Thyme (Naughty or Nice) by K. R. Foster Page A

white and plain, holding a small bag of herbs—was new.
    Julien lifted the teacup out carefully, briefly enjoying the contrast against his dark skin. It reminded him of Gregory Verne—his best friend—who was whiter than an albino, they had joked more than once.
    A yellow piece of paper in the bottom of the box caught his attention, and he set the cup down on the island so he could get it out. It was wrinkled, as if it had been read a thousand times over. And the bottom had jagged edges, as if the page had been torn…. He unfolded it to read:
    December 24, 2001
    Drink the tea. Now.
    His breath caught in his throat as he read the date over and over. It didn’t change. No matter how many times he reread it, it didn’t change. The date mocked him. And he already knew what had been torn off, because she had sent it to him years ago.
    Idiot boy.
    He numbly turned the stove on. The tea kettle was already waiting, as it always was. Lafayette children learned at their mommas’ knees to believe in the healing properties of tea, among many other things. He opened the little bag and peered inside; the herb looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Nana would be disappointed that his lessons weren’t as clear as they should be. Then again, Nana’s herb garden was enormous.
    A barely remembered tune echoed through his head. Something about parsley, sage, and rosemary. But it vanished as soon as he tried to grasp hold of it.
    The kettle whistled, loud and shrill, jarring him from his thoughts. More like desperate attempt to distract yourself, he sneered. Anything to put off thinking about that day . He poured water over the bag in the teacup and then placed the saucer on top, before leaning against the counter to let it steep.
    How many times had he wished that he could change things? How many…?
    Julien clenched his hands into fists and shoved the thought away viciously. The past couldn’t be changed; he’d had a chance—a once in a lifetime chance for happiness—and he’d fled. All the excuses that made complete sense when he was twenty-two had been stripped bare over the years and revealed as just that—excuses.
    Fear of losing something great had cost him something priceless.
    He didn’t have the right to play “if only.” He’d forfeited that right when he’d broken his friend’s heart, unwittingly or not, and then destroyed his future.
    If he hadn’t pretended not to notice Verne’s feelings… well, he would’ve realized what he truly wanted before Verne joined the Marines and it was too fucking late. He’d wished more than once that his twenty-eight year old self could go back and kick his own ass.
    Yeah, because time travel is possible when Jules wants Verne. Dumbass.
    Julien hung his head and twisted the cup in his hands, watching the tea bag swirl in the eddy of water. Steam rose, bringing with it a scent that he couldn’t describe very well, though it smelled like home, oddly enough. He snorted at the fanciful thought. Next, he’d think the damn tea smelled like Verne….
    Was it possible to be homesick when you were at home? He wouldn’t have thought so back in high school or college, but now he believed it was possible. Verne had been beside him since they were kids; they even went to Penn State together.
    And then he’d driven Verne away, away to war, across the fucking Atlantic Ocean, with infrequent e-mails and visits maybe twice a year. He’d made his own hell on earth. He should’ve listened to his momma when she said he shouldn’t over-think his decisions so much. Sometimes the simplest answer was the right one.
    It was a lesson he’d learned too late.
    His silent rejection of the feelings between them had followed too closely after September 11, and Verne didn’t hesitate to leave him and the pain behind to join the Marines and train at Parris Island—not that Julien blamed him. No. He’d always known the situation was his fault.
    He was man enough to admit that.
    The heat