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Christmas in Jingle Junction

By Tabitha Bouldin

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Holly tipped her head to the side at the sound of the back door opening. Thank God, she whispered silently before racing across the polished tile floor. Her voice bounced slightly around the empty shop as she pulled open the door between the main part of the coffee shop and the storeroom. “Henry! I’m so glad…” Her voice trailed off at the sight of the man in front of her, and she backpedaled to a rapid stop. He was further into the room than she anticipated. It was only her rapid stop that kept her from plowing directly into his chest. Not a bad idea. If you’re going to throw yourself into someone’s arms, or against their chest, he looks like a good choice. Holly corralled her rampaging thoughts and tried to focus. Bright green eyes stared her down from the now open door where the man in question was hauling in bags of coffee beans from the white delivery truck. Holly felt and heard the hesitation in her voice. “You’re not Henry.”
“No, Ma’am. Henry is sick with pneumonia. They called me in yesterday to take his place while he recovers.” He stood to his full height after lowering the bag gently to the ground. His standing straight and tall made them eye-level, thanks to the heels on Holly’s black, knee-high leather boots. She nearly missed his next sentence as those gorgeous green eyes pinned her solemnly. “My name is Patrick.”
Dark brown curls peeked out from beneath the black, knit beanie that was pulled down nearly over his eyebrows to combat the freezing temperatures. When she didn’t respond, Patrick turned back toward the doorway, headed back to the truck for another sack of Holly’s coffee beans. The beans that she paid dearly for because they were the basis of her entire operation. The beans she had been terrified would not arrive in time because of the snow and the quickly approaching Christmas season. When Patrick stepped through the door with another 100-pound sack over his shoulder, Holly shook herself out of the near-trance his eyes had put her under.
She managed to hold out her hand and speak without stuttering, but only just “I’m Holly. It’s nice to meet you, Patrick.” After dropping the sack next to the first one, Patrick shook her hand. The iciness of the black leather glove chilled Holly instantly. The temperature outside was still falling, and the snow was coming in faster than the weatherman had anticipated. Patrick’s nose was turning red from his continued exposure to the cold, and Holly turned away after he dropped her hand. “Come and see me up front when you get done. I’ll fix you a cup of coffee; it’ll help you stay warm.”
Patrick’s voice hesitated. “I don’t like coffee.”
Holly turned to face him and felt her mouth nearly drop open in shock. In all her twenty-eight years, she had only spoken with one other person who did not like coffee, and she had managed to change their mind...eventually. Thoughts of her best friend, Gina, made Holly smile. “Alright then, something else, cocoa or tea?” Holly felt his continued hesitation, saw it in the way he worked the fingers of the gloves as though they were uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I insist, Patrick. Even if it’s just a cup of hot water to hold in your hands.”
His head nodded once in acceptance, and he turned back toward the door, back out into the frigid air that had descended upon Jingle Junction. His voice drifted back to her, carried on the cold wind of winter. “Cocoa will be fine.”
Holly left him to work in peace. As much as she longed to stand there and watch him work, she had things to do. It would be time to open soon, and she still needed to grind the beans for the morning rush. Thoughts of Patrick occupied the main part of her brain as her body performed the automatic movements. After five years of the same morning routine, Holly sometimes found herself grinding beans and pouring coffee in her sleep. It was nice to have something different to focus on.
And Patrick was a nice distraction.
It wasn’t just the intensity of his green eyes that Holly noticed, although the eyes were a nice touch to his stubble-covered, square jaw and Roman nose. He carried the sacks of coffee with ease, another point in his favor, as that pointed to fitness hidden beneath the thick, black leather jacket that was zipped all the way up to his chin. Regular blue jeans and black work boots completed his look. The entire package giving Holly a broad smile. He needed a scarf, though, a bright red one, Holly decided. That would give just the right pop of color, especially with his eyes; the red and green would be perfect.
A sigh escaped as she daydreamed. It was nice to daydream, especially with Christmas right around the corner. The sudden sound of his voice amid her musing had an immediate and startling effect. First of all, she squealed like a teenage girl who’s just spoken to her crush for the first time…a fact she was not proud of but could not stop. And just in case that wasn’t bad enough, the cup of coffee grounds in her hand flew upward, the finely ground coffee erupting into the air like snow in reverse. It reached the peak of its ascension, sunlight glistening off the deep brown flakes before they fell to the floor…and all over Holly. The cup clattered to the floor, barely missing Holly’s toes, but she was too busy watching the coffee to notice. She felt the coffee grounds pepper her face and coat her hair. The tantalizing aroma surrounded her. A snort of laughter sounded behind her before it was abruptly cut off.
Holly turned slowly to face Patrick. She had to give him credit – he tried…I mean, really tried not to laugh. But when she sneezed and a cloud of brown burst through the space between them, he lost all sense of chivalry. Holly put her hands on her hips and tried to glare at him, but it was impossible, partly because she could barely see through the grounds in her eyelashes and partly because she knew she would be laughing if the roles were reversed. She gave in with a sigh and moved gingerly toward the restrooms. Each step threatened to leave a trail of coffee in her wake.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Patrick asked between smiles.
Holly refrained from shaking her head or making any motion that wasn’t absolutely necessary. “If anyone comes in, just tell them I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Patrick stepped to the side so she could make her way around the counter. His head dipped in agreement, and Holly heard him turn back to face the glass door with its candy cane sign reading “OPEN” in bright red and white swirls. The sign was not lit up yet, but that would not stop Jenkins from coming through the front door. She always unlocked it nearly as soon as she arrived so the early morning regulars could come in before she officially opened.
Holly disappeared into the women's restroom and laughed out loud at the sight in the mirror. She really was a mess. It was a wonder Patrick had been able to stop laughing. The coffee disappeared into her espresso-colored hair, but her pale cheeks – her whole face really – was dotted with brown flecks. The only thing she could do was wash her face and shake out as much coffee as she could from her hair. Thank goodness she loved the smell of coffee, because she was going to be saturated by the scent for the rest of the day. Once her face was scrubbed clean, Holly gave herself one more look in the mirror. Joy-filled brown eyes stared back at her with a mixture of mischief and solemnity. See where daydreaming gets you, she scolded her reflection, but the lift of one corner of her mouth defied the condemnation. Yeah, but I made him laugh, didn’t I?
Holly shook her head at the thought and gave herself another quick assessment. Her brown hair hung in wavy spirals around her face, making her face look thinner than usual. The bright red sweater was a good choice for today and it went perfectly with the skinny jeans and black boots. Thank goodness she had at least dressed like someone who knew what they were doing owning their own business. With one last look at her reflection, Holly returned to where she left Patrick.
He leaned casually with his palms on the black tile of the counter while he stared outside. He’d removed his gloves but kept the jacket on, a sure sign he was in a hurry to move on with his deliveries. Hearing the door close, he turned his head to face her while his body remained in the same position. With his chin tucked against his shoulder, Patrick watched her approach. He looks like Dean from “Supernatural”. The thought was abrupt, unwanted, and completely true. Dean was her favorite character, like, ever in the history of television. With a monumental effort, Holly managed to stop herself from racing down the track of another daydream.
A small ghost of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth upward before he pulled the expression back to one of casual interest. “I should get back to work.” He pushed off from the counter and started to turn away.
“Hold on,” Holly exclaimed with an upraised hand. “I owe you a cocoa before you go. I’ll even throw in a muffin for the extra time you spent watching the counter for me.” Her eyes were drawn to the spotless floor, and she gave him a wry grin. “And for sweeping up the coffee.”
Broad shoulders shrugged as he replied, “It was no bother, but I really should get on.”
“You have time,” Holly argued. His brows lowered as he prepared to retort, but Holly patted his hand as she passed by. “Jenkins is next on your route, and he won’t be at the store yet. You have about ten more minutes before it will do you any good to knock on his stockroom door. He won’t even be in the shop right now.”
“So, are you a psychic or something?” Patrick asked with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
Holly ignored the jab. “Not at all. I just know Jenkins. It’s a quarter till 6 now, and he’ll be walking through my door in about five minutes. From here, he’ll go straight to his store. If you leave as soon as he does, then you’ll get there at almost the exact same time.”
Patrick grunted something that was supposed to be a response while Holly turned away. She could have a batch of cocoa whipped up in no time, thanks to the kettle of hot milk she already had going. Her hand reached for the stereo knob as she passed, and the low strains of a Christmas song began to flow from the overhead speakers. It was subtle, but Holly caught the edge of a growl as it emerged from Patrick. A quick glance at his face, and curiosity pushed her to ask, “You don’t like Christmas music?”
“I don’t like Christmas,” Patrick responded with a sudden darkness drawing his face into a frown.
Holly couldn’t stop herself – the words escaped before she could think better of them. “What on earth are you doing in Jingle Junction if you hate Christmas?”
“I had no choice.” He hesitated briefly before continuing. “And I don’t hate Christmas. I just don’t like it.”
“Now there’s a story I’d like to hear someday.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Oh, come on, you can’t just say you don’t like Christmas. There must be a reason. Did you just wake up one day and decide you didn’t like it? Did someone ruin your belief in Santa, and now you hate Christmas? Do the lights give you migraines?” Holly snapped her mouth closed with an audible click. The expression on Patrick’s face was an odd mixture of disbelief and what looked like fear. What on earth is he afraid of? She decided that would have to be a question for another day.
Holly poured his cocoa into a cup and snapped on a lid. Her voice muttered quietly but clearly in the empty space of her shop. “You don’t like coffee and you don’t like Christmas. It’s too bad, really, I suppose that would have been too much to ask. I bet you have a girlfriend, too.”
“I do, actually.”
Mortified, Holly realized she had been talking out loud again. A habit of hers, since she was usually here alone. She usually gave herself excellent advice, and today she should have told herself to shut up for once. Recovering quickly, Holly turned and handed him the cup. “Well, I guess you’re lucky then. That’s three strikes. I could work with one or two, but not three. I suppose you’re safe from my nefarious clutches. If not for the girlfriend, I’d have trapped you here for all eternity.”

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