Page 88 of A Love Like Christmas Time
It’s icy out there. Meaning my first order of business was to sand the sidewalk from my café to Henry’s vet clinic, and then down to Bobby’s home.
Lauren is currently at my place, running between there and the café to bake all the gingerbread for this weekend. I’m making the dough and baking it in the kitchen. She collects the finished hearts and stars and takes them over to my apartment to decorate them. It's easier to leave them out to let the frostingdry there. Tonight, we’ll pack them up and make them ready for our Christmas market booth.
I hope Bobby is right about the Christmas market. Lauren would be devastated if it got canceled at this point.
“Hello, my favorite barista.” I turn around when I hear Kieran’s voice. “I’ve missed you,” he declares dramatically, extending his arm like he’s holding a Hamlet soliloquy. “Oh, master of coffee. King of roast.”
“Sit down, Kieran,” I interrupt him and turn around to start his coffee.
“You bet your pretty ass I will.”
He flops down on one of the barstools at the counter. An alarm goes off in the kitchen, and I hurry to pull the next tray of gingerbread out of the oven, exchanging it for one with unbaked dough before returning to my place behind the counter.
“I almost starved to death, I’m telling you,” Kieran tells Bobby dramatically, eyebrows scrunched together in fake worry.
“Don't you have a stocked pantry?” Bobby asks, causing Kieran to sigh dramatically.
“I do, but none of the food in there feltright.”
I shake my head at him. “I mean, what did you do the past few days? If you couldn’t open your café, you must have been bored out of your—” He suddenly gasps and points at my neck. “Oh my God, Caleb! Is that a hickey?”
I stare at him coldly. Without warning, he jumps up, puts his hands on the counter, leans over it and tries to get a closer look. I turn away, feeling my cheeks fill with warmth.
“That is a fucking hickey!” He slaps the counter with his flat hand. “Are you kidding me? There I was, about to die of starvation and become food for Dick-" Bobby almost spits out his coffee. “-while my favorite food provider was just loving it up!” He flops back into his seat dramatically. “I can’t believe it.”
“Jealous?” Bobby ribs him. Kieran hides his face in his hands.
“Fuck yes.” He glances up from his palms. “Not that I’m interested in Lauren,” he quickly adds. “Not like that. She’s like a sister. Still — ugh.”
“That’s quite enough,” I say calmly and set his coffee down in front of him. “Muffin?”
“Fuck yes. Please.” He sighs dramatically, letting out a long groan after he takes a sip of his coffee.
The bell above my door chimes, and when I glance up, I see Henry and Nic coming in. It must be snowing again, as there are tiny flakes in their hair.
“Hello, friends,” Nic says with a wide grin, snowflakes falling off her hair as she takes off her jacket. “I’ve missed your faces.”
Kieran turns around and freezes. “Not you too,” he whines, pointing at the two of them.
“Not us too, what?” Henry asks and takes Nic’s coat from her.
“First there’s a hickey on Loverboy’s neck, and please, Nic is positively glowing.” He makes a hand gesture in her direction. “Her aurascreamsthat she got a good fuck.”
Nic turns redder than a fire hydrant, her eyes darting around the café. Her shoulders sag in relief when she realizes nobody else is here.
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Bobby says with a chuckle and gets up, pulling on his jacket. Without a word, I prepare and hand him a paper bag containing more muffins. There’s no way I’m selling them all today.
“See you around, Bobby,” all of us say in unison. He lifts his hand for a little wave, pulls the door open and leaves with small, careful steps on the sidewalk.
“A hickey?” Nic’s eyes fixate on my neck. I turn away from her, trying to keep the hickey out of her view. “For real?”
“So real,” Kieran says, tapping a spot under his ear to show her where it is.
Henry grabs Kieran’s arm and pulls him towards the table where they always have lunch together. Meanwhile, Nic walks slowly towards the counter, rests her arms on it, and gives me a glare with her eyes narrowed.
“Do I need to give you the whole ‘don’t you dare hurt my best friend’ spiel?” She asks in a whisper. I hold her suspicious glare.
“If it’ll make you feel better, you can,” I shrug and lean my arms on the counter too. “But you don’t need to, if that’s what you’re asking.”
