Page 60 of Just A Little Joy

“Are you going home for Christmas?” I asked.

“Nah. I’m picking up extra shifts. Some of the other servers have kids, so I’m going to work around their schedules while the kids are out of school. My parents will have a house full of relatives and won’t even notice.” Casey sounded casual, but something was tucked beneath it. “It’s been years since I went home. You?”

“With the bar still new, I figured I’d stay here. We’ll do a Zoom call Christmas morning.” I pictured my mom in the same terrycloth robe she had worn for twenty years while my dad yelled about batteries. “The restaurant is closed on Christmas Day, right?”

It felt too easy imagining him beside me in my space like he belonged there.

“Yeah. We’re open for lunch on Christmas Eve but close around six or seven. The day after is our normal closed day. What about the bar?”

“Closed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. The staff works hard. They should be with their families without worrying about someone needing a beer.”

“And the rink?”

“Not sure. I’m the silent part of the partnership. You want to go ice skating again?”

Owning pieces of things was one thing, but having him beside me made them feel less empty.

“Ha. It was fun. I saw they offer adult classes. It could be fun.”

“Bub, if you want to learn to skate better, I can teach you. I don’t know if you know this, but I know a little about skating.” Itried to keep a straight tone, but laughter pulled at me. The way he trusted me with anything physical always slid under my skin in a good way.

“What? No. You do? I had no idea.” He grinned. “Better is a stretch. At all is more accurate.”

“That’s not true, bub. You did a good job. You’re just out of practice.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that. And if you’re offering, I’m accepting.”

Settled, Casey snuggled into the heated seat and watched the scenery. I wasn’t ready for him to fall quiet.

He relaxed so easily around me that it scared me more than any fight I had ever been in.

“Any more thoughts about switching to the kitchen? A few bartenders were bummed they got only one night of your cooking.”

“Not one. I like talking to people too much to be in the kitchen full-time.”

“It’s a shame the world doesn’t get more of that cooking.” He laughed but didn’t argue. “I was talking to Barrett about ideas for fixing the kitchen.”

“Like what?”

“Our kitchen isn’t working and customers aren’t happy. I’ve put off making a decision, but the writing is on the wall. He suggested parking a food truck in the back and turning the area into a beer garden, sort of like Stone and Vine but not as high-end.”

“Do you have a food truck?”

The way he said it carried more hope than he meant to show, and I tucked it away to remember later.

“Not yet. There are options.”

“What kind?”

“Buy one and set it up or contract with an independent one.”

None of it was a real plan yet. Something had to change. His night in the kitchen last week was a bandage, not a solution. A tiny part of me wanted him to jump at the chance and take on the project. Another part hated that idea. It would keep him close but also keep him an employee. The temporary nature of his job was the only reason I bent my rule about workplace relationships. As good as his food was, it wasn’t enough to justify blurring that line forever. I didn’t want him tied to me because of a paycheck. I wanted him in my bed, not in my kitchen.

Whatever the fix was, it wasn’t happening today. Today was about showing my boy a good time.

Whelp. I was wrong. Totally, completely wrong. I thought Port Townsend would be quiet during the middle of the week in late December. The fog from the channel was heavy and blocked out buildings in the distance while the gulls screamed down at the boat slips. Instead, the whole damn town felt alive. Lights twinkled everywhere, along with kids with sticky fingers from kettle corn oohing and aahing as they walked past them. That sharp winter smell of sea salt mixed with something sweet—fudge maybe. And the heavy, wet cold seeped into the back of my collar like it was trying to claim me. Every old injury I’d ever had ached. Maybe this was a terrible idea.

Casey walked close, his shoulders up around his ears, hands shoved so deep into his pockets it looked like he was hiding from the weather. His breath made these little white puffs in the air. I don’t know why that hit me in the chest, but it did. He looked soft like that. Breakable in a way he’d absolutely deny if I ever said it out loud.