Eternally Theirs

Chapter 1

Juniper

Whoever made the decision that every nook, cranny, and ass crack of this dive bar needed Christmas lights strung up it should be fired—except that would be me, and my dog, Pack, would be really disappointed if he couldn’t crash out on a warm bed in the corner of the bar, getting attention from patrons and scraps from the kitchen all day.

I curse my November-ambitious Christmas spirit as I step on the final ladder rung and stretch my arms toward the ceiling, hoping to catch the cord on the hook a much taller person put there last year.

Thank fuck we kept the hooks up. Without Todd here to do this shit, I’m the next tallest person in the bar.

Maybe the owner, Jasmine, will be okay with the Christmas lights staying up all year long. After all, it really does add to the cozy ambiance of this place. The locals would probably enjoy keeping the spirit alive all year.

That—along with the wooden, surfboard-holding, shirtless Santa who Jasmine’s currently propping up in the corner behind Pack’s bed.

The noise of seagulls flying by the open back doors catches my ears.

I glance out at the beach, squinting at the bright sun reflecting off the ocean waves as Jasmine’s wife, Danielle, beats a nail into the siding to hang a wreath on.

Welcome to Drifter’s Island, North Carolina, where we’re most famous for our quiet beach, no commercial establishments, and Christmas—specifically, the only holiday beach festival in NC that doesn’t just celebrate Santa and surfing instead of snowboarding, but also local winter folklore of the Rumpus Brothers.

Cue the plastic, horned ice demon drink luge Marge is dusting off behind the bar.

I finally get the string light cord hooked around the latch on the ceiling and grab the top of the ladder before I lose my balance.

“Looking good, ladies,” a voice says from the front door.

I peer down, seeing our newest kitchen hire, Chester, coming in for his shift.

“Hey, Ches, make yourself useful and help me out here,” I say to him.

Chester shuffles off his lightweight jacket. “I don’t do heights,” he tells me, but walks across the room toward me anyway.

“That’s fine. I can handle the heights. Just need a hand—” I throw him the end of the light strand. “—getting this taut without busting my ass since Marge is busy waxing magic Christmas tongues over there.”

“Oh, don’t start, Jun,” Marge says.

“Don’t you think that luge needs to be retired this year?” I ask her, struggling with the lights. “Wasn’t the paint chipping off into people’s drinks?”

Marge runs the washcloth over the mouth tunnel, smiling as she admires the piece. “People love this sculpture. Locals come just for the special taste of the signature cocktails.”

“Special taste of lead,” I mutter as I take the rungs down. Chester snorts and steps back to let me move the ladder over. “Can we at least have it repainted before this weekend?”

“Jasmine, she’s trying to take away the magic again,” Marge says to her, the laugh lines by her green eyes crinkled when she glances my way.

“I don’t want to take away the magic. I just think it needs some love. See? I’m trying to enhance the magic.”

Jasmine sighs comically as she leans on the bar top. “You’d throw them away if I let you,” she says to me.

“Probably,” I agree.

Marge and Jasmine chuckle.

“What do you think, boss lady? Should we get North touched up?” Marge asks.

Jasmine runs a finger down the sculpture’s long, pointy tongue.

“Only if Blaze gets the same treatment,” she says about the opposing demon figure.

She reaches across to him and flicks the forked tongue.

“Hey Dani, what’s the name of the guy you hired to paint the mural on the side? ” she asks loudly.

Danielle hangs the wreath and rubs her hands together like she’s hoping the friction will help her chilled hands, then joins us inside. “Nick. Why?”

“Juniper, here, thinks we should have the Rumpus Brothers touched up before the festival this weekend,” Marge replies, brows raising at Danielle.

“I just think people deserve whiskey without floating paint chips in it,” I reply.

“It’s nostalgic,” Danielle says, the three of them chuckling.

“It’s nostalgic to poison people?” I ask.

“What? No. We’re not—Okay, I suppose we can splurge a little and get them touched up,” Jasmine concedes.

She and Danielle exchange a smirk, and as Danielle gets her phone out, I squint at them.

“I’ll text Nick now,” Danielle says.

“Yes, baby. Please do text him,” Jasmine says coyly, and there’s something about the way she looks at me after that makes me eye her suspiciously.

She’s up to something.

“Why are y’all acting weird?” I ask.

“I heard on the news last night that North might be paying us a visit for Christmas,” Marge says, joy in her tone and a blatant disregard for my question.

“Snow. Supposedly,” Danielle says.

I know the three of them are in on some plan, but I don’t push it.

Let them keep their secrets.

“I thought we were getting a heat wave next week,” I comment.

“That’s how you know the brothers are in town. Heat wave before a frost,” Marge says.

“Or it’s just the weather?” I suggest.

Jasmine blows an impressive raspberry, gives me a thumbs down, and says, “Booo.”

“It’s island magic. How do you not entertain it? It’s fun,” Danielle says.

“I never believed in Santa as a kid either. My parents gave up trying to convince me when I kept poking holes in the plot,” I argue.

“You must be a joy at holiday parties with the kids,” Danielle teases me.

“Mingling might give people the impression that she likes them,” Jasmine says.

“Can’t have that,” I agree.

Jasmine laughs. “Girl, you put yourself in more danger every year. One day, those brothers are going to find where you live.”

I move the ladder to the next spot.

“So I should be scared that a set of fictional supernatural winter twins is going to pop out of the bushes and kidnap me because I don’t believe in them?” I joke.

“I am lost as hell,” Chester chimes in. “What are we talking about?”

“The Legend of the Rumpus Brothers,” I drawl, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, those guys. I thought that was just a fun story for kids. You know, ‘If you feel a cold wind, it’s just North telling you hello,’” Chester says.

“Well, it’s morphed into a fun children’s story. Nowadays, you can get cuddly plushies of them at Carol’s Christmas Shop.” Marge rubs the top of North’s sculpture and looks at it fondly. “When I was a kid, it was… less wholesome.”

“What was that, like, a hundred years ago?” Chester jokes.

I let the strand of lights hit him in the face, one almost tangling in his tight brown curls, and the others laugh.

“Ass,” I say to him.

Chester just grins.

“What’s the story you know, Marge?” Jasmine asks, shaking her head at Chester.

“Can’t be that bad if you’re excited about them coming,” I add.

“I’ve lived a long, happy life that I wouldn’t trade for anything. But fifty years ago, I was a little girl who was afraid of shadows snatching me up if I talked back to my mother. Now, two immortals taking me away from this hellscape doesn’t seem so bad,” Marge says.

I snort.

“Touché,” Danielle says.

“Accurate,” Jasmine adds.

“Completely accurate,” I agree.

“So, what’s the story?” Jasmine asks again.

Marge sets her towel on the bar top and admires the sculpture for a beat.

“The legend I grew up on says that North and Blaze are two sides of the same coin. One, organized chaos. The other, completely unhinged. Stories used to say if you stared out of a window on a frosty day for too long, you’d find North’s fingerprints on the panes, and if there was vapor in the air on a cold day, it’s because Blaze was just there.

Poor Blaze doesn’t get much credit anywhere else except the island.

North gets so much attention with the ice and frost that everyone’s forgotten about his twin. ”

My attention to Marge’s story drifts as I notice someone tall walking by the faux-frosted windows on the beach access side of the bar.

Their figure is blurred. Still, I can vaguely make out black hair and pale skin, an upward-turned collar on their coat against the wind.

There’s something about the way they’re walking that has me stalling, waiting as if eventually seeing them might make my heart stop flipping over itself.

“We were all terrified of walking to and from school in the winter, especially on report card days. The Rumpus brothers were notorious for snatching bad kids and naysayers off the streets. Forget Santa not bringing presents. If you were naughty on the island and there was a chill in the air, they’d hide in your shadow, and then they’d take you once you reached the shade. ”

“Better stay in the sun, Jun,” Chester teases me.

I blink upon hearing my name, and the figure I was watching disappears past the last window. “What?” I ask.

Jasmine cranes her neck to look past the doors. “What are you staring at?”

“I…” I peer out the back to the beach, yet don’t see the person I was watching anywhere.

As if they were never there.

My gaze snags on the visible heat rising off the wooden ramp, and my expression flattens.

“Marge, why’d you have to go and talk about their shadows? Now it’s going to be in my head,” I say.

“For someone who loves decorating and Christmas tradition as much as you do, why are you anti-Rumpus?” Jasmine asks.

I contemplate my answer as I move the ladder over to the final spot, purposefully placing it where I can see down the beach.

“Is it because their little party falls on your birthday?” Marge asks, crooking a brow.

My eyes meet hers, and I know I’m caught.

“Is that really it?” Jasmine asks.

I sigh, hating the fact that I’ve let this eat me for thirty-two years.

“Look, it sucked enough having a birthday right before Christmas. Then with the festival, I could never have a party, or at least a party that my friends would go to. They were all at the festival or doing family things. And I am fully aware of how selfish that sounds, by the way,” I reply, ascending the ladder.

That’s not even mentioning the other day I know is coming right after.

“I need a tiny violin,” Chester says.

I take my foot off the ladder to kick him.

“No, no violins. I mean, the hate is valid,” Jasmine says. “I’d probably hate them too if they took away a chance to celebrate me.”

“We know how much you love your birthday,” Danielle says, smirking.

“I love my birthday. May 15th. Right when summer is beginning to pick up. Family came to the island. Friends could come from school. We did it big. The pool parties and cookouts were—” Jasmine brings her fingers to her lips and does a ‘chef’s kiss’ gesture.

“I hate pool parties,” I say, chuckling.

“Of course you do. Your name is Juniper Holly. You smell like vanilla pine and snow all year long,” Jasmine says.

A laugh leaves me at Jasmine’s tease, and I see my breath in its wake.

Dammit Marge.

I curse under my breath as, now, I’ll be thinking of those stupid twins nonstop.

The cold weather has always been much more kind to me than summer.

I probably should have made my way to the mountains to settle down.

But there’s something about the juxtaposition of crashing saltwater waves and sand while the bitter breeze drags by that tells me I’m in the right place, regardless of how much the summers make me want to vomit.

An ocean breeze cures most things.

My gaze lifts toward the waves again. A couple of families are bundled up in coats as they play in the sand and take a stroll on the shore. One of my favorite pastimes was walking out to the south jetty with my Dad, specifically on my birthday.

It was a small gesture, and yet it meant the world.

Someone’s phone pings with a text—Danielle’s.

“Alright, people. We’re opening in a half-hour. Let’s get to it,” I hear Jasmine say.

I inhale sharply as I place the string on the final hook and turn to look at my handiwork.

It’s satisfying seeing the vintage, painted C9 bulbs alive and shining bright, bringing the nostalgia alive.

Tacky, vintage Christmas. Rainbow lights.

Non-matching wreaths, ornaments, and decor.

Tinsel. Santas and Mrs. Claus’s from the 1950s.

Whatever your grandmother hoarded in the attic or you could find at the thrift store.

“It looks good, Juni,” he says, holding out his fist for me to bump.

“Teamwork,” I say as my knuckles bump his.

Chester smiles at me and stuffs his hands in his pockets before taking off in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll save you an order of fries for later,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Thanks!” I reply as he pushes through the swinging, red metal door.

“Hey, Juni, you okay to finish opening? I just need to sit a few minutes,” Marge asks.

“Yeah, all good. Take your time. I’m fine out here.”

Jasmine slaps the top of the bar. “Do you need to grab a snack before opening?” she asks me.

“I’ll eat later,” I reply.

“Okay. I’m going to go make sure we’re good on inventory for the weekend,” Jasmine says.

“Sounds good.”

I hear toenails click-clacking against the wooden floor as the others disappear into the kitchen, leaving me alone out front, and I turn my head just in time to see Pack trotting toward me.

The Blue Heeler’s tail wags as she trots up to me.

I bend down to scratch her ears and boop her nose with mine.

I love that my job allows me to bring her along. Some of our locals come by just to see her and say hi. The past few years, she’s gotten more Christmas presents than anyone else I know.

I’m telling her what a good girl she is and promising her a full course dinner when I hear three raps against the open beachside doors. Pack’s ears perk. She barks a couple of times, and I huff.

Of course an early regular is already here.

Probably Todd. He’s always trying to walk in before I’m ready.

“Come back in a half-hour, Todd,” I say, automatically assuming he’s here for his lunch break. “I’ve still got some opening shit to…”

My voice drifts as I finally peer over my shoulder, having to look twice as I’m pretty sure the embodiment of sin just walked into my bar. Pack barks again and steps in front of me as if she’s guarding me, and I reach down to give her a reassuring scratch on the head.

“You’re not Todd,” I say, and I don’t miss the vapor on the air in my breath’s wake.