Pining for Christmas

Clara

T he front door opens in a swirl of snowflakes, three locals stamping their boots before they enter the bar. I wave at the new-comers from behind the pump, pulling a dark, glossy ale into a pint glass. The bar is crammed, like always, each booth and table and scrap of floor space packed tight with laughing bodies. A fire flickers in the grate on one wall, and the sound of carols mingles with the hubbub of conversation.

It’s always busy at Jack’s, but tonight is Christmas Eve. Every grown adult in the town has made the pilgrimage here, to laugh and drink and be merry before the marathon that is Christmas day.

And tomorrow morning, the town’s parents will nurse throbbing hangovers, questioning their wisdom as their kids squeal and tear open gift paper. The holidays are a wonderful thing.

“Watch yourself.”

My best friend Gina bumps me with her hip. Gina’s worked behind this bar for almost ten years—way longer than I have—and she’s still looking out for me, even when I should know better by now. Her long dark hair tumbles over her generous curves, and her kohl-lined eyes stare pointedly at my hands.

I jolt, slamming the pump off a split second before the glass overflows.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I hand the ale over and take the man’s money. “Jack would kill me if I spilled beer everywhere again.”

Gina snorts, tugging the dishwasher open. “No, he wouldn’t.”

No, he wouldn’t.

Jack may own this bar, may pay all our wages, may be my freaking landlord on top of all that—but our boss is no tyrant. If anything, he’s too forgiving. Kinder than we deserve.

It only makes me want to please him more.

The glasses clink as we unload the dishwasher, moving in swift, practiced movements to restock the shelves below the bar. We’ve done this dance a thousand times before, and it’s soothing to fall into a rhythm. To not speak to customers for a few minutes.

Look, I love the regulars at Jack’s. I like meeting new people too. But sometimes, it’s exhausting to be on for hours at a time. After my longest, busiest shifts, I feel like barricading my door and never speaking to another human being again.

No one except Jack, maybe. I can’t imagine ever not wanting him around.

“I got Jack a present.”

Gina’s words bring an ugly pinch to my chest. Jack and Gina are friends. There’s no reason to be jealous, and even if there were—what right do I have to that feeling? None. Jack sees me as a worker, nothing more.

“Oh yeah?” I slide the last glass on a shelf and close the dishwasher with a thump. Be normal, . “What did you get him?”

Gina grins and tugs a drawer open next to the cash register. Balled up inside is a red Santa’s hat, edged with white and finished off with a pom pom.

“Oh my god.” I stare down into the drawer. “You didn’t .” A woman leans over the bar, waving for service, and I go to meet her. Gina’s cackles float after me, and I huff a reluctant laugh before greeting the woman. “Hey there! What can I get you?”

A Santa hat. A Santa hat. I bite my lip against a smile as I pour the woman’s wine. That’s pretty cheeky, even with a super sweet boss like Jack. I can see where Gina’s coming from—Jack is burly and bearded. There’s silver threaded through his hair, and there’s something all-knowing about him too. He always knows when we’ve been bad.

But Santa in the stories is a jolly, grandfatherly figure. And Jack is…

Well. There’s nothing grandfatherly about our boss. Not with his motorbike and his piercing blue eyes, or the tattoos that wrap around both arms.

But here’s my secret: I’d give anything to sit on Jack’s knee.

* * *

It was the usual story. Cliched, but no less sad for being that way. My mom’s new boyfriend, getting handsy with her teenage daughter. Me telling my mom, and her choosing the new guy over me.

A tale as old as time, I guess. I’m lucky I was seventeen, really. I knew enough about the world to get myself out of there. To take a cross country bus to a brand new town on the edge of a big wood, and to hit the pavement, looking for work and a room.

I tried everywhere. The grocery store and the pharmacy. The library and the nursing home. Nowhere had jobs going—or if they did, they didn’t fancy hiring a scruffy runaway to fill the role. Can’t blame them, really.

Jack’s Bar was the last place on my list. I mean, it was a bar. If I weren’t desperate, I wouldn’t even bother asking, but the sun was sinking in the sky and a cold night was drawing in, and that wood on the edge of town was looking way less friendly than in the daylight.

Jack took one look at my threadbare clothes, soaked through from the rain, and the half-empty duffel bag sagging on my shoulder, and he hired me on the spot. He even let me rent the room above the bar for peanuts, handing over the key right there at my ‘interview’.

Interview. Ha. If I’d knocked over every chair in this bar, he’d still have hired me. Jack’s wonderful like that.

He didn’t ask me tons of questions. Didn’t look at me funny, like my mom’s boyfriend did, although even back then I probably wouldn’t have minded. Jack had less silver in his hair, but he was still a silver fox. All hard muscles and burly shoulders; strong hands and a strong jaw to match.

But my teenage crush went unnoticed. Didn’t even register. And Jack didn’t let me work behind the bar until I was old enough to drink the booze myself. Until then, I spent almost four years cleaning the booths and collecting empties; helping with filing in Jack’s office and placing orders for supplies.

It was good of him to find me work like that. Itty bitty tasks to justify paying my wage. But when I finally got behind that bar… that was such a great day.

I figured he must see me as an adult at last. A grown woman, not a child in need of saving. Twenty one years old—someone he might look at twice. Someone he might look at closely.

No such luck. Not so far, anyway.

“You’re really going to give him that hat?”

I stand shoulder to shoulder with Gina, scrubbing down the bar during a brief lull. The hours are wearing on, but there’s no sign in the crowd waning. New people squeeze through the door every ten minutes, and the roar of conversation builds louder and louder, nearly drowning out the carols.

In the far corner, someone stumbles into the tree, the string lights jiggling, and I wince. It’s a scraggly little Christmas tree that I saved up for and bought with my own money—another attempt at saying thank you to Jack, for everything.

I’ll be thanking that man my whole life and it won’t be enough. And that sad little tree… I don’t know what I was thinking. Jack hasn’t even noticed. But I still wish the customers would be a bit more careful.

“Why not?” Gina nudges me, and it’s like she’s reading my mind. “You bought him a Christmas tree. We’re on theme.”

“But Jack will think you’re teasing him. Calling him Santa.”

Gina barks a laugh. “Well, I am.”

God. There’s no use arguing. When Gina gets an idea, it’s full steam ahead. And I love that about her, love her humor and drive, but part of me still squirms at the thought of this gift.

I don’t want her calling Jack old. Not even as a joke.

Because what if he listens to her? Then he’ll never look at me that way.

* * *

I know the exact moment that Jack steps out of his office. I’m sure to everyone else, nothing has changed, but to me—it’s like the air shifts. Electricity crackles, and the roar of the crowd fades away, and it’s just me and him and my quick, shallow breaths. He surveys the room, hands tucked in his faded jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt clinging to his broad chest, and then he looks over. Our eyes meet.

I grip the edge of the bar so tight the wood creaks.

“Gina. .” Jack smiles at us both as he squeezes behind the bar. It’s a tight fit back here—barely enough room to open the dishwasher—and Jack’s a big man. Tall and broad and so freaking sturdy . “How’s it going tonight? You two need another pair of hands?”

“We’ve got it,” I say quickly, before Gina can pipe up. Much as I love any excuse to be near Jack, it’s Christmas Eve. He shouldn’t have to work, not if we can help it. A man like him deserves to have his feet up in front of a fire—or to be drinking freshly-poured drinks at a table with his friends from the town. And if my lizard brain is screaming at me, begging for any excuse for our bodies to brush together as we squeeze past behind the bar… that’s my problem, not his.

Jack’s eyes land on me again, and is that a flash of disappointment? Whatever it is, he covers it quickly, nodding and rapping on the bar. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

My heart sinks. He’s not—not looking at me properly. Jack empties the cash register, avoiding my eye, and I’ve got this sickly, swooping feeling. Like I’ve missed a step on the stairs. Like I’ve misread something important.

“Wait, Jack.”

I could kiss Gina for keeping him here a while longer. But then she reaches past me, grinning, and tugs open the drawer with his gift. He peers down into the drawer, and when he realizes what he’s seeing, his eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“Santa, huh?”

“Made me think of you.” Gina’s smile is sly.

Jack laughs, but there’s a strain to it. Can’t she hear it? Am I the only person paying attention to this perfect man? I grab a cloth and scrub aimlessly at the bar, working my frustration out on the wood.

“What do you think, ?” My best friend elbows me. “Want to sit on Jack’s knee and tell him you’ve been good?”

My mouth goes dry. I stop scrubbing, still squeezing the cloth tight, eyes fixed on the bar. Answer, you idiot. “I, um. I…”

In the time it takes me to stumble over my words, I go from pale to bright, glowing crimson. The blush spreading hot over my cheeks—it’s damning. It tells the whole freaking world that yes , that’s exactly what I’ve been picturing. What I’ve been yearning for in the dead of night.

Gina’s grin falters. She was joking, but I forgot to play along.

“Sure,” I say weakly, way too late. “That’d be funny.”

Funny. The way I feel about my boss is a literal joke. Kill me now. And when I gather up the courage to look at Jack, he’s staring like he’s never seen me before.

“See.” Gina snatches the red hat from the drawer and jams it on Jack’s head. She’s flustered, trying to cover for me, but we’re fooling no one. “Santa. Told you it suits you.”

Jack starts to say something, his reply a low murmur, but a customer waves from the other end of the bar and I stumble over, light-headed with relief. I serve the man in a daze, my hands clumsy and my lips numb, and I don’t look at my boss and best friend again. Not even once.

For hours and hours, I serve an endless line of customers, and I do it with dry, unblinking eyes and a blush seared into my cheeks. After a while, Gina comes to check on me, her words a soothing murmur.

“You okay, honey?”

I nod, still speechless with horror, loading the dishwasher with dirty glasses.

Gina hums, and the sound is miserable. “I didn’t know, , I swear. I wasn’t out to cause you trouble.”

It’s obvious, then, how I feel about Jack. Exactly as I feared.

It takes a few seconds, but I force a reply through my tight throat. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. It does to me, anyway. Jack’s good opinion is the only one I really care about. And he’s done so much for me, and how do I repay him?

By pining after him. Making a scene.

I’m so embarrassed. So ashamed.

When the bar closes and the last singing customer spills out into the night, we clear up in record time. Gina and I whirl around the bar like demons are chasing us, wiping down tables and stacking chairs, rounding up glasses and restocking the shelves. Five minutes in, Jack comes out of his office again and leans on the doorway, watching us work. He doesn’t offer to join in this time, and we don’t ask.

His gaze is heavy on me. My cheeks flush brighter, and I blink back tears.

Jack’s office door closes with a snap.

“It’ll be okay,” Gina tells me, hugging me tight at the end of our shift. We’re standing in the doorway, snowflakes swirling in the moonlight, and I’m so tired I’m swaying on my feet. “He’ll have forgotten it all by morning.”

I nod, miserable, her dark hair tickling my nose. “Can you forget too, please?”

She squeezes me tighter. “Sure, honey. If that’s what you want.”

When the door closes, I’m left alone in the bar. It’s silent, no sound except for the pop of the dying embers in the grate and the echoes of earlier conversations still bouncing off the walls.

Golden light glows around the edges of Jack’s office door. I pause on my way past, fist raised, but I don’t knock. I can’t.

My hand drops to my side and I hurry past on silent feet. My heart aches in my chest, long after I’ve raced up the stairs to my room.