Free Mitchell's Presence by D. W. Marchwell Page A

Mitchell pouted, bold as you please, “it’s really hard to find someone who likes Chopin.”
    “Would you believe,” Arthur asked as he retrieved the lavender candle from the glass shelf, “that I absolutely love Chopin?”
    Mitchell didn’t say anything; he only smiled as he guided Arthur to the next set of shelves, running his hand over a cashmere lap throw. “Does Chelsea read a lot?”
    “Did I go too far?” Arthur’s free hand came up, almost touching the smaller man’s shoulder but stopping short. “It’s just….”
    “No.” Mitchell offered a smile. “It was nice.” He picked up the throw and handed it to Arthur. “But my life is a little bit of a busy mess right now.”
    “I know what you mean.” Arthur laughed nervously, anxious to get shot down and go home to do his workout, eat his microwave dinner, and keep counting the days until everyone had worn themselves out on good cheer. “This time of the year is the worst.”
    “Oh, it’s not that. I love this time of year!” Mitchell beamed, smiling with those blue eyes, making Arthur feel even worse. Definitely not a fellow Scrooge.
    “Well,” Arthur offered, trying to speed things along, “I’ll take the candle and the throw.”
    They walked to the front of the store, Mitchell placing the objects on the counter, the petite brunette girl quickly scanning them and informing Arthur of the damage. “Do you do gift wrapping?”
    “I can do that for you.” Mitchell pointed to a small counter near the entrance, smiled back at Arthur, and went to wait for him. Great, Arthur thought, I should have just done it myself and saved myself another fifteen minutes of agony.
    As Arthur watched the salesgirl stow the signed credit card receipt, bag his purchases, and wish him a Merry Christmas, he went through the usual list of questions in his head: Why do I always find myself attracted to the unavailable men? Is it my age? Am I too old, too tall, too pushy?
    Dismissing all of the questions, he slouched his way over to the counter and watched as Mitchell folded the throw, using strong, sure, steady movements of those long fingers, his tongue sticking out adorably between his full lips as he concentrated. Arthur couldn’t help but notice that Mitchell’s wrapping was perfect, better than he could have done himself. Truth be told, Arthur would be hard-pressed to admit that he wouldn’t have just stuck a signed card on the box and handed it over; no need for formality when he’d already surpassed the thirty-dollar limit for the gift exchange. Spending over the limit was his way of assuaging his guilt for not really caring about finding the perfect gift or caring if Chelsea would even like it.
    “It was a pleasure meeting you, Arthur. And I hope Chelsea likes the gifts.” Mitchell extended his hand once again, adding, “And if she doesn’t, I have placed a gift receipt in the box so she can find something more to her taste.”
    “Listen, Mitchell,” Arthur sighed, not letting go of the soft hand, “if I said anything to—”
    “Merry Christmas, Arthur.” Mitchell tapped the white card placed under one of the ribbons snaking its way from the big red bow in the center of the box and gave Arthur’s hand a squeeze. “For being a good boy this year.”
    Arthur’s grin was threatening to split his face when he saw Mitchell’s name and phone number on the small, white card. “Let’s hope I can make it to New Year’s.” Arthur grinned, winked at Mitchell, and walked out of the store backwards, eyes focused squarely on the flush creeping up Mitchell’s face.
    Who cares if Chelsea likes her gift? Arthur was thinking as he whistled a tune while walking down the crowded corridor of the mall. I got the best one in the store.
     
    *  *  *
    Arthur stripped down out of his workout gear and admired himself in the full-length mirror in his bedroom. He was obscenely proud of his body, perhaps one might even say he was overly vain, but that was just the