name.” I was babbling, trying desperately to be polite and not dig in like the starving man I was.
He laughed and pointed to my plate with his fork. “Just eat. It is pot roast. My variation on straight Yankee pot roast.”
Even though his eyes twinkled, he said it without a grin. I laughed. In response his smile lit up, and he laughed with me. Now I knew the green light was on. We could become friends with benefits. Or even landlord and tenant with a booty bond. Tonight, if I wasn’t so damned tired and hungry.
We ate in silence. Now I felt more than ever like we were becoming friends.
As I sopped up the last of the gravy with a piece of roll, I looked around. Since I worked in the glut of Yule paraphernalia, I again noticed how beautiful but bare of holiday cheer the rooms were.
“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” I wondered if maybe he was Jewish or atheist or something.
“Not really.” He grimaced. “You’re probably up to your eyeballs with it now.”
I nodded. “I could use your help tomorrow night if you’ve got the time.”
“Sure. With what?” He looked interested, which I took to mean he wasn’t just humoring me.
“I picked out a tree and need to get it up the stairs.”
“Huh?” He sat back and looked like he was studying me. “So even though you work in the middle of the holiday crap all day, you want to bring it home with you?”
I nodded. I wouldn’t exactly call it crap. Besides, who didn’t like the holiday season? Bright lights, often cheerful people, foods and snacks made with tons of sugar. True, a lot of annoying songs, but I could overlook them. One more verse from Trini Lopez, though, and I’d have to shoot someone—probably myself.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, you smell good. I’ll give you that.”
I laughed softly as my dick perked up, but I was too tired for any follow-through. “I smell like a fucking Christmas tree.” My eyes were drooping.
“And I smell like a pot roast.” He got up and started clearing the plates and utensils. Ordinarily, I would have helped, but I couldn’t move. It occurred to me I was going to have to go outside and get my ass up the stairs in order to be home. Then I drifted.
“Look, before you go I have to warn you.” His voice startled me awake. I took a deep breath and smacked my lips as the room came into focus.
“What? Sorry. I dozed off.” I stood slowly, getting my bearings. “I should get home. I still have to shower. Thanks for the great meal.”
He moved next to me and put an arm around my waist. “You’re welcome. Let me help you upstairs.”
I nodded and put my arm over his shoulder.
As we tackled the stairs, I tilted into him like I was drunk, only I wasn’t. Just so fucking tired. His body felt wonderful next to mine. I could snuggle and sleep on him.
“Leo wants to get in touch with you. He wants to talk to you. I didn’t tell him where you work or what your name is. But he’ll find you anyway. Stay away from him.” He sounded fierce. When I glanced at him, he looked pissed.
I nodded. “Sure. He’s yours. I won’t get in your way.”
“No! No, he’s not mine. He’s…bad, evil. Just save yourself grief. Don’t encourage him.”
We’d reached the top of the stairs, and