Page 49 of Just for the Holidays

“Coffee,” he whispers to himself, spinning on a heel, and traipsing across the kitchen. He preps the machine, filling the reservoir with water, adding grounds to the filter, and studies its buttons before flicking a switch and hoping for the best. It sighs and gurgles for a moment, before hissing and dribbling dark steamy brew into the pot.

Nichol had stayed up and baked some of the cookie trays Teddy had covered with plastic, before he decided to go on a treacherous adventure. Katie gave him instructions over the phone, when he’d called her in the middle of the night to check-in and beg for help. She told him to just follow the same steps with the pies, so that is what he plans to do. So he fired up the oven, and popped the first two in.

Nichol strolls into the bathroom, dampens his hair to pat down his bed-head and sweeps to the back of the shop, collecting a frilly candy-heart apron and securing it around his body, before returning to the coffee pot to prepare his caffeinated fuel for the day ahead.

He leans his elbows on the counter, sipping his cradled brew, and watches the sky slowly fade paler shades of blue as Main Street wakes up outside.Treasured Trinketsantique store,across the way, has a new set of Christmas lights strung around its facade. They pop along, with the light inside the window, as Barry Kirk, the owner for as long as Nichol can remember, scuffles around his shop preparing for Christmas Eve eve.

“Smells good in here.” Teddy’s voice ix especially gravelly this morning.

“Hey.” Nichol twists his neck and smiles at the patient. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Teddy winces, bending to unlatch the little gate.

“Hang on.” Nichol sets his coffee down and rushes to open it for him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a wreck,” he chuffs.

“Coffee?” Nichol offers.

“Mmm, yes.” Teddy smiles, heavy-eyed. “I really need to pee first.”

“Do you need help?”

Teddy’s face reddens and his eyes widen.

“—Getting to the bathroom,” Nichol adds and chuckles, awkwardly.

“I’m okay.” Teddy watches the floor closely as he makes his way through the shop and closes himself into the washroom.

Nichol sniffs the sweet warm buttery pie-scented air and pulls the first two from the oven, adding two more, then counting out the last three that still need to go in. Baking has never been his forté—he prefers ordering delivery—but is actually finding a sense of joy and accomplishment in the tasks.

The door sweeps theHave a Buttery Daymat and jingles announce Principal Butler strolling in, shaking off the cold. “Good morning Nichol Anderson.”

“Good morning Mr. Butler,” he responds, with a customer service smile. “Coffee?”

“You know me already.” The principal’s eyes squint over his rosy cheeks.

“I’m a quick study.” Nichol snickers.

“You always were. It’s no wonder that you went off and made such a success of yourself.” Mr. Butler adds.

Nichol’s smile fades and his brow droops as he fills the paper cup with dark roast. “Cream and two sweeteners?” The wordsuccesspings around in his head and rattles his mood, briefly.

“Perfect.” The principal beams.

Teddy emerges from the bathroom. “Good morning Mr. Butler,” he says, but he stumbles a bit, making his way behind the counter.

The warm light of the early sun casts a golden aura around the broken but cheery baker, catching Nichol’s lingering eye.

“Go sit,” Nichol commands.

“Theodore, what happened to you?” Mr. Butler notes the stitches and bruising temple.

“He decided to drive all the way to the mall in that blizzard last night.” Nichol tattles, scoldingly.

“My truck probably looks worse.” Teddy drops onto the cashier’s stool, wincing and clamping his rib under his elbow.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” The principal winces, in solidarity, readying his wallet.

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