Page 127 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

Kenny smiled. “Good.” He kissed him, soft and sure. “Besides the obvious—I’m in love with you, adore you, stupid about you, and I already belong to you—I figured taking my name might help. Make it easier to start again. Bury some of what came before. Give you something solid. Something new.”

Aaron drew in a breath.

“And, as you said… if I ever end up in an accident where I can’t declare my deeply enthusiastic cock-sucking preferences, I’d at least like people to know I’m yours.”

Aaron snorted, bit his lip. “These are strangely compelling arguments.”

“They are.” Kenny kissed him again. “I’d really like you to let go of the past. And take my name.”

Aaron inhaled. Waited a beat. Then, “I’m not convinced this face suits being calledDr Kenneth Lyons.”

“Then let’s compromise.Mr Aaron Lyonshas a nice ring to it.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes. “You just stripped me of my honorary doctorate without a second thought.”

“Did you spend six years earning it?”

Aaron arched a brow. “Iwasthe study.”

Kenny sighed. Recalibrated. Then, quieter,real, “Marry me.”

Aaron cocked his head. “Shouldn’t you be on one knee?”

“Traditionally? Yes. Possibly. Depends how committed you are to ceremony over comfort. And right now, I’m honouring your burrito-based recovery process. But if you’dpreferme on one knee, I can make that happen.”

Aaron pretended to consider it. “You don’t have to.”

“Excellent. Then let’s circle back. Aaron Jones, will you marry me?”

Aaron smiled, mouth opening as if about to answer, but a suddenknock, knockprevented him. Chaos stirred first, ears lifting. He gave a warning bark, then two more in succession and Lucky buried herself farther into the duvet. Aaron reached down, ran a hand over her back.

“Hey. Shh. It’s fine.” He peered up to Kenny. “You getting that?”

Kenny raised a brow. “Do you want me to?”

“Well, if it’s my Christmas present, probably best you answer and sign for it.”

“You are well aware there are no postal deliveries on Christmas Eve.”

“But I’m sure you planned accordingly. I doubt Royal Mail put a Lamborghini in the post, anyway.”

“And you think you deserve a Lambo after hitting aparkedcar in the Co-op?”

“Nudged.”

Kenny snorted, then wriggled out from under the blanket and Aaron’s limbs. He crossed to the hallway, tying the belt of his dressing gown, then opened the door.

The figure standing there made him pause.

All in black. Collar visible over the coat. A smile behind the eyes.

“Dr Lyons, I presume?” The man extended his hand.

It took Kenny a beat to shake it. “Yes.”

“Reverend Wynter. I’m the chaplain from the St Joseph’s Homeless Shelter.”

Before Kenny could respond, Aaron appeared beside him, wrapped in the duvet like a makeshift cloak, bare feet silent on the floorboards.