Mathéo Boucher: A Christmas Deal

Chapter 5: Mathéo

Present time...

“I don’t have long,” Benjamin stated, sliding into our usual booth at Olympus, a single serving of Macallan in his hand. “Violet is bringing home Rose soon, and since they’re not going to be home much this weekend, I gotta get in my time before they go.”

Christian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in a way that made his irritation obvious. He had always worn his restlessness openly, as if sitting still for too long physically pained him. I didn’t mind love—never had. In fact, I encouraged it among my friends whenever I could. Living vicariously through them had become easier than admitting the simple truth that the woman I wanted wasn’t available to me and never would be.

“How’s Rose doing at her new preschool?” I asked, lifting my glass of red wine and taking a measured sip.

The entirety of Benjamin’s face lit up at once. His blue eyes shone with a happiness that still caught me off guard every time I saw it, a smile tugging at his lips before he could stop it. He had adopted Rose almost the second he laid eyes on her—claimed her without hesitation, without fear. It was everything the girl deserved, especially if even half of what he had told us about her biological father was true.

“Amazingly,” he answered, pride evident in every syllable. “After they moved in with me, I thought Rose would have it hard adapting, getting a new daily routine and all, but she’s been amazing.”

“That’s amazing,” I said with a small smile, polite but genuine, directed at one of the few men I truly called a friend.

“Yes, truly,” Christian cut in, leaning forward as his leg began to bounce impatiently beneath the table. “But what’s more important is that karaoke night is coming up, and I truly need the time off. We should be planning, perhaps actually play some poker.”

“We do play poker,” Joshua muttered, his attention never leaving his phone.

My gaze drifted downward as I slipped my watch from my pocket, checking the time. Just after six. That alone told me everything I needed to know. My friends didn’t know much about my personal life—and I had made sure of that—but I knew everything about theirs. It was easier that way. Safer.

Christian flirted openly, shamelessly, but he didn’t truly want any of the women he surrounded himself with. Kathleen Denver was only the latest distraction. What he wanted was what I wanted too—what most men wanted, whether they admitted it or not. One woman. The woman. Someone who would quiet the noise, anchor him, make the idea of staying in more appealing than going out. Someone worth choosing, again and again.

Benjamin, on the other hand, had already found what he once thought impossible. I remembered meeting him years ago, the way he had spoken about his future as if it were already decided—business first, always business, no room for anything else. He had never believed he could have both success and happiness, even if he would never phrase it that way. Now he had Violet, had Rose, had a home that waited for him. Relief sat on him like a second skin.

Joshua was the most obvious of them all. His phone wasn’t just a distraction—it was a tether. He was likely tracking Lydia’s route home from the office, timing his departure so he could walk through the door just minutes after she did. It wouldn’t be long before he stood, muttered an excuse, and left. Love rearranged priorities quietly, without ceremony.

And then there was me.

The Mathéo Boucher the world knew—the one I presented effortlessly—was polished, charming, unaffected. The man who had weathered his father’s sudden death with composure. The man who wasn’t pining after a woman he could never have. The man who appeared to have absolute control over every facet of his life.

I didn’t.

Still, the version of me sitting in that booth wasn’t a lie. I listened. I asked questions. I remembered details others forgot. I showed up. It didn’t matter that I buried myself in work so I wouldn’t have to return to the empty house I’d bought on impulse, convincing myself it was an investment instead of an echoing reminder of everything I lacked. It didn’t matter that each night, lying alone in a bed that never warmed, I lost small pieces of myself imagining someone who would never be there. It didn’t matter that my peers and family scrutinized me endlessly for being thirty-eight, unmarried, and without prospects—at least none they knew of.

My father had raised me to be a gentleman. He had demanded it, lived by it, expected it of me without exception. And even now, even in his absence, I honored that expectation.

“Not the same we used to,” Christian said at last, rolling his eyes as he leaned back against the booth. “We used to sit and play all night, drinking, gambling, and just shooting each other’s legs. Now it’s all about the girls.”

“You have a problem with Lydia bringing Kat over?” Joshua asked, c*****g a brow at Christian, fully aware of the fact that Christian had always flirted with her whenever the opportunity presented itself.

What Joshua didn’t see—what most people never saw—was that Christian wore his reputation like armor that had long since started to chafe. He had built a persona so solid, so widely accepted, that stepping outside of it felt impossible. The flirting, the jokes, the surface-level charm—it wasn’t desire that drove it anymore. It was expectation. He wasn’t hitting on Kathleen because he wanted to; he was doing it because people assumed he would. Because deviating from that image would invite questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

“You know I don’t have a problem with them,” Christian defended himself, his frustration bleeding through despite his attempt to keep it light.

“It sure sounds like you do,” Benjamin countered calmly, peering at him over the rim of his glass.

“I like them just fine, they’re not a problem for me, I’m just saying—”

“That we shouldn’t flaunt our happiness in your face?” Joshua interjected, finally locking his phone and sliding it into his jacket pocket. “Just because we have allowed ourselves to find a deeper connection doesn’t mean we should conceal our happiness, and least of all to our friends.”

“But if it’s such a big problem—” Benjamin began, only to be cut off as I set my glass down gently, the soft sound drawing their attention without force.

“Gentlemen,” I said evenly, already aware that they were missing the heart of it. “You’re taking this as an attack when all it truly is is our friend reminiscing about the past. Christian is simply feeling nostalgic about the time when you were as free as we are, and when the talk didn’t circulate around children or wives.” I paused, choosing my words carefully before locking eyes with Joshua. “Remember—we’re not as fortunate as you to be sharing a bed every night with the woman we love.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable so much as heavy. My words lingered between us, settling slowly, differently, on each of them. Joshua’s expression shifted first, something guarded giving way to something quieter. Benjamin’s gaze dropped to his glass, his thumb tracing the rim absently. Christian looked down entirely, shoulders slumping just a fraction as his fingers began to fidget with something unseen.

“Loving a woman and being loved by one changes you,” I continued, my fingers absentmindedly twirling the stem of my wineglass. “And while you have that, Christian and I aren’t lucky enough to have experienced that change yet.”

I didn’t say her name. I never did. But she existed in every word I spoke, in every pause I allowed. Somehow, I knew—without logic, without proof—that being loved by Eloise Hayden would make me better. Stronger. Softer in the right places. A man capable of anything. Could I find love elsewhere? Of course. But it would pale in comparison. It would be something lesser, something acceptable. And I had never been a man who settled.

Benjamin shifted in his seat, staring into his nearly empty glass—the same glass that marked the end of his night, the moment he would return home to the two people who waited for him without question.

“Perhaps,” he said at last, his voice quieter now.

Joshua’s head snapped toward him, brows lifting as if he wanted to snatch the word back midair.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be impossible for the girls to go out and eat instead. Then we could just meet them at the Howling Duck instead.”

Joshua’s jaw tightened as their gazes locked, an entire discussion happening in the span of a few seconds—responsibility weighing against loyalty, comfort against compromise.

Finally, Joshua nodded. “And perhaps we could just get some finger food, something we can eat while playing, no women around.”

“It wasn’t meant like—” Christian started, but I cut in before the moment could unravel again.

“I know a great place for that.”

Christian looked at me then, truly looked at me, and in his eyes I saw something raw. Gratitude, perhaps. Or relief. He loved the women who had found their way into our group—there was no doubt about that—but sometimes, just sometimes, he longed for the simplicity of being only us. With the holidays looming, the calendar filling faster than any of us could keep up with, I understood the urgency of preserving moments like these.

“Then that’s a deal,” Benjamin said, draining the last of his whiskey. “I need to get going.”

“Me too,” Joshua agreed, already standing as they exchanged brief goodbyes and disappeared into the night.

Christian exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face as the booth fell quiet again. He wasn’t thrilled with how it had played out, but I knew him well enough to recognize that it was better than swallowing everything down until it poisoned him from the inside.

“Cheers,” I said, lifting my glass.

He looked up, surprised, then smiled—softly, genuinely—as he raised his own. “Cheers, Mathéo.”

The clink of glass was gentle, almost reverent. And for a brief moment, I felt content sitting next to my friend, enjoying a good glass of wine, before going back home, locking myself in my office, and hoping to drown out the silence of the mansion I had bought for a woman who would never step over the threshold.