Just For The Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

29. Nichol

Chapter 29

Nichol

The Charmed Prince

T he alarm clock in Nichol’s phone mutely buzzed against his thigh, from inside his pocket, for thirteen minutes before his tired body registered the vibrations.

He carefully slides off the futon, not disturbing the snoring baker, and soft-steps through the aluminum gate, quietly latching it behind himself.

GiGi waddles across the floor, out of the dark shadows and into the moon-glow spilling into the kitchen from the storefront, whisper-squeaking a reminder that it is her breakfast time.

“Shh… one sec.” Nichol presses his index finger to his lips and flicks one of three switches on the wall, to light just the kitchen, over the workbench.

He gathers the bin of produce from the fridge and discovers a bag of pellets under the work surface, breaking two carrots into thirds with his bare hands and dropping the pieces on top of the pellets in a silver mixing bowl—like he had witnessed Teddy doing before—and sets the bowl down, inside the gate, for her to munch.

“Coffee,” he whispers to himself, spinning on a heel, and traipsing across the kitchen. He preps the machine, filling the reservoir with water, adding grounds to the filter, and studies its buttons before flicking a switch and hoping for the best. It sighs and gurgles for a moment, before hissing and dribbling dark steamy brew into the pot.

Nichol had stayed up and baked some of the cookie trays Teddy had covered with plastic, before he decided to go on a treacherous adventure. Katie gave him instructions over the phone, when he’d called her in the middle of the night to check-in and beg for help. She told him to just follow the same steps with the pies, so that is what he plans to do. So he fired up the oven, and popped the first two in.

Nichol strolls into the bathroom, dampens his hair to pat down his bed-head and sweeps to the back of the shop, collecting a frilly candy-heart apron and securing it around his body, before returning to the coffee pot to prepare his caffeinated fuel for the day ahead.

He leans his elbows on the counter, sipping his cradled brew, and watches the sky slowly fade paler shades of blue as Main Street wakes up outside. Treasured Trinkets antique store, across the way, has a new set of Christmas lights strung around its facade. They pop along, with the light inside the window, as Barry Kirk, the owner for as long as Nichol can remember, scuffles around his shop preparing for Christmas Eve eve.

“Smells good in here.” Teddy’s voice ix especially gravelly this morning.

“Hey.” Nichol twists his neck and smiles at the patient. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Teddy winces, bending to unlatch the little gate.

“Hang on.” Nichol sets his coffee down and rushes to open it for him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a wreck,” he chuffs.

“Coffee?” Nichol offers.

“Mmm, yes.” Teddy smiles, heavy-eyed. “I really need to pee first.”

“Do you need help?”

Teddy’s face reddens and his eyes widen.

“—Getting to the bathroom,” Nichol adds and chuckles, awkwardly.

“I’m okay.” Teddy watches the floor closely as he makes his way through the shop and closes himself into the washroom.

Nichol sniffs the sweet warm buttery pie-scented air and pulls the first two from the oven, adding two more, then counting out the last three that still need to go in. Baking has never been his forté—he prefers ordering delivery—but is actually finding a sense of joy and accomplishment in the tasks.

The door sweeps the Have a Buttery Day mat and jingles announce Principal Butler strolling in, shaking off the cold. “Good morning Nichol Anderson.”

“Good morning Mr. Butler,” he responds, with a customer service smile. “Coffee?”

“You know me already.” The principal’s eyes squint over his rosy cheeks.

“I’m a quick study.” Nichol snickers.

“You always were. It’s no wonder that you went off and made such a success of yourself.” Mr. Butler adds.

Nichol’s smile fades and his brow droops as he fills the paper cup with dark roast. “Cream and two sweeteners?” The word success pings around in his head and rattles his mood, briefly.

“Perfect.” The principal beams.

Teddy emerges from the bathroom. “Good morning Mr. Butler,” he says, but he stumbles a bit, making his way behind the counter.

The warm light of the early sun casts a golden aura around the broken but cheery baker, catching Nichol’s lingering eye.

“Go sit,” Nichol commands.

“Theodore, what happened to you?” Mr. Butler notes the stitches and bruising temple.

“He decided to drive all the way to the mall in that blizzard last night.” Nichol tattles, scoldingly.

“My truck probably looks worse.” Teddy drops onto the cashier’s stool, wincing and clamping his rib under his elbow.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” The principal winces, in solidarity, readying his wallet.

“We don’t have doughnuts today, but I set aside some cookies for you.” Nichol grabs a ribboned pastry box from the fridge, marked Mr. B in black grease pen, and delivers it to the counter with his coffee order.

Teddy smiles, as his tired eyes follow Nichol around the kitchen. “Gym clothes and stained t-shirts aren’t exactly appropriate holiday party attire, I had to go” he retorts.

“No, you didn’t… It’s just my family.” Nichol huffs.

Mr. Butler’s mouth arcs knowingly, in a presumptuous manner, as he counts the bills in his fold. “What’s my damage today gentlemen?”

“Fifteen,” Nichol chimes.

Teddy is pleasantly surprised.

“I’m a quick study,” Nichol smirks, collecting the cash, leaning over Teddy, and slipping it into the register’s drawer.

“What are your plans for the holiday?” Teddy asks the principal.

“Oh, I’ve got some work to do, and now some lovely cookies to indulge me.”

Nichol and Teddy catch each other’s eyes.

Teddy’s brows cave in.

“Come to my sister’s house tomorrow at five.” Nichol surprises himself.

“What? No, I’d never intrude,” he insists and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“No intrusion. My family loves a gathering. The more, the merrier.” Nichol entices.

“Five o’clock you say?” Mr. Butler is easily persuaded, smiling warmly at Nichol.

Nichol nods, surprised by his own compulsive decision. It’s probably just that pesky holiday spirit slipping in.

“I’d love to join you all… Do you mind a plus-one?”

“The more the merrier,” Nichol replies, with his customer service smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Principal Butler jingles out the door and down the sidewalk, carrying his bounty.

“Nichol Anderson, that was nice of you.” Teddy leans an elbow on the counter, slumping on the stool.

“Meh,” Nichol shrugs, narrowing his eyes on Teddy's slumping form. “You should probably be in bed.”

“Meh,” he mimics. “I’m fine.” Teddy sips from the cup of coffee Nichol prepared, glancing over its rim, watching as he wipe down the machine. The scents in the kitchen finally register in his brain, and he asks, “You did all the baking?” He scans the spread of golden crusts and loaded cooling racks.

“Someone had to… you were busy drooling into your pillow,’’ Nichol teases with a crooked grin, bordering on flirty.

“I’m really impressed,” Teddy says softly, then slurps coffee down.

“I have a job interview at noon, but I’ll work around that. You need to rest.”

Teddy’s face sinks and his throat bobs under his beard. “Great,” he cheers with all the enthusiasm he can posture.

Nichol checks his expression from the corner of his eye. “Why don’t you set up a self-serve coffee bar here?” He shifts focus, fanning his arms out over the shop’s empty corner, opposite the door. “If you’re going to offer everyone free coffee, make it so they can just come in and grab their own.” Nichol taps his fingers, counting the thoughts and suggestions as he lists them off. “Put in a little bench, get some flavored syrups, and some cute containers for presentation, and people will pop in for their pastries and custom coffee.”

Teddy’s face lights up. “I’d never thought about it really. Gram always just poured them black cups and offered milk.”

“Less work for you, more options for them.” Nichol states his plan.

“Too bad you’re not sticking around.” Teddy blurts. “This place hasn’t felt this alive since Gram passed… Lucky Nichol.”

Nichol swallows a thick lump suddenly caught in his throat and his eyes land on the baker, unable to conjure a reply.

Teddy stares back, drowsily sipping, then turns his head toward the shop window.

Nichol’s interview is a smash. He turns on the charm like a light switch and enchants the young app developer. The job offer is a fully remote position with twice his old salary and perks. They’ve even offered a relocation stipend, just to sweeten the deal.

Colby had done a spectacular job at making Nichol appear highly desired on the market, while he’s been “moonlighting as a freelance consultant” in between career moves, and is only interested in giving that up for the most lucrative offer. But the sudden shift in luck should feel more celebratory than it does—right now.

Staring at the injured baker, perched on his stool, sipping coffee, and staring out the window of this sweet little medicinal-pink bakery, in deep reflection.

Nichol Disaster Anderson just may be reconsidering his big city return after all.