Page 67 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
I try not to think about that too much, so I redirect my thoughts to the surprise I plan to reveal to him later tonight. I know Christmas is only next week, but I can't wait to share the good news. I’m in the middle of selling a teen lesbian couple a pair of holly-themed rings when Nico squeezes my shoulder, still chewing on his food.
“With the bakery next door closing, it’s lucky you got so into baking. I can’t live without good bread and cake.”
I grin and accept the money before tying a little rainbow-striped ribbon on the box containing the jewelry. “I am still accepting Christmas time wishes, if you want me to make anything specific.”
“Oh yes! Please make your fruitcake. With extra apricots and pecans.” Nico’s blue eyes glaze over.
“You’re the only person I know who is this excited about fruitcake, but your wish is my command,” I say graciously.
We leave the counter to Owen and go together to fix the miniature train that seems to be stuck. Nico could do it himself, but I love his company, so I want to hang out with him now that the rush of customers has died down.
“Fruitcake is extremely underrated,” Nico says with full seriousness. He looks up at me with a frown. “Would fruitbreadbe just a different type of fruitcake? Would it depend on the ratio of ingredients?”
I match his expression, because I have never thought of that myself. “I’ll get back to you on that, but it’s a gray area, isn’t it? Like with banana bread, it’s in the name, but I always thought it was more of a cake. I’m sure there’s some professional baker or food historian who has strong opinions about it.”
Because that’s what I do now—subscribe to YouTube channels on baking and collect cookbooks.
I used to think that I’ll be traveling the world, wild and free, and instead I’m shockingly content with barely leaving the state and making my man sandwiches. Weird how life goals can change when you meet the right person. Though Nico has agreed to a long vacation in France at the peak of summer next year, when business in the Winter Emporium grinds to a standstill.
After our first Christmas together, I did consider telling him that with the money I have he could simply retire. He could employ another manager and only pop into the store when he feels like it, but it only took me a few weeks to understand that Nico’s heart is in this shop. It’s great that we have my money to fall back on, but he wants the Winter Emporium to thrive and loves talking to people about Christmas traditions from around the world, choose items from local artisans, and champion handmade decorations by holding workshops.
His passion only makes me love him more.
Maybe it’s selfish, but I also love that his other passion is something he can only ever share with me. I’m the one person who understands his need for violence and the art he creates from the outcome. It makes me feel special.Weare special to each other, and no matter how much I hate Carl for caring about me so little, I know that I wouldn’t be in this amazing relationship if he hadn’t made the terrible decisions he had.
And I certainly wouldn’t be as happy as I am now if I fulfilled my original dream of traveling the world and hooking up with all the hot guys I wanted. Nico's warmth managed to melt even the ice on my stunted heart. And isn’t that what life should be all about?
I watch him oil the wheel of the toy train, all focused, and I smile at a family watching him through the shop window, because this makes me remember that he’s the source of joy for so many more people.
And yet, he’s mine. I’ve seen men (and women) hit on him more or less discreetly, and he’s always so proud to say he has a boyfriend. It makes me feel appreciated.
We spend some more time discussing what bread I should try making next as Nico fixes the train. Once he gets it going, a few people come in to see the miniaturetown and clap. Even though it’s time to close the shop and I’m itching to show off my early Christmas gift, I let Nico finish the day at his own pace, because watching him share festive joy with a kid is priceless. He lets the boy push the button responsible for the train’s whistle, and I smile at the absolute glee on the kid’s face.
Nico ends up gifting the boy a pin marking him asSanta’s Express Train Conductor, but in the end, the family leaves, we close the shop, and I wonder how incredible it is that I’m so happy sweeping the floors while Nico polishes the counters.
I know he’s tired and wants nothing more than to settle on the sofa and rest, but I hope the surprise I have for him will recharge his batteries. I slide my arms round him just as he places the cleaning supplies back in their usual spots. He still smells of his cologne, but there’s also a note from the cinnamon aroma of the coffee he had right after closure. I love it so much.
“Soo… how about a very short walk?” I offer.
He squints at me, then peeks through the window, but it’s not snowing like it had earlier. “How short?” Nico asks even though I already know he can be convinced.
“Extremely. You might not even need a coat,” I tell him and wink. “It’s a surprise.”
“Okay, butyouare taking a hat,” he says and grabs the beanie he knitted for me from under the counter. It’s brown, has small ears, and makes me look silly, but I love it anyway, so I don’t complain when he puts it on my head. “I won’t have you ill again. You’re a very miserable patient.”
“Guilty as charged,” I tell him and get to my toes so we can kiss. But then I grab his hand and pull him toward the exit as excitement explodes inside me like fireworks.
He says nothing, no doubt trying to show some enthusiasm for my sake, but I know he will love my Christmas surprise. As soon as we lock up after ourselves, I take the ten steps separating us from the closed bakery next door and open it with a key I’ve been hiding from him for two weeks now.
“Merry Christmas,” I say, pushing him out of the frosty street and into the empty shop.
“Wh-what?” Nico asks, throwing me a suspicious glance. “You didn't…”
“Yes, I did!” I slap the light switch and make a little dance in front of the counter, which not that long ago held so many breads and pastries. “Think about it. It was the best bakery in town. We could reopen it, expand the shop, since you said you need more space, have some sort of customer loyalty program for both places. Aaand, maybe host baking workshops and stuff like that?”
Nico runs his fingers through his hair, looking around the dusty space. “And youboughtit? This isn’t rented?” he asks in disbelief as I nod.
“Yep, the whole building.”
