Just For The Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

15. Nichol

Chapter 15

Nichol

Divine Burgers and Cheap Drinks

N ichol’s second but first official day on the job was a repeat of yesterday. Customers came and went, placing holiday orders, grabbing free cups of coffee, and nearly cleaning out all the pre-boxed cookies and cupcakes that Teddy was sure he’d be donating to the food pantry.

In between the sporadic bursts of business, Teddy went over practices his grandmother had set into place. She believed everyone deserves free coffee, even if they’re not buying anything.

“They’re guests in the shop, so it’s customary to offer a warm drink,” Teddy recited. “Seriously Nichol, I think you’re my lucky charm. I haven’t seen business like this since Gram passed.” The baker’s eyes sparkle with the twinkling rainbow lights strung around the storefront window. “I’m going to have to keep you around.”

“It’s the holidays,” Nichol shrugs. “I’m sure it's a coincidence… But you can still take me to dinner if you’d like?” He snickers. “It’s too early to retire to my sister’s dungeon.”

Teddy chuckles, “There’s a little bar around the corner that makes a pretty decent burger and fries?” he suggests.

“Perfect!” Nichol chimes, clapping his hands, pleased that he’s in for a night out on the town.

“I’ll clean up when I get back.” Teddy gathers his fleece-lined denim jacket from the office. “I’ve still got to make doughnuts for tomorrow.”

Nichol grabs his pea coat off the rack, next to the collection of ruffled pink aprons, and twirls into it. The pair parade out the front door—Teddy locks up behind them—and they stroll down the sidewalk.

The winter air bites their rosy cheeks and ears. Tiny snowflakes materialize ahead of their path, tickling the tips of their noses, melting on their shoulders and in their hair. Nichol’s wool coat is no match for December in Minnesota, but he’d had it tailored to hug his torso perfectly, and that’s what counts.

They turn the corner at the end of the block and carry on, descending around the back of Main Street’s row of buildings, toward the basement levels of each. Teddy skips ahead, grabbing the long silver handle of an old wooden door with a blacked-out glass porthole, and hauls it open.

“Here we are.” He smiles and waves Nichol through.

Nichol had been hoping to avoid dungeon basements, but Teddy must have missed that part.

A short wood-paneled foyer, opens to the dingy bar, reeking of booze and regret. Its low raftered ceilings are littered with odd memorabilia, dangling between wooden beams. Discarded license plates and banged-up street signs are mounted on concrete block walls. Nichol imagines the eclectic seating, scattered about, is hand-me-down dining sets, collected from local yard sales.

“Am I going to get murdered?” Nichol whispers, leaning up against Teddy.

“No.” Teddy laughs. “The owner is… family .” He folds his wrist, swinging his hand in the air, mimicking Nichol’s gesture from earlier.

“When did this town get so queer?” Nichol asks.

“It always has been.” Teddy shrugs, peeling his jacket off and draping it over the back of a chair.

Nichol hangs his coat on the next chair at the table.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Gretchen.” Teddy invites Nichol to follow him to the bar.

A burly woman as round as she is short, with spiked candy-red hair, and massive breasts dangling free from any constraints inside her t-shirt, smiles wide as Teddy and Nichol approach.

“Hey, gentlemen.” She arches a dark-brown brow, scanning Nichol from head to toe with crystal-blue eyes. “Who’s your friend, Teddy boy?” Her voice is gravelly.

“Gretchen, this is Nichol.” Teddy pats Nichol’s shoulder. “He’s from here originally but left us behind—for the big city—years ago.”

“Visiting for the holidays, doll?” Gretchen wipes down fresh rinsed beer steins with a rag.

“Yep.” Nichol eyes the shelves of cheap liquor bottles, lining rickety shelves, mounted on the wall behind the bartender.

“He’s helping me out at the shop too,” Teddy adds and smiles.

“I need to pop in for some goods tomorrow.” Gretchen flips the damp rag over her shoulder and folds her arms, squashing her distracting breasts together.

“Write down what you need and I’ll make sure I have everything ready for you.’’

“Will do.” Gretchen flags her index finger. “What can I get you boys?”

“I promised Nichol one of your burgers and some fries, can we get two?” Teddy grins, turning to Nichol. “What should we drink?”

Nichol chews his lip, pondering the unsavory selection of booze. “Hmm… rum and coke?”

“I’ll take whatever you have on draft,” Teddy adds.

“Coming right up.” Gretchen winks at Nichol. She waddles to a red door with a porthole window, too high up for her to see through, swinging it open into the kitchen and bellows, “Hey Joe, whip me up two burgers and some fries.” Returning to her station, she pours one beer for Teddy, and mixes Nichol’s generic rum and fountain cola, with a wedge of lime.

They make their way back to the table and drop into the chairs claimed by their coats. Teddy swigs a long haul of foamy brew and Nichol sips his cocktail, fighting back a wince.

“Phew, that’s strong,” he wheezes with swimmy eyes.

Teddy chuckles, leaning in to whisper. “Gretchen doesn’t skimp on her pours, just on the quality.”

Nichol notices Gretchen watching him and smiles, slugging another sip and holding his glass in the air, to cheers in a salute of acknowledgment.

The fiery bartender nods, with a pleased smile.

“I think I’m scared of her,” Nichol says, through tight lips, so Gretchen can’t read them.

“Don’t be.” Teddy laughs. “She’s a sweetheart under all that bearish grit.”

Their burgers and fries are soon ready, delivered to the bar by the tall thin chef, scurrying out of the kitchen and quickly back into hiding, just as Nichol and Teddy are ready for another round.

Gretchen pours them fresh drinks, having taken visual note of their empty glasses—without bothering to ask—and calls over to their table, “Orders up, boys.”

Teddy pops up off his chair and collects the plates, balancing both on one arm and gripping both drinks between clawed fingers in his other hand. Returning to the table and depositing everything, he licks beer off his finger that poked his brew and settles into his seat.

“These actually look amazing.” Nichol ogles the dishes, surprised. They’d even rival some of the best burgers he’s had at popular eateries in Seattle.

“Joe is actually a French-trained chef. He worked in New York City for years, but moved here to get away from all that.” Teddy takes a huge bite of burger and dreamily closes his eyes, humming delightfully.

Nichol sinks his teeth into the toasted buttery bun, through garlic sautée onions, two slices of cheddar, and an oozy barbecue mayo sauce on a crisp sheet of lettuce and swoons over the flavors seducing his taste buds.

“Sweet jeezus.” He practically sings.

“Mm-hmm,” Teddy nods, smiling and chewing, in told-you-so agreement.

They devour their dinner and polish off several more drinks, be-bopping to muffled music from an old jukebox, while laughing at each other, and losing count as the night gets fuzzy.

Soon, Gretchen is announcing “last call” and they’re the only two patrons still there, having outlasted even the regular bar flies.