Page 55 of Just for the Holidays

“Nichol has an offer to go back to Seattle,” Teddy says.

“What?” Rebecca squeaks.

“That’s great,” Carl adds, with feigned enthusiasm.

“You’re leaving?” Max’s glare turns welly with a mouth full of mashed potatoes.

Nichol’s chest thuds and his jaw clenches as he stares at Max’s devastated face, turning to Teddy, sulking down at his plate and shuffling a slab of ham around with his fork.

He looks to his Mother, and then Katie—both of them waiting for him to speak.

“The position is remote.” He turns back and speaks to the side of Teddy’s moping face. “I can work from anywhere—technically.”

The edge of the baker’s lips gently curl up and his eye sparkles as he sips his wine, then meets Nichol’s gaze.

“What does that mean?” Max’s brows and freckled cheeks twist with confusion.

“It means, Uncle Nichol is going to stick around for a while,” Katie answers for her brother, patting his knee under the table.

Teddy nudges Nichol’s other leg with his own, staring adoringly with a wide grin beneath his auburn beard.

“Oh, Nicky! I’m so happy!” Rebecca hops out of her seat, prances around the table, and wraps herself around his shoulders.

“Okay, Mom.” Nichol says, squirming in his chair and rolling his eyes, then winks at Max—stuffing his freckled little face with jellied cranberry sauce.

Nichol scoops a hand around Teddy’s thigh, squeezes the inside of his knee, and gazes back into twinkling sea-blue eyes. He whispers, “Looks like I’m sticking around for a while.”

“Good.” Teddy beams joyfully.

Chapter 32

Teddy

February Fourteenth

The little rusted Ford Ranger, still battered but not beaten, and a patch-up project in the works—thanks toCarlisle Auto Shopon the edge of town—swings into the alley next to the pepto-pink bakery, and halts.

Teddy shifts into park, turning to Nichol, who's gathering up his messenger bag from the floor between his feet, and reaching for the passenger’s door handle.

“Okay, I need you to close your eyes and wait next to the truck,” he requests with a nervous grin and a golden twinkle—from the rising sun—in his eye.

“Why?” Nichol wings a suspicious brow, peering back over his shoulder.

“Just close your eyes.” Teddy’s door creaks open and he rushes out, around the vehicle, to meet Nichol on the other side. “Take my hand.” He weaves his fingers with Prince Nichol’s and leads the way toward the entrance.

The door jingles as they enter the toasty warm shop, embraced with the scent of fresh baked pastries and brewing coffee.

“Morning Loren.” Teddy greets the dark gargoyle, perched on her stool, with her nose buried in a horror novel.

“Morning,” she grumbles with a forced half-smile.

Teddy offered her job back, after running into each other at the supermarket, and she confessed to not being able to find a replacement job. They're working on her customer service skills.

Business at the bakery has been better than ever, since Nichol got to work creating social media campaigns, promotingButtercup Confectionsto all the surrounding towns. They're even reaching Duluth residents who have been making the trip for free coffee and Teddy’s own doughnut recipes—that Nichol insisted he start putting on the menu.

He uses potato-based batters, that create a dense cakey structure he’d experimented in mastering after reading about a shop in Portland Maine, who are famous for the concept. He had mail-ordered boxes for several weeks in a row, comparing his own concoctions, until he had recipes that were just right.

Nichol’s knowledge of design and internet algorithms has turned the new doughnuts into a local sensation. Even making it on the early morning news, when Teddy was awkwardlyinterviewed by the handsome journalist on his first story for the network.

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