Page 3 of Just for the Holidays

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure?” Nichol queries.

“Would you turn and face the other direction? —I’m not really decent.”

“I noticed,” he chuckles.

Teddy’s entire body glows red as the LED bulbs in the shop window.

“Should I come back?”

“No, no… Just turn away, so I can go grab my clothes.”

“Sure.”

Teddy cracks the door and peers out to Nichol’s backside, patiently waiting for him to move on with it.

Chapter 3

Nichol

Peep Show

Nichol stares at the storefront window, turned into a wall of monitor screens—against the night outside—broadcasting a riveting peep-show of the beefy ginger, scurrying out of the washroom and across the shop. His thick belly and furry mounded chest bounce with his stride, as he clutches the thin bath towel wrapped around his waist, leaving little to the imagination under bright spotlights.

What a shame it would be if that towel fell loose.

Nichol can’t quite figure out how the bearded stranger might know his name. Clearing the thickness in his throat, he spins on his heels—once the hunky baker is safely tucked away—and takes a seat on one of five chrome barstools with pink-vinyl cushions, lined up to the counter.

The little bakery hasn’t changed either; nothing in this town ever does. He recalls his mother telling him about Gertie Monroe’s passing, during one of her bi-monthly telephone check-ins, while he was busy with a task and only half listening—as usual. He hasn’t thought about any of these people in years.

“Are you the new owner?” Nichol calls to the back room, finger-flipping through sugar packets lined up in a small porcelain dish on the counter.

“Yep,’’ a gruff voice calls back.

The latch of a short metal gate clinks as he reappears from his dressing room, wearing a green plaid flannel, over a white tee and snug jeans, supporting all those scrumptious curves.

His cheeks are peachy and his eyes briefly meet Nichol’s, before he trots to the counter, searching and crouching to collect a cordless phone.

“Here you go.” He practically tosses the device into Nichol’s hand.

“Thanks.” Nichol taps the "on" button, holding the phone to his ear, but there’s no dial tone. “I think it’s dead?”

“Shit.” The bearded hunk flushes with panic. “I forget to put it back on the charger all the time.” His cheeks glow over a nervous smile. “Sorry, Nichol.”

Electronics are the bane of his existence at the moment.

“Sorry, but do we know each other?” Nichol narrows his eyes.

The shop owner’s jaw hangs slack for a moment. “Teddy… Monroe. Gertie was my grandmother... I was in your sister’s class,” he says.

“Oh! Right.” Nichol still has no recollection.

“You said your car broke down?” Teddy scoops coffee grounds into a large silver brewer and carries a clear plastic pitcher to the sink at the back of the room.

Nichol’s eyes wander down to Teddy’s plump denim rump, “Yeah. My rental quit on me,” he swallows.

Teddy strolls back to the coffeemaker and fills its reservoir. “Visiting for the holiday?” He flips a switch, igniting gurgles and hissing from the machine.

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