Just For The Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

12. Teddy

Chapter 12

Teddy

Cookies, Cupcakes, and Customers, Oh My!

T eddy struts to the back, tacking Mrs. Macavoy’s order slip to the barren cork board mounted near the sink, and peers back to the front through the wire rack shelves piled with ingredients and tools. He bites a smirk, watching Nichol complete his call, before shadows crossing the window, approaching the door, catch his eye.

“Shit,” he says, with panic in his tone. “It’s Wednesday.”

“It is . . .” Nichol chuckles.

The doorbell jingles and the shop front fills with a boisterous band of smiling faces.

“Teddy!” they all cheer in unison.

Nichol is surrounded, trapped in a corner, with big eyes taking in the raucous energy lighting up the room.

“Hey guys!” Teddy smiles wide, scurrying from the kitchen with arms spread to greet the motley crew in a group embrace. “How are you all?” he chimes with excitement.

“Good, n-n-now that we’re here.” A tall boy in a pom pom knit hat and neon block-colored ski coat, two sizes too big, stutters.

“It’s good to see you, Trevor,” Teddy says. patting the boy’s shoulder. “I have bad news today,” he wrinkles his face, bracing for a revolt. “I didn’t get your donuts made.”

The crowd erupts in gasps and “boos.”

“I know, I know, but…” he smiles hopefully, “I do have all of these holiday cookies and cupcakes.” He steps aside, fanning out his arms and presenting the trays scattered throughout the kitchen.

The crew erupts in cheers and starts high-fiving each other.

Nichol is sneakily weaving through the seven neuro-diverse kids with their two adult caretakers; Allison and Joe, a portly couple with rosy cheeks and matching felt reindeer hats, volunteer for the organization that prepares the kids for the real world.

“Oh, guys. This is my friend Nichol.” Teddy grins, nodding at his lanky guest, who pauses at the center of the huddle, with awkward shock on his face.

“Hi Nichol!” they all cheer, turning to crowd him in a group hug.

Nichol’s eyes bulge and his shoulders scrunch as he chews his lower lip, being squeezed uncomfortably.

“Nichol, this is Allison, Joe, Trevor, Annie, Morgan, Jonny, Bailey, Parker, and Paige,” Teddy says, buoyantly flailing a pointed finger over each head, then adds, “They’re twins.” He swirls the finger back and forth at the last two in the ring-around-Nichol.

“Hi everyone.” Nichol grunts.

Teddy grips Nichol’s arm, hauling him from the mosh-pit, and rescuing him into the kitchen. “Who wants hot chocolate?” Teddy asks, scooping up the plastic pitcher to collect fresh water for the large electric kettle.

“Me!” The crowd chimes in unison, raising their mittened hands toward the ceiling.

Teddy fills the kettle and flicks it on, then floats to the back of the shop and collects a stack of flat pastry boxes off a high shelf. He sets them on the workstation at the center of the room and takes to assembling them into three-dimensional structures.

Nichol watches Teddy fold and construct the first box, then joins in to help with the rest. He follows Teddy around the kitchen, repeating steps as they fill each of nine boxes with two cupcakes and a dozen varied cookies in pairs.

“Would you mind collecting their cash? Just hit the dollar sign button on the register and the drawer will pop open… They each pay five bucks.” Teddy whispers in Nichol’s ear.

“Sure,” Nichol says, running calculations in his mind, with a questioning quirk on his brow.

Teddy smiles and starts scooping cocoa powder, sugar, and spices into a stainless steel pitcher, before adding the boiling water and stirring the chocolatey elixir, flooding the space with its festive aroma.

He tops the cups with mini marshmallows and secures each brew with a safety cover.

Nichol graciously collects each five-dollar bill, waving in his face from mittened hands, and stacks them into the barren register.

Teddy places each drink next to the pastry boxes on the counter and rushes around to the center of the crowd for a goodbye embrace before they all collect their goods and start oozing out the door.

“See you next week.” He waves with a gleam in his eyes.

“That happens every week?” Nichol asks, lifting his brows.

“Sure does,” Teddy says, beaming. “They come over from a little school on Maple Lane every Wednesday. Usually for donuts and hot cocoa, but I didn't make donuts last night.”

“Sorry to distract you from your work,” Nichol says.

“Don’t be.” Teddy pours two more cups of cocoa, passing one to Nichol, deciding not to add, you were a welcomed distraction, to the reply. “Thank you for helping me out.”

“It was kinda fun…” Nichol says, with a proud smirk. “I haven’t run a cash register since high school, when I worked at the mall, over in Duluth.”

“They’ve come by every Wednesday for decades. My uncle Benji had Down's, so Gram had a soft spot for all those kids. The teachers and volunteers bring them and we load them up with goodies. They insist on paying their five-dollar lunch allowance every time.” Teddy explains, sipping hot cocoa.

“That’s sweet,” Nichol says, blowing on the steaming cup cradled in his hands.

The doorbell jingles again, announcing Marion Fitzpatrick and Hans—her pocketbook pup—strutting in. She pauses to peel off camel leather gloves, tucking them in, next to the snooty shih tzu, and then pats down the sharp edge of her black-cherry bob.

“Good morning Ms. Marion,” Teddy charms. “We haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Hello Theodore,” she says, tipping her nose up and peering back at the stacks of treats scattering the kitchen. “Oh, good! You’ve made holiday cookies,” she notes.

“Yep,” he grins. “How many would you like?”

“I was going to order three dozen, but I’ll take them today if they’re ready?” She flashes a big pearly smile through dark berry lipstick. “They’re for my party on Saturday, are they all fresh?”

“Baked just yesterday,” Teddy says.

“Perfect, that saves me from making the trip back to town later.” Marion trots up to the cash register. “Any variety will do,” she says, looking at Nichol, waiting.

“I’ll box them right up for you,” Teddy spins on his heel, catching Nichol’s eye. “Can you ring Marion up for forty-five dollars, Nichol?” he shrugs with pleading eyes.

“Sure,” Nichol plays along.

Teddy sweeps around the kitchen, collecting the three dozen cookies and neatly tying a shiny pink ribbon around the three boxes.

The register dings as Nichol charms a cackle out of stoic Ms. Marion Fitzpatrick.

“I like you,” she says, circling her finger in the air and pointing at Nichol.

Teddy steps up to the counter, setting the tower of boxes down.

“It’s nice to see a bright personality here again. That girl was terribly rude,” Marion adds with a distasteful wince.

Nichol smiles with a wink and steps out of the way.

“Loren isn’t working here anymore,” Teddy assures.

“Good.” Marion collects the neat stack, dangling from the pink ribbon, off her bony talons, and struts back toward the door. She pulls her gloves from her purse, petting Hans on the head and twists the knob. Her long beige trench coat sways in sync with the bell, jingling as she exits.

“Have a butterful day.” Nichol recites the goofy pun from the welcome mat.

Teddy chuckles.