Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I inherited my shop from my grandfather (along with the Christmas Killer persona, but that’s another story). I sense his spirit with me in the warm, twinkling lights, the glass counter he made himself, the words we both carved in the wooden wall behind the counter. The original fireplace had to be replaced with a fake one that is a projection for safety reasons, but I installed a heater inside so that the interior is as toasty as a marshmallow between two crackers.
My shop is an all-year-round Christmas paradise. Sometimes, I sit in the armchair by the bookshelves after closing time, drinking spiced hot chocolate and knitting by the fireplace, because the store feels like home. Perhaps even more so than my small apartment upstairs.
I’m about to lock the doors for the night when a girl of around ten runs in ahead of her mother. I bow toward her, matching my movements to the jolly music streaming from speakers hidden in wreaths of artificial holly. I pause my podcast just as Cryptic Boy Wonder rasps the phrase “Bloody murder” straight into my ear.
Rawr.
“Merry Christmas! Are you out helping your mom with shopping?” I ask the girl, who grins at me so sweetly I wish I could pinch her frost-flushed cheeks. Her red hat and coat are covered with fresh snow as she crosses the threshold, but it starts melting in the warm shop. Maybe someday, I can pass the mantle of the Christmas Killer to a kid of my own. For now though, my role is to brighten the faces of all children and adults alike, so I offer her a small candy-cane.
“Good evening, Nico,” Mrs. Pratchett says before reminding her daughter to say thank you. “Sorry, I meant to come in earlier, but you know how it is in December.”
I offer her a friendly smile. “Don’t worry, the store’s still open. What are you looking for?”
“Oh, I’ll be back before Christmas, but I wanted some of that gingerbread loaf. It’s Roger’s favorite.”
I smile at her and rush to the counter. “Good thing I kept one just in case.” In all honesty, I was intending to eat it myself for dinner, but I’m getting more delivered tomorrow, and I know she’ll appreciate it. If I had a husband, I’d also treat him to the finest artisan baked goods.
“Is that Rudolf?” the daughter asks, pointing to my sweater.
I’m very tall, so I squat to meet her eyes. “I’m not sure, but maybe if you boop his nose, we’ll find out.” I glance at the mother to make sure it’s okay, and she grins at me.
When the girl pushes the pompom my sweater has in place of the reindeer's nose, the tiny mechanism built in there plays the melody of ‘Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer’, and both my customers laugh.
“Nico! That’s the most ridiculous sweater I’ve seen you wear yet,” Mrs. Pratchett says as I move on to wrapping her loaf in decorative paper. That extra touch of Christmas magic is what keeps my little shop afloat all year round.
That and the Christmas Killer merch.
“And December is just getting started.” I wink at her.
“Will you be spending the holidays with someone special this year?” she asks, and yes, it’s nosey, but everyone in Blue Grove is a little bit nosey. That’s the small-town charm. It does make my side gig tricky at times, but I’ve got enough experience to manage.
I shake my head with a smile. “This is the busiest time of the year, I hardly have the time for that.” Even though I might be stuck with an unexpected guest for much longer than either of us anticipated. Should I bring him a candy cane to sweeten his new reality?
She sighs as she pays for the gingerbread loaf. “You’re so handsome, Nico, it’s a shame.”
The girl stands on her toes to see me over the counter, her expression serious. “Maybe you should wear an elegant shirt, like my daddy.”
Mrs. Pratchett shushes her. “That’s enough, Caroline, we took too much of Nico’s time already.”
I’m blushing at the compliment. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not wishing you a Merry Christmas just yet, because we will be back before the twenty-fifth!” she says on her way out of the door, and the bells above it jingle when they leave.
I wave at them and lock my store before facing the warm interior full of colorful treats and decorations arranged on wooden shelves. My gaze is drawn to my little Pride at Christmas corner, where a set of hot guy-themed baubles hangs from a rainbow tree. One of them is a Santa’s elf, and I can’t help but think back to my reluctant guest, who’s wearing the exact same outfit as the boy depicted on the trinket—tight green shorts, a shirt that reveals his chest, and candy cane stripe stockings. Could this be a sign that I might just have someone to kiss under the mistletoe this year?