Page 2 of Pining for Christmas

Well. There’s nothinggrandfatherlyabout our boss. Not with his motorbike and his piercing blue eyes, or the tattoos that wrap around both arms.

But here’s my secret: I’d give anything to sit on Jack’s knee.

* * *

It was the usual story. Cliched, but no less sad for being that way. My mom’s new boyfriend, getting handsy with her teenage daughter. Me telling my mom, and her choosing the new guy over me.

A tale as old as time, I guess. I’m lucky I was seventeen, really. I knew enough about the world to get myself out of there. To take a cross country bus to a brand new town on the edge of a big wood, and to hit the pavement, looking for work and a room.

I tried everywhere. The grocery store and the pharmacy. The library and the nursing home. Nowhere had jobs going—or if they did, they didn’t fancy hiring a scruffy runaway to fill the role. Can’t blame them, really.

Jack’s Bar was the last place on my list. I mean, it was abar.If I weren’t desperate, I wouldn’t even bother asking, but the sun was sinking in the sky and a cold night was drawing in, and thatwood on the edge of town was looking way less friendly than in the daylight.

Jack took one look at my threadbare clothes, soaked through from the rain, and the half-empty duffel bag sagging on my shoulder, and he hired me on the spot. He even let me rent the room above the bar for peanuts, handing over the key right there at my ‘interview’.

Interview.Ha. If I’d knocked over every chair in this bar, he’d still have hired me. Jack’s wonderful like that.

He didn’t ask me tons of questions. Didn’t look at me funny, like my mom’s boyfriend did, although even back then I probably wouldn’t have minded. Jack had less silver in his hair, but he was still a silver fox. All hard muscles and burly shoulders; strong hands and a strong jaw to match.

But my teenage crush went unnoticed. Didn’t even register. And Jack didn’t let me work behind the bar until I was old enough to drink the booze myself. Until then, I spent almost four years cleaning the booths and collecting empties; helping with filing in Jack’s office and placing orders for supplies.

It was good of him to find me work like that. Itty bitty tasks to justify paying my wage. But when I finally got behind that bar… that was such a great day.

I figured he must see me as an adult at last. A grown woman, not a child in need of saving. Twenty one years old—someone he might look at twice. Someone he might look atclosely.

No such luck. Not so far, anyway.

“You’re really going to give him that hat?”

I stand shoulder to shoulder with Gina, scrubbing down the bar during a brief lull. The hours are wearing on, but there’s no sign in the crowd waning. New people squeeze through the door every ten minutes, and the roar of conversation builds louder and louder, nearly drowning out the carols.

In the far corner, someone stumbles into the tree, the string lights jiggling, and I wince. It’s a scraggly little Christmas tree that I saved up for and bought with my own money—another attempt at sayingthank youto Jack, for everything.

I’ll be thanking that man my whole life and it won’t be enough. And that sad little tree… I don’t know what I was thinking. Jack hasn’t even noticed. But I still wish the customers would be a bit more careful.

“Why not?” Gina nudges me, and it’s like she’s reading my mind. “You bought him a Christmas tree. We’re on theme.”

“But Jack will think you’re teasing him. CallinghimSanta.”

Gina barks a laugh. “Well, I am.”

God. There’s no use arguing. When Gina gets an idea, it’s full steam ahead. And I love that about her, love her humor and drive, but part of me still squirms at the thought of this gift.

I don’t want her calling Jack old. Not even as a joke.

Because what if he listens to her? Then he’llneverlook at me that way.

* * *

I know the exact moment that Jack steps out of his office. I’m sure to everyone else, nothing has changed, but to me—it’s like the air shifts. Electricity crackles, and the roar of the crowd fades away, and it’s just me and him and my quick, shallow breaths. He surveys the room, hands tucked in his faded jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt clinging to his broad chest, and then he looks over. Our eyes meet.

I grip the edge of the bar so tight the wood creaks.

“Gina. Clara.” Jack smiles at us both as he squeezes behind the bar. It’s a tight fit back here—barely enough room to openthe dishwasher—and Jack’s a big man. Tall and broad and so freakingsturdy. “How’s it going tonight? You two need another pair of hands?”

“We’ve got it,” I say quickly, before Gina can pipe up. Much as I love any excuse to be near Jack, it’s Christmas Eve. He shouldn’t have to work, not if we can help it. A man like him deserves to have his feet up in front of a fire—or to be drinking freshly-poured drinks at a table with his friends from the town. And if my lizard brain is screaming at me, begging for any excuse for our bodies to brush together as we squeeze past behind the bar… that’s my problem, not his.

Jack’s eyes land on me again, and is that a flash of disappointment? Whatever it is, he covers it quickly, nodding and rapping on the bar. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

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