Page 9 of Just for the Holidays

“Coffee?”

“No. I need to sleep. I’m going to bed.”

“Your old room is set up for you. We cleared most of the clutter out, and I put clean sheets on the bed.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you guys in a few hours. I just need a quick nap.” he wriggles his fingers in Max’s wild bedhead. “Later kiddo. See you after school.”

“Mm-hmm.” Max gnaws on gooey mush.

“—and now YOU need a bath, young man.” Katie grimaces at Max’s filthy body. “What have you done?”

Nichol drags down the stairs, turning at the landing and continuing into the basement level. His childhood bedroom is the only thing that has changed here, but his old twin bed is still where he left it. He doesn’t even flick the light on, just pushes the door shut, kicks off his shoes, and peels away wet socks, before falling onto the mattress, and drifting off In record time.

Chapter 6

Teddy

Incoming...

“Hey Loren, I’m back.” Teddy stomps through the jingling door, swiping his slushy boots on the “Have A Butterful Day” welcome mat—Gram loved goofy puns—and sweeps past the counter, grabbing his candy-heart print apron off the wall along the way.Another signature treasure from Gram.

The grim shop assistant doesn’t bother to look up from her slasher novel but grunts recognition.

Teddy loops the ruffled apron over his neck and knots it around his waist. The workday begins with washing up the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink last night and pulling two blocks of butter out of the fridge, so they can soften to room temperature.

He taps the little MP3 player to life and the shop fills with Christmas bops, garnering an unapproving grimace from Loren, perched on her stool like a gargoyle clinging to the side of an old stone cathedral.

“It’s for the customers,” he smiles and rolls his shoulders, flipping kitchen towels off three bowls of proofing dough he’d prepared yesterday afternoon and dumping them onto the stainless-steel workbench at the center of the room.

His hand floats over the table, pinching loose flour in his fingers and spreading it across the work surface, in a powdery cloud that cascades down into a fluffy barrier for kneading the lumps of dough.

His thick forearms flex as his fists punch the pillows into submission and flour flits up, splattering his frilly pink apron, already overdue for a washing.

The doorbells chime, announcing the short and stout silver-haired man with wire-rim glasses waddling in.

“Morning Mr. Butler.” Teddy greets from the back.

Loren doesn’t budge.

“Morning Theodore,” he stomps on the mat, “and Loren,” his nose wrinkles.

Gary Butler is the high school principal of thirty-plus years. He pops into the bakery every morning, including weekends, for donuts and a thermos fill-up of coffee. They usually end up in the teachers' lounge because he can’t eat them, due to diabetes, but he buys them because Teddy doesn’t charge anything for the coffee.

Gram used to say “That magical bean juice is a gift and everyone deserves a cup,” and Teddy has kept that policy in tribute.

“The usual please, Loren.” Gary flips through bills in his wallet.

Loren peels herself off the stool with a low groan, slapping her book down on the counter, scrapes up Gary’s thermos, and slinks up to the coffee pot. She fills it and returns, setting it down with a forceful clink, then whirls lazily around to collect the half-dozen-box of donuts that Teddy already has prepared, every evening before. She’s still bitter at the principal—even though she graduated high school four years ago—for making her serve a dozen Saturday detentions after finally getting caught skipping classes to smoke pot and read under the bleachers in the gymnasium.

Gram used to make the donuts fresh, at the start of every work day, but Teddy thinks they’re just as good, made up in the evening before he goes to bed. Frying them at the end of the day relaxes him and leaves space for longer snooze sessions come morning.

“That’ll be fifteen dollars.” Loren smirks.

“Price increase?” Gary passes her a bill.

“Coffee is five dollars now,” she bites.

“Loren? No, it isn’t.” Teddy jumps in. “Just ten dollars Mr. Butler.”

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