A Chicago Christmas story
Photo by Josh Hild on Unsplash.
Shiloh wiped down the countertop for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. For Christmas Eve, it was a slow, silent night at Shiver's. Instead of celebrating the impending holiday by consuming copious amounts of alcohol and making fools of themselves in public, everyone was home preparing for the blizzard.
Envy crawled up her back onto her shoulders. Only two of her regulars bothered to show up, but even they had somewhere better to be. Family to meet, lovers to cozy up next to a fire with.
Meanwhile, she had nobody.
“‘Merry’ Christmas, my ass,” she grumbled with a Grinch-like groan. She chucked the barely-soiled towel into the bin under the bar. She rubbed her upper arms, glaring around the empty establishment.
Normally, you could find most, if not all, of the Shadows here on a Friday night. But everyone else had somewhere better to be. Blaze whisked Kasin away on the tropical vacation he promised her. They were more than happy to miss out on the first white Christmas Chicago had seen in years. Keys holed himself up somewhere with all his computers, and no one knew where Dagger and Ruby ran off to. (Truth be told, Shiloh had started to worry days ago. But knowing Ruby, she likely had him chained to a bed in a cabin in the woods. And, knowing Dagger, he likely wasn’t complaining.) Stella was skiing with her latest Tinder match, Wolf was hibernating in his mancave (pun intended), and Diesel—
Her heart sank. She hadn't heart from him in over a week. His disappearance could only mean two things: he had some super-secret Shadow business to take care of, or a new girl.
The prospect left a bitter taste on her tongue. She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t. But, if she heard “All I Want for Christmas is You” one more time, she would snap. She glared at the infernal speaker across the room that had played it more than once in the last three hours. One more time, she threatened as the DJ made another Christmas pun between songs, and you’re scrap metal. Another song began – not the Mariah Carey hit. She smirked. That’s what I thought.
With a huff, she pulled the barstool out from underneath the register and dragged it over to the bar. She tapped the counter to the beat and eyed the snow falling outside. It was peaceful and fluffy – for now.
Beside her, the phone rang. She stared at it, blank and bored. No one’s bothered to come in for hours. Who’d be calling? And why? It continued to ring. She sighed, reached over, and answered it. “Shiver's Lounge.”
“How’s it looking?” Blaze’s gruff voice greeted her.
She spun around in her seat to catch a glimpse outside. “Cold. White. As snow usually is.”
“Oh, no shit." She felt his eyes roll through the phone. "I meant the bar."
She spun around, taking in the empty establishment in all its glory. “Nice and quiet. Any quieter and a librarian would materialize and shh me.”
“Go home, then. They’re calling for a foot of snow tonight, maybe more. Get out while you can.”
She waved him off, spinning in her seat again. “I’m not worried about it. It’s kinda nice having the whole place to myself for once.”
“I don’t want you stuck there all alone tonight, kid,” he told her, his voice stern. “Go. Home.”
“You really don’t need to worry, Blaze. I packed an overnight bag just in case, I have plenty of firewood to keep the fireplace lit through the night if I need it…” She trailed off as the intro to “All I Want for Christmas is You” caught her attention. She sighed. “…and Mariah Carey to keep me company.”
Blaze chuckled. “Don’t break the speakers.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
“You break, you buy.”
“It’d be worth every penny.”
“I’m sure,” he said. “Seriously, don’t stay too much longer. Get home before you’re snowed in.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“I mean it, Scrooge.”
“Bah, humbug.”
The line clicked. With yet another sigh, she walked the phone over to the receiver and took one last look around the bar. I guess he’s right, she mused. It would be nice to be snowed in at home… Visions of spiked coffee and curling up on the couch with her favorite hoodie made the prospect all the more alluring. Maybe she could push the loveseat over to the balcony and watch the snow fall outside.
A ghost of a smile adorned her lips for the first time the whole day. That would be the perfect end to such a dreary day. She searched the back counter with rekindled vigor – time to turn off the damned Christmas music. She dug through the drawers and looked under the register, but the remote was nowhere in sight.
“Hm,” she murmured, rushing to her office. If Blaze didn’t want her to break speakers, he shouldn’t play hide-and-seek with the remote. Considering the mood she was in, it was a dangerous game. She turned the light on and began her search, digging through drawers and lifting piles of paper.
She never used to be such a downer on Christmas. Growing up in Montana, Christmas was snowy and beautiful and magical. She and her mother spent the day with Miss Carter's horses and the night walking through town. It was always covered in Christmas lights to marvel at, arm in arm, with hot drinks in their hands. Now? Christmas may still be snowy, but it was far from magical. It was cold and sludgy, grey and lonely.
Her eyes burned. Where was that godforsaken remote?
The bell above the front door jingled, and she groaned. Whatever poor soul dared wander in looking for Christmas cheer was about to be seriously disappointed. She was turning that music off. No question. She cringed hearing a faint voice beckoning her out – something about “terrible service”.
Shiloh set her jaw and stormed out of the office. “There’s a snowstorm outside!” she hollered, blood boiling. Turning the corner, she was met with an all-too-familiar million-dollar smile. She sputtered. “Diesel?”
He held his arms out wider than his smile. “Merry Christmas, Princess.”
Her heart plunged to her feet. Out of all the people she didn’t expect to walk into Shiver's, his name topped the list. “Wha-what are you doing here?” she asked, glued to the doorway.
“I could ask you the same thing. It's Christmas Eve, there’s a blizzard on the way, and we’re the only two souls left in the city,” he replied. He began shedding his layers and draping them across the bar. “Don’t look so disappointed to see me.”
She scoffed. She was anything but as he ran his hands over his dark, snowflake-dusted hair. Her heart fluttered as she eyed the inch or two of momentarily-exposed skin above his belt. “I’m not disappointed,” she answered, her cheeks growing hot, “I’m just surprised.” She approached the bar, remote forgotten, and palms sweating. She wiped them on her jeans. “I haven’t seen you in over a week. When you vanish like that, it usually means you’re between some girl and her bedsheets,” she joked, though her stomach sank.
He chuckled and perched himself on the stool across from her, his eyes brighter and bluer than ever. Snow always seemed to do that. “Why do you always think I’m whoring myself out to some girl?” he asked, leaning on the bar and interlocking his fingers.
She smirked and crossed her arms with a one-shouldered shrug. “Because you always are.”
“Are you slut-shaming me?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. Shiloh laughed, grabbing two clean glasses from behind her and filling them with ice. “I’m feeling slut-shamed.”
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized with an amused grin. She grabbed the vodka and Kahlua and walked back over to him. “I didn’t mean to hurt your little slut feelings.”
He smiled as she poured their drinks. “Apology accepted. Especially in the form of alcohol.”
“Good.” She took two toothpicks from the fruit tray and stabbed two cherries with each one. “So—” she plopped them into the glasses and nudged one in his direction, “—where exactly have you been?”
He shrugged. “Between some girl and my bedsheets.” He broke into another one of his heart-melting smiles and she couldn’t help but smile back at him.
“I’ve missed you,” she blurted.
He lifted his glass, his smile softening, and murmured, “I’ve missed you, too.” Her heart skipped a beat. She tapped the rim of her glass against his and they drank. She gulped her heart back down into her chest. “You wanna know where I’ve actually been?”
She seethed, leaning her elbows on the counter. “I don’t know. If you really were with a girl, I’d rather you spare me the dirty details. I just wiped down this counter.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, with a smile akin to child-like glee, he reached down and picked up a package haphazardly wrapped with newspaper and duct tape. He plopped it down on the bar and pointed at it with open hands and a too-enthusiastic, “ta-da!”
She stared at it with one eyebrow piqued. She glanced back at him, at the excitement radiating from his every pore. “Not to be rude, but, um…” she pointed at the package with a polished finger, “…what the hell is that?”
“Your Christmas present!”
“My Christmas present?” she repeated, to which he nodded and gestured at the package again. Her mouth flapped open and shut in shock. Add this to the list of things she hadn’t expected today. “Diesel, I—”
“I know, I know—” he interrupted, sitting back down in his stool, “—I couldn’t find an open store that had wrapping paper, so I had to make do.” He patted the damp package carefully and slid it over to her. “But it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?”
She shook her head, tripping over her tongue as she argued, “Th-that’s not what I was gonna say, I—”
“Yeah, I know we don’t normally do the whole ‘gifts at Christmas’ thing,” he interrupted again. She fell silent with a sigh. “Just open it.”
“But I didn’t get you anything,” she said, forcing a frown. “I feel bad.”
He threw his hands up with a groan. “Just open the damn thing.”
She bit her lip to keep a smile off her face. His excitement was contagious, just like everything else about him; his smile, his laugh… So, when she set her glass down and started peeling away the damp newspaper, she did so painfully slow. “You know,” she said, pulling the newspaper apart with two delicate fingers, “newspaper gets kinda nasty when you get it wet.”
He winked at her. “Don’t we all?”
She mock-glared at him. “Don't be gross,” she said and swatted at his arm while he laughed at himself.
“Hey, you said it,” he defended, hands in the air. She returned her attention to the gift, watching him from the corner of her eye. His leg bounced up and down as he watched her inspect the package. He crossed his arms and shifted in his seat while she picked slowly at the wet paper, suspense building in the air. Finally, he groaned. “Dios mio, would you rip it open already?”
She stepped away from the gift with a smile. “The paper is getting slimy, and there’s duct tape everywhere! I can’t just rip it!”
“Fine.” He whipped out his switchblade. “I’ll do it.”
She folded her hands together under her chin and batted her eyelashes at him. “My hero.”
“You big baby,” he answered, his eyes still smiling. While he set to work slicing off the layers of newspaper, she brought her drink back up to her lips. He caved faster than she expected. He grumbled about the duct tape, opting to rip it off instead of cutting it, and she took a sip of her drink.
With one last flourish, he ripped the packaging off and tossed it to the side with another “ta-da”. She grinned as he spun the knife in his fingers before handing her the hilt. He raised an eyebrow at her. “What?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you’re excited?” she asked, setting her glass down and taking the knife from him.
“Aw, you think I’m cute?”
Her heart skipped. Frustratingly so, she thought. She stuck the knife under the box flaps and cut the tape. “Don’t push your luck.” He chuckled, sat back, and watched with his arms crossed. She handed the knife back to him and opened the box.
“Aw,” she drawled, pulling a mug out by its handle. “Another mug.”
“Read it!” he barked, tapping the table with impatient hands.
She turned the white mug over, reading the black, blocked letters. “‘Wears black, loves coffee’—” she chuckled, “—‘avoids people’.” She looked up with a smile, which he matched with his own. “You know me way too well.”
“What can I say?”
“Anything but where you’ve been, I take it?”
With a sigh, he visibly deflated. “And you know me way too well.”
She shrugged and set the mug down. “What can I say?”
“I really want to tell you, Shiloh," he reassured with a frown, "but if you’d heard the thousand different ways Blaze threatened to rip out my tongue—”
She lifted her hand and sat down on her stool across from him. “Save it.”
“Seriously, he’s getting creative in his old age. It’s kinda scary.”
She brought her drink back up to her lips. “Then I’m gonna tell him you called him ‘old’.” She took a sip.
He gaped at her. “I thought you loved me.”
“Not this week,” she joked with a coy smile.
“You are such a tease,” he crooned, winking at her with those big, blue eyes. She looked away before the blush could creep up to her cheeks. She stared at her drink, stirring the ice cubes in her glass with her toothpick-impaled cherries. “Come on, Princess,” he reached over and squeezed her wrist, “what can I do to make it up to you?”
Her stomach flopped and she paused her stirring. Oh, there was plenty he could do. Most of which required the use of his pet name for her, but none of which she would dare admit out loud. Her eyes travelled from his hand around her wrist to the mug on her right.
An idea popped in her head, and she smirked. That would suffice… she thought. He raised a bushy eyebrow at her. Pulling her hand out of his grasp and nudging her glass out of the way, she picked up the mug and set it down on its side, the rim facing him.
“Care to golf?”
He beamed at her. “Game on.”
END PART ONE
PART TWO COMING DECEMBER 8TH
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