Just For The Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

6. Teddy

Chapter 6

Teddy

Incoming...

“ H ey Loren, I’m back.” Teddy stomps through the jingling door, swiping his slushy boots on the “ Have A Butterful Day ” welcome mat— Gram loved goofy puns— and sweeps past the counter, grabbing his candy-heart print apron off the wall along the way. Another signature treasure from Gram.

The grim shop assistant doesn’t bother to look up from her slasher novel but grunts recognition.

Teddy loops the ruffled apron over his neck and knots it around his waist. The workday begins with washing up the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink last night and pulling two blocks of butter out of the fridge, so they can soften to room temperature.

He taps the little MP3 player to life and the shop fills with Christmas bops, garnering an unapproving grimace from Loren, perched on her stool like a gargoyle clinging to the side of an old stone cathedral.

“It’s for the customers,” he smiles and rolls his shoulders, flipping kitchen towels off three bowls of proofing dough he’d prepared yesterday afternoon and dumping them onto the stainless-steel workbench at the center of the room.

His hand floats over the table, pinching loose flour in his fingers and spreading it across the work surface, in a powdery cloud that cascades down into a fluffy barrier for kneading the lumps of dough.

His thick forearms flex as his fists punch the pillows into submission and flour flits up, splattering his frilly pink apron, already overdue for a washing.

The doorbells chime, announcing the short and stout silver-haired man with wire-rim glasses waddling in.

“Morning Mr. Butler.” Teddy greets from the back.

Loren doesn’t budge.

“Morning Theodore,” he stomps on the mat, “and Loren,” his nose wrinkles.

Gary Butler is the high school principal of thirty-plus years. He pops into the bakery every morning, including weekends, for donuts and a thermos fill-up of coffee. They usually end up in the teachers' lounge because he can’t eat them, due to diabetes, but he buys them because Teddy doesn’t charge anything for the coffee.

Gram used to say “That magical bean juice is a gift and everyone deserves a cup,” and Teddy has kept that policy in tribute.

“The usual please, Loren.” Gary flips through bills in his wallet.

Loren peels herself off the stool with a low groan, slapping her book down on the counter, scrapes up Gary’s thermos, and slinks up to the coffee pot. She fills it and returns, setting it down with a forceful clink, then whirls lazily around to collect the half-dozen-box of donuts that Teddy already has prepared, every evening before. She’s still bitter at the principal—even though she graduated high school four years ago—for making her serve a dozen Saturday detentions after finally getting caught skipping classes to smoke pot and read under the bleachers in the gymnasium.

Gram used to make the donuts fresh, at the start of every work day, but Teddy thinks they’re just as good, made up in the evening before he goes to bed. Frying them at the end of the day relaxes him and leaves space for longer snooze sessions come morning.

“That’ll be fifteen dollars.” Loren smirks.

“Price increase?” Gary passes her a bill.

“Coffee is five dollars now,” she bites.

“Loren? No, it isn’t.” Teddy jumps in. “Just ten dollars Mr. Butler.”

Gary narrows his eyes at the grumpy cashier.

Loren twists her neck and holds a laser glare on Teddy while passing Gary's change.

“Thank you, Teddy,” Gary smirks, collecting his donuts and coffee, before traipsing back out the door.

“You know coffee is always free.” Teddy scolds after Mr. Butler is gone.

“I hate giving that man anything, for nothing.” She winces. “He’s a jerk.”

“We need him to keep coming. The free coffee is the only reason he does.” Teddy shrugs.

“Fine,” she pouts, dropping onto her stool and burying her nose in her book.

“incoming . . .” Teddy warns, nodding at the window.

“Fuck.” Loren snarls.

A frazzled blonde in a cropped puffer coat, high-waisted skinny jeans, and fur-lined boots jingles in with an army of six rambunctious kids trailing behind.

“Like those monsters need sugar.” Loren sulks.

“Hey Misty, how are you today?” Teddy charms.

“I need coffee, STAT… and Harry wants me to get butter rolls and blueberry pie for dinner tonight.”

“I got you! I made two blueberries, just yesterday,” he lies. He made them three days ago and forgot to take them with today’s food pantry drop-off—luckily.

He’s cut back from daily donations that Gram used to make, to just a few drop-offs a week. The funds from the house sale are drying up quickly, so he needs to be careful where the money goes.

“Perfect!.” Misty sighs at the center of a whirling tornado of children swarming the shop, circling her feet like vultures, pecking at her sleeves with screeches and cackles bouncing off the walls. ”Charlie! That’s enough! Jenny, stop biting your sister!” she fumes.

Teddy hurries to the fridge to gather one of the pies.

Loren turns away from the chaos and rolls her eyes as she grips a cup and trods over to the coffee pot.

Teddy plops the pie on the wrapping station and unspools a sheet of cellophane, tightly pressing it around the edges of the pie and dropping it into a box.

Loren finishes pouring Misty’s coffee and spins around to see the youngest of the Malcolm clan shredding the pages of her book.

“What are you doing, you brat?” she screeches.

Misty pulls her attention away from the other kids, rolling on the floor and climbing the stools. “Loren! I’m so sorry, I’ll replace your book.” her cheeks are crimson. “Paisley!” she scolds.

Loren slams the coffee on the counter and snatches the remains of her novel from the child’s hands.

Paisley Malcolm bursts into tears and wails a blood-curdling scream.

Loren spins on her heel with fury in her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore! I quit.” she spits the words at Teddy.

“Loren!” Teddy’s jaw drops.

The fed-up punk collects her paper carcass and stuffs it into her messenger bag, before stomping through the Malcolm clan—who are frozen in awe—and out the door.

“I’m sorry!” Misty whines.

Teddy passes the defeated mom her pie and bag of rolls on his way to chase Loren out the door, but she’s already rounding the corner.

Dammit! He jingles back inside.

“I’m sorry Teddy!.” Misty pleads.

“It’s okay. She hated working here,” he reasons.

“Here.” She drops a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. ‘Keep the change.”

“It’s only $22 . . .”

“Just take it.” Misty cradles the pie and rolls in one arm, rallying her horde with the other. “You all better go get in that truck, right now!” she growls, sweeping them out the door and down the sidewalk.

“Shit.” Teddy exhales, raking his fingers through his wiry hair.