Page 15 of Just for the Holidays

A burst of winter air rushes in and settles Teddy’s decision to borrow the coat for the ride home. “Thanks.” He slips his arms in the sleeves and pulls the gray sweatpants over his sneakers, covering his legs.

The car has only reached a twenty-two percent charge when it magically blips on as Nichol drops into the seat with its key fob in his pocket.

“This thing is so futuristic.” Teddy’s eyes float about the cab as he buckles his seatbelt.

“It’s wildly overrated.” Nichol huffs bitterly, tapping the computer screen, reversing the car out of the driveway, and swinging smoothly into the street.

“Do you usually torture yourself with arctic late-night runs?” Nichol asks.

“I usually hit the gym, but they close at seven here, so I opted for the jog,” Teddy quips with a slight chuckle. “It was a rough day.”

“What happened?”

“Loren quit this morning.” Teddy shrugs.

“She seemed like a gem,” Nichol smirks.

“Black coal, more like it.”

They both chuckle and fall silent under the low hum of tires on parched pavement, for the rest of the short ride to Main Street.

Nichol glides the spacecraft into a parking spot directly in front of the gaudy pink bakery.

“Here we are,” he announces.

“Would you like some cookies or cupcakes?” Teddy offers. “I went a bit overboard today, and I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

“Shouldn't you sell them?” Nichol queries.

Teddy chuffs, “I should…” he admits.

“My nephew would probably love some.” Nichol shoves his door open and slips out of the car.

Teddy’s keys jingle as he fumbles to unlock the door.

Holiday lights reflect in window panes, twinkling a proud kaleidoscope of red, blue, green, and yellow on the low snowbanks edging the sidewalk.

The door jingles open and Teddy flicks the retail lights on, waving an arm to welcome Nichol inside, and closing the door behind them with another jingle.

Chapter 9

Nichol

Shots and a Spark

The shop is steeped in lingering warmth from the overworked oven and mouth-watering sweet scents from various baked treats. Cooling racks, piled with cookies and frosted cupcakes are stacked on every kitchen surface that has the space to accommodate them.

“Wow, you did go overboard.” Nichol awes at the sight, perching on a pepto-vinyl chrome stool, peering over thecounter, and taking in a visual catalog of the spread Teddy has left out.

“Baking relaxes me.” Teddy grins awkwardly. “Now I just need to figure out how to get the customers back in.”

“Where’d they go?” Nichol asks.

Teddy shrugs, “Who knows?” he deflects and then asks, “Would you like a beer?” He swings the fridge open and collects two amber bottles of craft brew from the back of the bottom shelf.

Nichol ogles the ample curve of Teddy’s ass-cheeks, enhanced by the magical effects of intentionally—self-serving—loaned gray sweatpants, but winces at the drink option.

“What else do you have?”

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