All They Want for Christmas

by M. K. Stelmack

  Bridget’s heart struck a few downward beats. “Have Mara and Krista decided not to take them?”

  “They haven’t said one way or another, probably because they know how upset you’ll be when they decline.”

  Bridget would be sad. But it would also be a relief not to worry every second about how to make ends meet. Jack gave a small, secretive smile. “Until then, you’ve no idea what a table full of tipsy ladies will pay for my charms.”

  “I thought you were laying it on a bit thick the other night.”

  Jack leaned on the counter. “Not jealous were you, Bridget?”

  “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. At his knowing grin, she added, “Okay, a little. Of your tips.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “Your talents probably lie in other areas.”

  She feinted a poke at him with a fork. “Are you implying that I can’t bring in the tips?”

  He shrugged as if to imply just that.

  “You are on, Jack Holdstrom. You are so on. Starting tomorrow with Monday’s breakfast and ending next Saturday closing.”

  “What does the winner get?” Jack said. Oh. He was getting that later glint in his eye.

  “A cinnamon bun.”

  “Boring. I could get those any day of the week.”

  “What then?”

  “If I win, you have to come skating with me.”

  That was a no-brainer. She loved to skate and she’d not been out all year. “Fine. I’ve been meaning to take the girls to the lake, anyway.”

  “No, Bridget,” he said and leaned on the counter, his lips inches from hers. “Just you and me.”

  And a whole bunch of other people in a public area. “Okay,” she said, and tried to move on quickly. “And if I win, you have to serve me dinner. Tablecloth, napkins, wine—the whole shebang. Like we’re at a fancy restaurant.”

  His lips remained close to hers. “Will you dress up for it?”

  Bridget’s heart rattled like a lid on a boiling pot. “Yeah, sure, why not? Can I bring a date?”

  The glint flickered into a heated glow. “That won’t work. I’m only serving you.”

  “Maybe I should adjust the bet.”

  Jack straightened. “Too late. If I win, you and me go dating... I mean, skating together. Sorry for the slip of the tongue,” he said unapologetically. “And if I lose, I serve you dinner after hours, the two of us alone, you and me all spiffy, as if we’re on—”

  “Don’t even say it,” Bridget said.

  “I don’t think I need to,” Jack said and whistled a short gotcha tune. “Win or lose, I’m going on a date with you.”

  He took up the tin box. “I’ll drop this back in the safe,” he said. “Girls, we’re leaving now. Time for supper. Clean up and make sure the chairs are exactly back where they were.”

  Bridget hopped off her chair, and her phone chimed a text. Hello. Albert here. Before Penny left, she placed a minimum order of forty turkeys. Let me know if you need to increase the order. I take it you’re in charge. I will need payment by the end of tomorrow to confirm your order. Bridget sucked in her breath at the cost of forty turkeys.

  She didn’t have the money. And neither had Penny. Why did she place an order that she didn’t have the money to fill? She seemed to have played free and easy with money for years. And there was no putting off Albert. Payment in full or no turkeys, and the frozen bird formed the centerpiece in the Christmas Crates. If she didn’t make payment, she would be letting Auntie Penny down. And fifty-five families.

  Jack strode from the back, stuffing himself into his jacket. “Isabella, put the chair back. Sofia, there’s a fork under the table. Otherwise, good job. Get your boots and coats on, and let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”

  The girls stared quizzically. “I’ll explain on the way home,” Jack said and turned to Bridget. His half smile slipped away. “What’s wrong?”

  She couldn’t unload on Jack, not with him so upbeat. Sofia tugged on Jack’s hand. There, Bridget’s perfect reason to evade an answer. “The girls have been patient long enough. Let’s call it a day.”

  Jack looked at each of the girls and, as if cued, they gave him pleading looks. “Fine. We’ll talk after the girls have gone to bed.”

  Not another of their sofa-bed talks. Those were getting way too...cozy. “Out in the garage,” she said.

  He gave her a fleeting smile, as if knowing exactly why she wanted the change in venue.

  But his smile wasn’t in evidence later that evening when she revealed her quandary. “Forty turkeys? With probably another fifteen needed? There’s no way we can swing it, Bridge. Tell him you’re sorry, but it’s not happening this year.”

  “But that’s the thing, Jack. He’ll wonder why. He knew that we had the money. Everybody knows. If we cancel—”

  “Right. You could be accused of embezzling.”

  “Not technically. I would look bad, but I’m more concerned about what they’d think of Auntie Penny. She robbed them, yes, but for a good cause.”

  Jack rubbed his face, leaned against the bench in the garage and glared at the crates. Fifty-five in all, scrubbed, repaired or built fresh, stacked into a rough pyramid that rose above their heads. Deidre was all kinds of surprises.

  “I honestly don’t know of a way around this,” Jack said. “I am willing to go to last year’s donors and explain the situation. Let them know that I promise to reimburse the Christmas Crates fund just as soon as I can. At least that way, no one will blame you.”

  “I appreciate that, Jack. But it’s also the families that were counting on a crate to get through Christmas.”

  “I would prefer to disappoint fifty families than further endanger the restaurant. A sorry-looking Christmas for them doesn’t outweigh us losing the means to any kind of living. Even they’d understand that.”

  “Yes, but in the end, it was their money Auntie Penny took.”

  “Money she gave me,” he said. “Look, if you’re up-front with Albert, would he accept part payment now, and you pay him back with interest?”

  “Auntie Penny asked him that last year before we struck it rich with the fundraising. He expects full payment because Christmas is when he makes his profits for the year. He would sell them to someone else.”

  “Would another supplier cut us a deal?”

  “Not for meat.”

  “How about Krista and Mara? Or Auntie Deedee?”

  Bridget widened her eyes. “Auntie Deedee?”

  “Sofia’s choices. I think it’ll stick.”

  “I need their help to prepare the crates. I can’t expect them to fork out money, as well. I have five hundred dollars I’d set aside for Christmas gifts. I will put that in.”

  “I can’t give up my Christmas money,” Jack said. “The girls deserve a present or two, especially after what they’ve endured. But I’ll hand over my tip money.”

  Bridget groaned. “But then the little fund is gone.”

  Jack shrugged. “Do we have a choice?”

  Bridget sighed. “No. I am sorry, Jack.”

  “Don’t be. Penny took the money. And she did it for the girls, because I didn’t have the means otherwise. So if there’s anyone to blame for this mess, it’s me.”

  “If anyone met Sofia and Isabella, they wouldn’t blame you,” Bridget said with absolute certainty.

  “This might resolve itself,” Jack said. “If either Krista or Mara give up a unit, you could do a fire sale and our restaurant problems are solved. I could funnel more of my earnings into replenishing the Christmas fund.”

  That would also mean her sisters would be gone. Why did getting always mean giving up?

  * * *

  “IT’S A DISASTER, a complete disaster,” Mano moaned, his head stuck in the fridge.

  Auntie Penny said Mano did melodrama better than a
soap opera. Bridget looked up at Jack from where they were preparing fresh cinnamon buns for the display case. A disaster! He mimed and Bridget squelched a smile. Auntie Penny’s son could do daytime television, too.

  “We’re half a kilo short of cream cheese,” Bridget said, sprinkling crushed candy canes on a tray of minicinnis. “I’ll go to the store and get more.”

  “That stuff is glue mixed with sawdust mixed with chalk mixed with chicken feed mixed with—”

  Jack trailed behind Bridget’s sprinkles, popping in Santa toothpicks. “How about we go with a different dessert?”

  “A different dessert?” Mano closed the fridge and slumped against it. “You tell me what else I should make with mandarins, chocolate and half the amount of cream cheese we need?”

  “Don’t give me that look, Mano,” Jack said. “That’s why I leave you in charge of ordering ingredients, so we don’t have this problem.”

  “How was I to know that Bridget would steal my cream cheese?”

  “How was I to know that units sold—that’s Jack talk—doubled from a week ago? I needed the cream cheese today. You don’t need the dessert until Friday. That’s two full days for you to restock.”

  Mano pointed an accusing finger at her. “For you to restock.”

  “Fine, I’ll run over to the dairy tomorrow.”

  “You are lucky I’m so well-organized,” Mano said. “If it wasn’t for me—”

  Rapid knocking on the front door interrupted them. Bridget peeked through the serving window. Krista and Mara. This was an unexpected but welcome reprieve from Mano.

  Krista and Mara came in on a cloud of frosty air and laughter. Not unusual for Krista, whose blond curls were bouncing in time with her bouncing feet, but even Mara radiated excitement.

  “We won’t be long,” she said.

  “But we—” Krista waved her hand between her and Mara “—just wanted to say, and before we say anything, just so you know, Bridget, we talked about it a lot, but in the end—”

  Krista’s stops and starts gave Bridget enough time to know exactly what they’d been thinking about. She held her breath...

  “—we’ve decided to keep the units.”

  Bridget shrieked with joy and hugged Krista, then Mara. And then did them both again. This, she thought. This is what I want.

  Jack shot out from the back. “What’s going on?”

  “Krista and Mara are staying. They’re taking the units!”

  Jack reverted to a carefully neutral expression. A short-term solution to the restaurant woes had just dried up. “There’ll be a lot of up-front costs with renovations,” he said.

  “We know,” Mara said. “We’ll take it slow.”

  “What will you do about getting a client base?”

  “I’m working on that,” Krista said. “I’m building a social platform already.”

  “There’ll also be—”

  “Jack!” Bridget cut in. “They’ve made up their minds. Leave it alone.”

  Jack stripped off his apron. “I’m trying to look out for everyone’s interests, but fine. Congratulations,” he said to Krista and Mara with a total lack of enthusiasm. And to Bridget he said, “I will go get the girls today.”

  “You do that,” she said to his retreating back, before remembering. She raised her voice. “Sofia lost her mitten. If you could look after that interest, it would be—” the back door slammed shut “—appreciated.”

  Bridget turned to catch Krista and Mara exchanging their patented secretive looks. “He wanted us to give them to you, didn’t he? To get the money?”

  “It would’ve still been my money to spend how I see fit. We’re partners in the restaurant only,” Bridget said. Never mind that she would’ve most definitely plunked the money into the business. “Coffee?”

  By way of saying yes, Krista perched on a stool. Mara chose to lean on the counter. “I think,” she said, “you two have become partners in pretty significant ways.”

  Krista began ticking off. “The restaurant.”

  Mara continued. “The house.”

  “The girls.”

  “The girls? Hardly. We’re all partners in those two.”

  Another exchange of knowing looks. “We don’t read them bedtime stories with Jack,” Mara said.

  “Or share picking them up from school.”

  “Or them coming here after school.”

  “Let’s face it,” Krista said, “you two are their parents.”

  “Jack is, I’m not,” Bridget said.

  “To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Krista said. She poured a dollop of Marlene’s whipping cream into all three coffees without asking. “What do you think, Mara? Do you think that they’re partners in romance, too?”

  Mara studied Bridget. “Could be.”

  No way was Bridget telling them that she’d agreed to a possible date with Jack. But her face must’ve betrayed guilt—or, heaven help her, excitement—because Krista crowed, and raised her hand to high-five her sister. “We knew it.”

  “Nothing is going on,” Bridget said.

  Mano appeared at the window. “Things are so hot between them, flames leap up from the grill when they walk in.”

  “Is that right?” Krista said.

  “That coffee you’re drinking?” Mano continued. “Stays hot because of the way he looks at her when she tops up his cup.”

  “He doesn’t even look—”

  Mara nodded. “I’ve seen those looks.”

  “So hot that the eggs go from over easy to scrambled when he passes her the plate.”

  Bridget groaned. “Carry on, Mano. No one believes you.”

  “Oh, really?” Krista smiled at Mano. “Try sitting at the supper table with them. Even with the girls between them, it’s e-lec-tric.”

  “I worry about using metal utensils around them,” Mara said in a choked voice paired with a perfectly timed hitch in her breath.

  “Honest to Pete,” Bridget said, trying to bring a shred of rationality to the conversation, “we dated a dozen years ago and then we both moved on.”

  Krista said flatly, “You stayed in the same place. And no serious boyfriends.”

  “And he’s moved back.”

  “So hot,” Mano said softly, “the years melt away.”

  Bridget looked in disbelief at all three of their dreamy expressions. They could all star in a melodrama.

  * * *

  BRIDGET THOUGHT IT could have been a scene from Sofia’s Frozen for all the so-called e-lec-tri-ci-ty between Bridget and Jack at the supper table that night. Krista and Mara had told Deidre about their decision, which delighted her to no end. She plied them with questions and tossed out extravagant suggestions that, thankfully, her sisters nullified or modified. Isabella and Sofia got in on the act, too. Sofia identified several colors of nail polish Krista should carry and Isabella wanted to know if Mara would serve her clients food while they talked. Jack shoveled food into his mouth and made clipped replies to anything directed at him.

  He did have one question. “Where are you planning to stay?”

  “Right here,” Bridget said.

  “I believe I have half a say in that.”

  Mara leaned sideways to catch her cousin’s eye. “And I believe Krista and I have complete say about where we live. We signed a lease on a two-bedroom duplex rental this afternoon. We move in January first. If that’s soon enough for you.”

  Bridget gave Jack her best hope-you’re-happy glare. He seemed unfazed. “Probably a good idea.”

  He must’ve also thought it a good idea to clear out himself. As soon as he’d tucked in the girls, he drove to the restaurant, citing paperwork.

  He hadn’t returned by the time she pulled out the sofa bed and burrowed under the covers. Her body now still, her mind got busier than a mall at Christmas. Krista a
nd Mara, renovations, cream cheese, Sofia’s mittens, dry cleaners, Christmas tree, Christmas pajamas, Christmas stockings, Jack alone at the restaurant, holding hands, skating on a moonlit lake. With all her tossing and turning, it would be another messy bed for Mara to make in the morning.

  She still hadn’t fallen asleep when she heard his steps on the porch and the snap of the bolt lock opening. She listened to him shed his coat and boots. Then, silence.

  “Bridge?”

  She could pretend sleep, but they might as well hash out whatever was on his mind.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sorry for waking you. I lost track of time.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t asleep.”

  She felt more than saw him slip over and sit on the sofa arm.

  “The thing is,” Jack whispered, as if they were in the middle of discussion, “with Krista and Mara staying, it’ll be one hard, slow grind for us to get out of this hole.”

  “You could get a job. I mean, one somewhere else.”

  “That will take time we don’t have. Meanwhile, what will you do? Right now, the only reason the place is turning a profit is that neither of us draws wages, and Mano’s family works for free outside of tips. I suppose we could ask Aunt Deidre if—”

  “I will kill her if we have to work together.”

  “Then it’s back to us.”

  Us. Partners. Bridget suddenly felt hot. She kicked away the covers to cool off her feet.

  “Stop it,” he said. “Making this bed is already a royal pain.”

  “You make my bed?”

  “When I come back to pick up the girls. First morning they were jumping around on it as if it was a gym mat. Easier to keep them on track if I do it first thing.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “I mean, I would do it, except thumping around at five in the morning would wake Mara and Krista. I always thought Mara did it. She’s the neat freak. Thanks.”

  “Once more with enthusiasm.” His teeth shone from his sudden grin. “Anyway, it’s small. I’ve never thanked you for the stories you tell the girls.”

  “My pleasure. Really.”

  “We could spend all night thanking each other for the things we do for each other.”