Just For The Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

13. Nichol

Chapter 13

Nichol

The Lucky Charmer

T he daylight hours passed in a blink, and Nichol didn't register the time until the sun began setting under the violet horizon. Time really does fly when you're having fun. Nichol had enjoyed being distracted from his current situation, for the first time since that balmy summer night in Sitges, skinny-dipping in the moonlit sea with jasper-eyed Javier.

He watched the baker float around the kitchen, organizing cookies and cupcakes in boxed sets as customers trickled in and out of the shop, placing holiday orders.

“I think this was the busiest day I’ve had in months.” Teddy beams with flushed cheeks. “You must be a lucky charm,” he says, staring into the packed fridge, trying to find space to fit just three more boxes.

Nichol huffs, “Lucky? Hardly.” He plops down on the cashier’s stool, leaning an elbow on the counter and smashing his cheek into his palm. “If I have any luck at all, it’s bad.”

“What do you mean?” Teddy gives up on the refrigerator puzzle and sets the overstock next to Nichol, “Take these home to your family.”

“Sure, thanks.” Nichol twirls the silky pink bows with his fingers. “I wouldn’t be back here if I had an ounce of good luck.”

Teddy slap-foots across the shop front, avoiding the melted slush puddles left behind from the customers' boots, and locks the door.

“I assumed you’re just visiting for the holidays?” Teddy says.

“I lost my job back in January,” Nichol confesses. “And I fucked around most of the year.” He leans back against the wall and knots his arms across his chest. “Hopefully, I’ve not destroyed my career with this insane gap.”

“So, you’ve been freelance consulting all year.” Teddy shrugs and grins.

Oh! Small-town baker man is savvy. Nichol hadn’t even thought of that. He makes a mental note to adjust his resume for Colby.

“You know… If you might be interested, I could use some help here?” Teddy bows his chin, slowly rolling his eyes to peer through his lashes at Nichol’s response.

Nichol pauses for a moment, chewing his lip, and searching the ceiling for an answer.

“You were pretty fantastic with customers today. Marion even liked you, she hates everyone.” Teddy smooths on the flattery. “I can’t pay much, but . . .”

“Sure, why not?” Nichol pats his knee and rises off the stool.

“Really?” Teddy chimes, near giddy, but managing to keep his composure.

“I should probably start walking… It’s getting dark out there.” Nichol says, expressing a long sigh, carrying a not-so-telepathic hint.

“You’re not walking home. I’ll give you a ride.” Teddy scoffs. “Let me grab my gym gear and we can get going.”

Nichol grins wide, satisfied that his message was received. “Oh, you don’t have to” he murmurs.

“I’m not letting you walk home in the dark,” Teddy says, gathering his keys. “Oh, Gigi!” He drops the key ring on the counter with a clank, “I’m sorry girl.” He rushes to the fridge, pulling out several boxes until he uncovers the bin of produce—shoved to the back—and frantically tears leaves of lettuce, snapping two carrots into thirds. tossing the veggies into a bowl and adding a generous pour of Guinea pig pellets from under the counter, before rushing through the aluminum gate and setting the food down at her hidey-hole.

The little critter pokes her head out, and lifts her nose, snubbing away from him.

“I’m really sorry.” Teddy pleads.

She slowly nibbles the edge of a carrot, before tearing into the bowl ravenously.

“I’ll be back soon.” He pets her head with the backs of two fingers and grabs a duffle back off the floor, beside his locker, slipping his feet into a pair of sneakers, and turning to Nichol. “Let’s roll.’’

Nichol twirls into his coat, following Teddy out—who pauses to lock the shop—toward the little Ford Ranger.

The short ride doesn’t allow enough time for the truck’s heater to warm up, so a continual stream of frigid air blasts their faces the entire way.

Nichol buries his hands between his tightly squeezed thighs and curls his shoulders, attempting to shrink into his own warmth.

“Sorry about the heater.” Teddy chatters. “This old thing needs a minute to get going.”

“It’s okay,” Nichol says, shivering violently. The walk probably would have been worse. He was never acclimated to Minnesota winters, even having grown up here, but it’s more painful after spending twenty years on the West Coast. When he was a kid, he theorized he’d been born into the wrong life, and that his soul must have gotten mixed up with someone else’s, who is out there living the blueprint he should have been.

Arriving back at Katie’s, Nichol hops out quickly. The air outside is actually warmer—maybe the walk wouldn’t have been worse?

“Should I come pick you up in the morning?” Teddy leans across the ripped vinyl bench seat, as Nichol is about to close the squawking truck door.

“Oh, right.” Nichol ponders for a second. “That works for me.”

“We open at six, So I’ll swing by at five-thirty.” Teddy’s mustache and beard curl with his wide smile and his blue eyes shimmer in the light cast from a security light aimed at the driveway from the side of the house.

“In the morning?” Nichol squeaks.

“Mm-hmm.” Teddy giggles.

“See you then.” Nichol shuts the door and trudges to the house’s entrance, turning back to wave at the little rusted truck grumbling out of the driveway and down the street, before stepping inside.

“Anthony?” Katie calls from the kitchen.

“It’s just me,” Nichol replies, peeling his coat off and basking in the hot air blowing through the heating vent near his feet. He kicks his boots off and trots up the half-flight stairs.

Max and Stuart are twinning on the sofa, both turning away from their cartoons to glare and then carrying on as they were.

“Where have you been?” Katie asks, pouring a boiling pot of pasta through a colander nestled into the sink as the steam curls the outer tips of her self-cut bangs.

“In town.” He pinches a freshly shaved shard of Parmesan cheese from a bowl on the kitchen island and pops it into his mouth.

“All day?” Katie quirks a brow.

“Yup.” Nichol flashes a toothy grin. He drops down into a chair at the dining table, folding one leg up and crossing his ankle over his knee.

Katie isn’t one to pry, but her narrowing eyes are heaped with questions.

The front door sweeps open and boots clomp in.

“Dinner is ready.” Katie bellows.

Stuart trots into the kitchen first, nuzzling up against Nichol’s calf, demanding pets that he promptly obliges with.

Max is shortly behind him, with Anthony waddling up behind his son, softly drum-tapping the boy’s shoulders and gleefully eyeing Katie, walking steaming bowls of spaghetti and red sauce to the table.

“Max, grab the garlic bread from the oven please?’’ she asks.

Max skips forward and shuffles around the island, scooping up the plate of buttery toasted bread, and swinging the full loop. to join the dinner table. He claims his seat, across from Nichol, and eyes his uncle curiously, while Katie fills his plate.

“Uncle Nichol . . .” Max chews the edge of a slice of garlic toast, then licks his greasy lips, spreading the minced chunky mess further down his chin. “Jaiden said you’re a faguette.” He twists his face with confusion.

“Maxwell.” Katie scolds.

“It’s okay, he doesn’t know…" Nichol says to his sister… "Yes, I am.” He tells max and smiles.

Anthony nearly spits his swig of cola.

“Nichol!” Katie barks.

“It’s a bad word, kiddo.” Anthony twirls his fork into the pile of sauced spaghetti.

“It’s only bad if straight people say it.” Nichol stretches his neck over the table and winks.

Anthony snorts.

“It’s bad if anyone says it.” Katie squeals.

Nichol rolls his shoulders sassily, shoving a pile of saucy noodles into his mouth, grinning and chewing.

“It’s a mean word people say about gay people,” Katie explains.

“Why?” Max slurps up a splattering string of a wiggly noodle.

“Because people are assholes, Maxie.” Nichol blurts, sipping his cola, eyeing Katie in anticipation of her response.

Anthony just shrugs, nodding.

Katie rolls her eyes but keeps her focus on Max. “For a long time, people didn’t like gay people, for no good reason. Some people are still like that.” Katie explains.

“Dumb.” Max declares.

“Very,” Nichol agrees, smiling.

“Finish your dinner, you need a bath.’’ Katie notes the sauce splattered all over Max’s face and hands.

Max grumbles.

Nichol scratches the top of Stuart’s head and tosses him a noodle.