Just For The Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

21. Nichol

Chapter 21

Nichol

It’s Temporary...

F resh from a steamy shower, hair still wet and crisping in the frigid early-morning Midwest air, he stomps across the snowy yard and hops into the running minivan.

“Morning,” Katie mumbles.

Nichol nods dismissively, strapping the seatbelt around himself, and squeezing his icy hands between his thighs.

“Morning Uncle Nichol.” Max chimes from the back.

Nichol spins in his seat and forces a smile.

Max’s orange hair is parted deeply on the side and slicked down with too much gel. He’s sporting a pink button-down with raspberry pinstripes, under a lime green sweater vest beneath his winter coat, and blue jeans folded up at the ankles with mismatched socks—one plaid and one solid yellow—with bubbly red boots on his feet.

“Nice fit kid,” Nichol smirks.

“I wanted to dress like you today.” Max smiles proudly.

Nichol’s smirk straightens, and he turns to Katie. “I’m flattered,” he says flatly, looking downward at his colorful but fashionable outfit. The royal blue sweater covering a bright-yellow Washington pride tee—poking up from under the collar—and teal-dyed jeans, maybe too flashy for this little town, but he’s not a standout back in Seattle.

Katie hides a snort by sipping coffee from her glittery “ best mom” travel mug.

The van backs out of the driveway and shifts forward, toward town.

The few minutes of silence are cut short when Katie asks, “So, who’s this we’re seeing?”

Nichol is reminded of his impulsive outburst at dinner and chews his cheek. Shit.

“Might it be our baker friend?” she pries.

“Can you believe our mother?” Nichol attempts to shift focus. His sister is definitely his ally, but she’s also her mother’s daughter. If he confesses to making up a date, that embarrassing news will travel fast, and they’ll all be pushing him toward Mr. Hunkly—teacher man. There’s no reason to be getting involved with anyone here. He’s not staying, though he knows that’s exactly what his family is really hoping for. Find him a boyfriend and he’ll stick around. He can almost hear his mother’s thoughts rolling around in his sleepy head.

“Is it Teddy?” Katie isn’t going to give up.

“We’re just having a little fun.” Nichol lies—sort of. “I’m not sticking around here, you know that.’’

“Does he ?” Katie sips, arching a brow, staring ahead at headlights leading them along the quiet neighborhood street flanked by sparkly frozen snowbanks.

“Yes.” Nichol barks.

“I like having you here Uncle Nichol.” Max adds.

“Thanks Maxie.” Nichol turns back with a warm smile, then returns his focus to Katie. “Keep that information to yourself.” But he knows she won’t.

“You know… Teddy used to ask about you all the time, when we were kids.” Katie’s wheels are spinning as she glances at Nichol. “It’s almost as if he had a crush on you.”

Nichol stares out the window, watching mounds of snow pass by, and recalling Teddy’s glorious chest and belly. The way auburn hairs tickled his own bare skin and the scritch of the baker’s wiry mustache when they kissed.

“He may have mentioned that.” Nichol mumbles.

“He’s really sweet you know?” Katie says emphatically, shooting an accusatory glare at him, out of the corner of her eyes.

“I know… It’s just a little fun—while I’m in town.” Nichol reminds her. His stomach rumbles with guilt—or hunger.

Holiday lights twinkle around the pepto-pink window and the shop is the only business lit-up on Main Street at this hour.

Katie pulls the van up to the door and Nichol peers past the window pane grid, into the shop, at the sweet baker, packing up boxes, and stacking them on the counter. He exhales and pushes the door open, assaulted by a rush of winter air flooding the vehicle.

“Have a good day you guys.” Nichol slips out, shutting the door behind him, and enters the bakery, jingling at his arrival.

“Hey.” Teddy barely looks up, and continues to work.

“Good morning.” Nichol smiles at the back of the baker’s head.

“I’m going to run this stuff over to the pantry.” He sweeps around the kitchen, grabbing a large garbage bag and hastily filling it with the pastry boxes he’d piled on the counter. “I wrote all of the prices for things we have in stock—here.” He points at a blackboard with barely legible chalk scribblings listed. “Will you be okay for a bit?” His eyes dart down to the bag in his hand, back to the blackboard, the door—anywhere but Nichol’s face.

“Of course,” Nichol replies—adding. “You trimmed your beard.”

Teddy pauses, finally looking at Nichol from the side of his eye. “I did.”

His energy seems distant but Nichol steps aside as Teddy carries the plastic sack of treats toward the door, jangling his keyring in his hand. “I’ll be right back.” He mutters, offering a quick and forced smile.

Nichol sinks onto the cashier’s stool, as the doorbell announces Teddy’s frigid departure.