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“Sophie!” she cried. She hurried over, coming outside to greet me. We grasped hands warmly, and I smiled again. This was the first time I’d actually met her in person, and she absolutely radiated warmth. That, and Christmas spirit the likes of which I’d literally never seen before on one single person.
Her hair was tinted a festive bright green, creating the perfect Christmas combo with her crimson lipstick. Her earrings were glittering green Christmas tree baubles, and her entire outfit was red and white, like she was some kind of old-style candy cane come to life.
“How are you, my dear? Wow, you’re even prettier in person! Isn’t she, X?”
X ignored her, busy cleaning the milk steam wand, and I blushed.
Shelly grabbed my drink and snack from the counter and led me away from the window. I tossed a regretful look back at X. I knew I’d get to work with him tomorrow, but I was still unfairly sad about not saying goodbye to him just now. But Shelly’s bright and cheery voice snapped my attention back to her.
“So, how are you? How has work been?” We sat on a bench outside the chocolaterie, and Shelly handed me my drink and doucefeuille. “I meant to check on your earlier, to make sure X was treating you alright. He’d a good employee – the best I’ve ever had, frankly. But he can be a little rough around the edges.”
I shook my head, feeling warm just at the thought of the grumpy Chimera.
“No, he’s been amazing to work with, really. He’s a great trainer. I’ve really loved working here.” Fucking Christmas bells from hell, I was going to start crying in a second here.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Shelly said nodding so hard that her earrings flopped up and down. Then she stood. “Sorry I didn’t get to greet you in person before now. I run another restaurant on another level, and let me tell you, I wish I had two of X. That place doesn’t run nearly as smoothly as Hallowed does, and it takes a lot more of my attention and time.”
I stood, too, clutching my drink and snack.
“It’s OK. Thank you so much for the opportunity. Oh!” I looked down at my hands, then back at her. “And thanks for making so many doucefeuilles lately! They’re my favourite. They’re so good!”
Shelly’s eyebrows raised.
“Oh, no, I don’t make those. X does.”
I felt myself jerk and pause, like a tablet glitching out.
“X makes them?” I repeated slowly, probably sounding like a complete idiot.
“Yes, he does. The dough for those pastries takes an incredible amount of kneading. I’m getting damn old and it’s too much work! I could use a robot, but it’s not the same as real hands kneading it. Between the two of us, X is the only one strong enough to make the dough these days. We don’t always stock them because I don’t usually like him coming in early to make them – that grump already works too much as it is. But he’s been coming in early a lot to make them lately. I was wondering why he was doing it.” She pursed her bright red lips and cocked her head, looking at me closely. “You know,” she said slowly, “I want to say, ‘ah, well if they’re your favourite, it makes sense he’d be making them!’ But that doesn’t actually make sense. Don’t get me wrong, he can be very considerate when he wants to be. But in all honesty, he wasn’t too thrilled to have a new coworker to begin with. So I have to admit, I’m surprised he’s doing all that.” I didn’t say anything, absorbing all her words and still trying to make sense of the fact that a seven-foot-tall specialized soldier had been coming into work early to make me desserts. Just because he knew I liked them.
My chest ached, and I barely heard Shelly’s words of goodbye before she hurried away to check on her other restaurant. I stared at X from a distance, my fingers tight around my drink and my pastry – the one he had made. I pictured him, bent and kneading the dough, then painstakingly filling every one with yellowberry jam. Just for me. Gulping, I lifted the sweet to my mouth and took a bite, the perfect chewiness of the dough and the explosion of bright, tart jam coating my tongue.
And, goddamnit, I actually did start to cry. The dessert was just too perfect, made by those strong, clawed hands. I’d been chided by people in my life, usually men I worked with, that I was too emotional in the past. That I was too easily swayed to tears. But, I just couldn’t help it. I was feeling touched and sad and frankly, more than a little bit lovesick. And more than all of it, I was missing X, before I’d even left him.
No way. I sniffed hard, tearing another bite of the pastry off and chewing it so hard that I probably looked kind of rabid. No way was I leaving this station without trying to start something with X. I didn’t care if it didn’t go anywhere, or if he rejected me. OK, I cared about those outcomes. A lot. But I was going to do it, no matter what. Before I left this place, I was going to tell him how I felt, and I would hope that by some Christmas miracle he felt the same.
And if he didn’t?
Well, at least I’d fucking tried.
