Page 5 of What Happens This Christmas
She nodded and backed up, prepared to leave, turning those few inches into what felt like miles. Remaining dignified, she replied, “I know that, but I need thematerialistic shit, Nick, if you want me to act like I’m in the spirit of the season.”
Interesting. She could turn it on like a faucet for all of our friends anytime we went anywhere, but inside the walls of our penthouse, she needed more.
I only hoped that she was going to take this seriously because it was but a small request for all the years we’d shared together. In truth, though, it felt like there’d have to be a Christmas miracle for that to happen.
Chapter 3
I SAW DADDY DRINKING WITH SANTA
NICK
Take away all the holiday decorations that looked like Mrs. Claus had gotten into a fight with Mr. Claus, and the pub I worked at was still here, lurking.
Although who the hell could tell with the upside-down Christmas trees that hung from the ceiling, each one fully decorated with enough lights and ornaments to choke a decent-sized horse? Artificial garland was draped everywhere, along with ribbons and bows, and strings of lights. Wreaths adorned each window, so that passersby would feel the holiday spirit and be enticed to come in. As if every other storefront and restaurant wasn’t decorated enough for all of us.
Out on Long Island? It felt like the North Pole.
Stay in the city? North Pole-esque.
Basically, if there was a grinch among us, then he’d be best served going someplace else for the holidays because we were working hard at evoking those small-town-you-wound-up-in-when-your-car-broke-down feelings. If it was between us and a small town, it’d be stiff competition.
I wasn’t opposed to the holidays, so nothing to worry about there. In fact, I rather enjoyed them.
But I also believed that less was more.
Seasonal cocktails? Sure, I’d make some new fucking recipe the co-owners of the pub named I Saw Daddy Drinking with Santa, Call Me Santa, or one of the other idiotic, catchy names they’d come up with. Jack and Brady Moore, the two brothers who owned the joint, knew how to attract customers and keep them coming back, so I’d leave drink naming rights in their capable hands.
All that to say I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I wished the holidays would be a little different than how I expected they’d go. That was why I’d challenged Candy the way I had. If she wanted me to wait, then I’d wait, but she needed to try.
Not that I was sure what that’d change.
See, the thing about love was that you needed to know when to let go. I was at that point. I’d been there for some time actually. It was right around the same time I realized our life felt like a crime show, us making the other their victim as we held them prisoner. So, this would only be for the best.
I’d be free. Happy.
Until she took off her wedding ring and walked out of your life because you know you’re going to miss the life you shared.
I missed a lot of things, though. The motorcycle I’d once had, my unhealthy obsession with cigars, and tape recorders, which no one nowadays knew a lick about. Oh, Jesus,nowadays…who was I, my grandfather?
With my eyes on the door, waiting for the next patron to grace us with their presence, I continued mindlessly wiping glasses. I didn’t need to bartend. As Candy had pointed out nine hundred and ninety-nine times before, I was a billionaire and could spend my days at a country club, golfing like the rest of them. She’d certainly like that, but that sounded dreadfully boring. What was I supposed to do when I wasn’t golfing? Sit around and count my toes?
I didn’t have to wait long for someone to walk in because two jackasses walked through the door. Unfortunately, I knew said jackasses. They were regulars at the pub, and as a result, they’d become friends.
“Santa called. He wants his hat back,” I remarked as I shook my head at the sight of Augustus donning it like it was the cool thing to do. It was not.
Cole raked a hand through his hair before sitting down at the bar and banging his knuckles on it. “I tried telling him he looked like an idiot.”
Augustus snorted, taking the seat next to him and fixing the hat on his head. Heaven forbid he took the damn thing off. “I wouldn’t look stupid if you’d wear the elf ears.”
To be honest, when you looked at the way Augustus dressed on a daily basis, the Santa hat was the least of his worries. Case in point, right now he was wearing a baggy shirt with a hole in one of the armpits, sweatpants, and thick, white gym socks with sneakers. Don’t be alarmed about the hole, though, because for one, it matched the one in his head, and for two, it was actually supposed to be there. He’d worn the shirt around me before, and I’d actually been stupid enough to ask about it, assuming he needed a few bucks. What moron would buy a shirt with a hole in it? Whoever it was deserved to walk around looking like they couldn’t be bothered to do laundry. I had one stipulation when it came to clothes, and that was that the sewing job was complete.
Cole’s mouth turned up in sardonic amusement. “Ten women would have to walk in here stark naked before I wore that elf shit.”
“Ten? That’s a pretty specific number,” I replied as I twisted my neck to see if the newbie who was supposed to be working the bar with me was ever going to come back. He must’ve fallen in the damn toilet because he’d been gone for so long. Eitherthat, or he’d climbed out the window back there. He sucked at bartending, so it wouldn’t have been a loss.
“It’s as unlikely as a pig flying or hell freezing over, so take it for what it is,” Cole grumbled, pointing to the glass in my hand. “What is it going to take for you to take our orders? I hope you were better at whatever you did before this. Unless that’s why you’re doing this now.” He raised an eyebrow in judgment. But he could take his judgment and fuck off.
“Yeah,” Augustus piped up, clearing his throat. “What did you do before this?”
