Page 27 of Holiday at Home
What the…?
Leaning over the edge of the railing, I glance up and down the darkened street, but see no one, not even a hint of a shadow cast in the pools of light left by my neighbor’s decorations and the streetlamps lining the walk.
Turning back to the cup, I pick it up like it might bite. It’s still warm. I barely missed whoever left this here. One sniff tells me I’m holding a peppermint mocha, one of my absolute favorites. Simon used to make…
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmur, a smile starting at my toes and working its way into my heart. I set the coffee onthe porch rail, tear open the envelope, and pull out the card. It’s handwritten in Simon’s still-familiar scrawl.
On the first day of Christmas…
Inside is a hastily drawn picture of him brewing the coffee.
I press the card to my chest, give a little shimmy-shake of delight, then take a long drink, my eyes rolling back in pleasure as the taste hits my tongue.
It’s beyond good. The perfect amount of chocolate and peppermint. The coffee is strong, cutting through the sweetness. Instead of a sugar bomb, this is a sophisticated nod to a holiday favorite.
“Damn that’s good,” I mutter, then take another long drink.
Simon always had a thing for coffee—a talent for it, even. For something as simple as hot water poured over beans, he manages to turn it into an art form.
I basically float down the sidewalk on my way to the bakery, clutching my delicious coffee, enjoying its warmth against my palms as the sun peeks over the horizon, little scrolls of pink and gold sneaking up toward the darkened sky. It’s quiet, just the sound of my feet on the sidewalk. It’s one thing I’ve always loved about the morning: this moment of stillness before the world comes to life. The calm before the storm.
And what a storm it is.
The bakery isbusy.
I do my best to channel my parents, remembering bits and pieces of each person’s story as they stop in to pick out their favorite treat. The hours fly by. In the quiet moments, I consider bringing Simon some gingerbread cookies as a thank you for the coffee. I even set some aside for him—just in case—then argue with myself for the rest of the day. His gesture was sweetand deserves something in return. However… it’s the actual sweetness of the gesture that warns me to keep my distance.
Simon’s trouble.
Trouble that’s leaving in a few days.
Best not to get too involved.
And yet, here I am at the end of the day, standing on his porch, knocking on his door with a bag of gingerbread men and two cinnamon rolls I set aside specifically for him when it looked like I was running out.
Simon opens the door, a look of confusion bleeding into pleasure when he sees me. “Hi, Violet.”
“Hello to you, too.” I hold up the bag of treats and give it a jiggle. “I brought you a little something to thank you for the treat I found this morning.”
Simon frowns. “Treat? What treat?”
“The coffee on my front porch, silly.”
“Violet… that wasn’t me.”
He’s joking. I know he is. But still, part of my brain picks up the idea and runs with it, conjuring stories of stalkers crouched in darkness, or a romantic gesture from a would-be lover sitting on the wrong person’s porch.
But… I’m not buying it.
“Well okay then.” I lower the bag of treats. “Looks like I owe these gingerbread cookies and cinnamon rolls to someone else.” I shrug, painting on a look of apologetic innocence. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
Simon moves as if to swipe the bag out of my hand but pulls back, eyes glimmering. “Nope. Sorry. That was definitely me,” he finishes, wiggling his fingers in agimmegesture.
I hand him the bag and he peers inside, inhaling deeply before sighing in contentment. “Sorry, if the coffee thing was silly?—”
“Silly? You made my morning.” And my last night, and my whole day, I think but don’t say. “It was still warm when I picked it up. I must’ve just missed you.”
“Come on, Vi.” Simon gives me a knowing look. “You act like that wasn’t part of the plan. It’s pretty easy to predict your pattern when it hasn’t changed since we were kids. It was more fun for me, watching you figure it out.”
