Page 9 of Hello Dr. Christmas

ChapterFive

“This is going to be the worst Christmas ever,” I grumble to Mike, after all my Dirty Snowmen are gone.

“I know, Clara. You’ve been saying that every single day since you got home,” the bartender responds. “Frankly, I think you’re bringing the mood down in my bar. Things are usually really cheerful around the holidays, but with that dark cloud hanging over you, you’re just killing the vibe.”

“I’m sorry, Mike. My life is just a mess and everything is ruined.”

He sighs. “Here, have some more mulled wine, on the house. My wife just made it fresh—her grandmother’s recipe. It’s magical stuff. It will fix anything that’s wrong with you. So, cheer up, for the sake of everyone in Snowflake Creek.”

Taking his perfectly spiced, warm wine concoction, I sip on it slowly, and close my eyes. Damn. This is really good stuff. It’s hard to get this kind of authentic Christmas flavor anywhere outside of Snowflake Creek. I sip again, closing my eyes and trying to extract happiness from the alcohol. It tastes like happiness, and I just want that to somehow infect my soul.

“Your life can’t be worse than mine,” says a masculine voice.

One of my eyes peek open to search for the source of the voice. When I see the gorgeous man who has taken a seat at the bar, across from me, I have to pry open both eyes to take a good look at him. I have been living at this bar for days, and I don’t think I’ve seen him around here before. Actually, I know I haven’t seen him, because Eve would have insisted I go over and talk to him, and I would have agreed. He has a mild accent I can’t place, because I am too drunk and sad.

“I lost my job,” I tell the handsome stranger, “and everyone in my family is perfectly happy with someone they love, and I’m the only odd one out, sitting here miserably with my messed up ankle.”

“That sucks,” he responds, taking a sip of his ginger beer. “But I still think I win.”

“Fine,” I say. “Tell me your story.”

“Two years ago, my wife and the love of my life died on Christmas Day,” the man says, with a sad smile. “So tell me how I’m supposed to ever enjoy the holidays again?”

Mike the bartender has gone silent, and so have I.

“Damn, dude,” I say softly. “I’m sorry. You win. Free drinks on me.”

“Thanks,” he says with a sad smile. He looks rather charming and sincere.

“You have to try this mulled wine—it’s transformative,” I tell him, pointing at my glass.

“Sure,” he responds with a grin. “I heard it can cure whatever ails you? I need a glass of that today.”

“Coming right up,” Mike says, beginning to pour.

I find myself getting out of my chair, grabbing my crutches under one arm, and my wine with the other, and hopping over to the strange man awkwardly. Sitting on the stool beside him, I reach out and pat him on the shoulder. “Why don’t we have absolutely awful holidays together?”

“Sounds good to me,” he agrees, lifting the wine glass to clink against mine. “What is there to do in this tiny town? I am just here for a few days, visiting family.”

I am about to give him a long list of Snowflake Creek’s best attractions, but none of them seem that appealing to me at the moment. In my drunken haze, the only thing that seems appealing is this man’s face, and his lips, and his voice, and his eyes. I find myself staring. “There’s absolutely nothing to do here,” I tell him, in a flat-out lie. I nearly addother than me,but that would be a bit forward. Right? “Other than me,” I find myself saying. Oh my god. Did I actually say that?

Mike coughs loudly. “Clara, I think I’m going to have to cut you off. You’ve had too many. Give that wine back over here.”

“You can’t have my wine,” I tell the bartender, keeping the glass far away from him. “And I’m perfectly fine. I’m allowed to flirt with a stranger if I want to.” Then I stick out my tongue at him. Like I’m twelve.

Mike frowns. “You’re allowed to flirt with a stranger, but you’re so bad at it that it’s painful to watch.”

“Just leave me alone,” I say, taking a large gulp of my wine and hugging the glass.

The strange man laughs. “So, you’re flirting with me, are you?”

“No. I’m coming onto you super strong, like a… like a… like a cannonball,” I say awkwardly. I try to do a hair-twirly thing and maybe stick my chest out a little. That’s how it’s done, right?

Mike coughs. “A cannonball?”

“Shut up and leave!” I shout at him, pointing. He complies and backs away slowly, with his hands raised, like my finger is a pointed gun.

The strange man laughs.

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