Chapter Text
There’s nothing particularly special about the day he first sees her. It’s a typical, run-of-the-mill Wednesday afternoon on the first of December; the weather is gloomy and cold, the sky a pale gray that brings with it intermittent bouts of flurries.
Ted loves the snow, always has. From a three year old bundled in enough layers to restrict the movement of his tiny limbs to the forty-five year old man he is today, the snow has steadfastly remained one of his favorite things about the winter season. When he isn’t tending to the customers and preparing their drinks, he watches it fall through the front windows.
It’s in between one of these snowy spells that it happens.
The bright gold bell above the front door jingles to signal the entrance of another customer. He looks up, ready to greet whichever familiar face he finds there, but to his surprise the woman who steps into the shop is not someone he knows.
Since the day he cut the proverbial rope and opened this little place, one of his main objectives has been to get to know his customers. It feels more personal, and he’s always been a people person. He’s got nothing against the shops that prioritize sales, but Ted doesn’t just want the coffee and pastries to be good. He wants the experiences that people have here to be, too, and that starts at the top with him. Whether they’re here for a few hours or only a few minutes, he wants whatever time they’re sharing with his coffee shop to be pleasant.
Now he’s not one to brag, but he’s proud to say it’s gone over well so far. He’s come to find that Midwestern kindness goes a long way in this cozy town of Richmond.
Over time he’s curated what he’d consider a decent handful of regulars—names and faces he knows, lives he’s heard tales from, situations he’s given advice about in the middle of brewing their beverages. He has no idea if it’s good advice or not, but he always tries his best. A few of them have come back for more, so it must not be all that bad.
Like any establishment, there are of course the odd customers here and there, the people who show up once or twice and then don’t pop in again. He likes to think these are folks just passing through, spending a bit of time in Richmond before going home or jetting off to a new destination.
Otherwise, though, he’s confident in saying that he’s pretty familiar with the people who walk through that seasonally decorated door.
This woman… he’s never seen her before. He’s certain of it. He’d definitely remember someone who looks like her coming through here, even if it was only once; tall and poised, bright blonde hair that falls to her shoulders in soft waves, pretty as all get out.
She hovers near the door, the air around her uncertain. Another customer comes in behind her and she startles when the bell chimes. Surprised, like she didn’t even take notice of it making noise when she entered herself. She offers a tight-lipped smile as she takes a small step to the side, allowing the other person to pass.
“Morning, Ted,” the customer greets as he treks up to the counter. He’s already in the process of making his order before he places it; as usual, an americano and an almond croissant to go.
His name is Liam and he’s a student at one of the nearby universities. Ted doesn’t remember which one, but he does remember that he has a few end of term exams coming up. He asks about them while he makes his coffee, genuinely interested to hear how the process is going, and then listens as Liam laments the fact that he still has to study.
He lets his eyes trail back toward the woman behind Liam, his head peeking out from behind the espresso machine to get a better look. She assesses the space dubiously, clearly unsure whether she’s even going to stay or not. He’s not sure what she’s seeing—there aren’t too many tables occupied at the moment, since they’re in the usual lull right after the main morning rush and before the lunch rush, but he watches her take a cursory glance around anyway.
Ted finishes Liam’s coffee and slides it across the counter, his croissant in a paper bag and following shortly behind. Before the boy goes, he wishes him luck on his exams.
“You’ve got it,” Ted tells him. “And even if you’re not so sure, just go in there and do your best. That’s all you can do sometimes, ya know.”
“Thanks, dude,” Liam says, holding up his pastry bag in goodbye, a large bite already hanging from his mouth.
He laughs, shaking his head as he hears the door swing shut with another jingle.
When he turns his attention back to the entryway, he realizes the new woman has since taken a few steps further into the room. He watches her roll her shoulders, exhale a small breath, and then unloop the scarf from around her neck. She tosses it over her arm and raises a hand to her hair, fluffing it with her fingers. It’s windswept, tiny snowflakes clinging to the waves and dampening the strands. There’s an endearing blush of pink on the apples of her cheeks and dotting the tip of her nose from the chill.
She’s still standing a few feet away, hasn’t approached the counter quite yet, but she’s closer to it than the door now so he’d wager that she’s decided to stick around. Her bottom lip catches ever so slightly between her teeth as she focuses on the menu board hanging on the wall behind him.
“I don’t wanna interrupt your decision-making or anything, but if there’s somethin’ I can help you with don’t hesitate to ask,” he says kindly, offering a smile that she can’t see.
When the woman does lower her gaze, for the first time looking at him directly, he’s dumbstruck.
She’s beautiful.
It was obvious before, of course—he’s not blind. But holy cow. Her eyes are a delicate green, mesmerizing, and under their sharp appraisal he feels his breath catch squarely in his throat.
She doesn’t speak, though one perfectly shaped brow arches. It makes his stomach flip a little, which takes him by surprise. The reaction itself does not. His drawl isn’t all that common around here, so he’s come to expect the confused looks.
As he holds her gaze, though, this woman doesn’t look confused so much as she looks… intrigued. Her eyes narrow slightly, just enough to have him fighting back a nervous fidget. The longer she regards him without speaking, the faster his heart beats in his chest.
She is one mighty intimidating woman.
Her chin raises just so and she wears a peculiar expression on her face. It looks a bit like she’s trying to work out the answer to a question she hasn’t voiced.
“There aren’t too many teas on your menu,” is what she says eventually. Her voice is softer than he might’ve expected given the whole stare-down thing, but the accent is regal-sounding as it rolls off of her tongue. It fits her.
“You would be correct about that.”
“This is England.”
“You’d be correct about that, too.”
The woman blinks, cocking her head. “Right,” she says, rolling her lips. “I’ll just have an English Breakfast, please.”
She drops her gaze as soon as she orders, fiddling with the purse dangling on her arm. It’s one of those fancy designer bags that definitely cost more money than he’s ever seen in one sitting, but this woman doesn’t look like she’s hurting for it. Everything about her screams expensive.
The logo is familiar, though he can’t pinpoint the exact brand. She reaches into the purse and pulls free a matching wallet that she holds tight against her chest while she waits.
Ted finds himself fixated on her nails, visible where she clutches her wallet. They’re a shiny mocha color, the same shade as the coffee beans he uses. Classy. Warm.
“Comin’ right up,” he smiles, tearing his eyes from her before she notices and thinks he’s being weird. As he turns away, he nods toward the display case to her left. “You should give a little nosy to the baked goods. I’m not much of a fan of this hot brown water myself, but I’ve been told they pair nicely.”
“You don’t like tea?”
He finds it funny that that is what she picked up on from his comment. Even funnier is the way she makes it sound like he’s just confessed to capital murder. Her disdain is not veiled whatsoever and he has to push down the laugh he can feel rising in his throat.
Ted grabs a cup and begins preparing her tea. “I know, it’s sacrilege ‘round these parts,” he acknowledges. Popping his head over the bulky espresso machine, he asks, “Sugar? Milk?”
“Two sugars. No milk,” she says. “Thank you.”
He lowers his head but tosses a thumbs up high enough for her to see. She huffs what might be a chuckle, a quiet sound. It could also be a scoff—it more than likely was a scoff—but he smiles behind the counter regardless.
The tea doesn’t take long, so he reappears with her to-go cup in no time. It’s still hot to the touch so he grabs a coffee sleeve for it just in case, slides it on, and then secures the lid around the top. Placing it on the counter in front of her, he lets a hand fall to his waist.
The woman doesn’t notice, her eyes scanning the contents of the displayed baked goods.
“Go on,” he says with a smile. “Pick one.”
“Oh, I…” She looks away from the case, shakes her head. “No, thank you.”
“You sure?” he asks. “First one’s on the house for new customers.”
Something about the statement seems to catch her off-guard, but she recovers quickly; in a split second, no longer than the time it takes for Ted to blink, her face is wiped miraculously clear of anything beyond another skeptical, quirked brow.
“All new customers or all new female customers?”
Unfazed by the implication, Ted replies, “All new customers, of course. There’s no discrimination goin’ on in this humble establishment.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. And then:
“How can you be so sure I’m new?”
“Well, I’d know if we had met before.”
“You remember every single person who walks in here?” she asks, incredulous.
Ted shrugs. “That’s the goal, yeah. I like gettin’ to know the people who take time outta their busy lives to come in and support my little business here.”
The woman hums but doesn’t say anything more. She simply reaches forward and takes hold of her tea. She cups it between her palms, letting out a quiet sigh as the warmth settles in; her cheeks are less pink now, only the barest hint of the outside chill still coloring her skin.
She takes a sip, her nose wrinkling in a way he finds curious. He finds her curious.
She’s not overtly friendly, but she’s not not friendly either. She isn’t rude, that’s not it; she’s polite but curt when she speaks, faintly aloof.
He’s intrigued by her.
“You should get biscuits,” a tiny, high pitched voice pipes up from one of the corner tables.
Ted watches the woman before him shift almost instantly at the sound of the child’s voice, her eyes widening and her expression transformed into something infinitely softer as her head turns and her gaze lands on his daughter.
“The biscuits, huh?” she asks, a tender smile curving across her lips.
Even her voice is gentle, considerably warmer than it’d been speaking to him.
More intrigue.
“Uh huh,” his girl says, nodding from where she kneels on the chair, her upper body folded over the tabletop. Ted shakes his head; he’s told her to keep that butt on the seat. “They’re the best.”
“Well, I’ll just have to try them then, won’t I?” The woman turns back to him. “One shortbread biscuit, please,” she says, her head high and shoulders squared, as if daring him to say something about either the change of tone or mind.
He just smiles.
His eyes cut to Lila, the girl wearing a very self-satisfied grin on her little face. He laughs, amused. Not that he’s charging for these particular goods, but leave it to his kid to make the “sale.” He can’t blame the woman, really—she’s pretty difficult to turn down, that one.
“Shortbread comin’ right up.”
Opening the display case from his side, he pulls out a few biscuits and makes quick work of placing them into a small white box. He ordered these in bulk and they get the job done just fine, but they’re kinda bland. He thinks he might try to get some festive ones for the holidays; cute designs with Christmas trees or candy canes or something, maybe.
Filing that thought away for later, he works at closing the top flap and then taps on the secured lid with the tip of his finger.
Returning to the counter, he slides the goods over. “You’re all set,” he says cheerily.
The woman glances down at the box. She doesn’t take it, just eyes it for a moment and then looks back up at him. “You said the first one’s free.”
“I did, yeah.”
“There’s obviously more than one biscuit in that box.”
“Well, sure, but who can eat just one biscuit? I dunno about you, but it sure as heck ain’t me.”
She stares at him a little more. Oddly enough, he thinks he’s getting used to it. It takes a few beats but then the tiniest ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. So small he might be imagining it all together, really, but it spreads warmth throughout his chest all the same.
“This is a terrible business practice,” she deadpans. She moves to pick up the biscuits at the same time, though, which makes him grin. “Horrific actually.”
“Ya know, I’m okay with a little loss if I can brighten someone’s day with a baked good.”
His response, once again, seems to confound her. He’s beginning to think he confounds her, which is weird ‘cause he thinks he’s simple enough. The same odd look from before returns to her face, like she’s trying to get some sort of read on him.
He really wishes he had an idea of what she was looking for. More importantly, he wishes he could tell if whatever she was seeing in his face was positive or not.
She gives nothing away, her expression largely impassive.
“Right, well,” she starts, taking a breath. She holds her tea in one hand, the biscuits in the other. Raising the baked goods up in a little salute-like motion, she gives a small nod. “Thank you.”
In an utterly insane move, Ted nearly holds out a hand. Thankfully, he catches himself before he can make a fool of himself. Not only does she have something in both hands, but she’s also a perfect stranger. A perfect stranger he does not think would respond well to a random man reaching out for her.
For good reason, ‘course. Safety and all that. Don’t go reachin’ for strangers.
In a more normal fashion, he nods back and tells her it’s been a pleasure.
“You mean that, don’t you?”
“Sure do.”
The woman hums, a low sound in the back of her throat. The sound is warm even as it’s skeptical. She says a lot without actually saying anything at all, he’s noticing.
She steps away from the counter, but she doesn’t make an immediate move to leave. Instead, she turns on her heels—literal heels, the black kind with the red bottoms, fancy—to face toward the back of the coffee shop.
“Thank you for the recommendation,” she calls out quietly to his daughter, her voice as soft as the lift of her lips. She lifts the biscuits again in explanation.
The little girl looks up from where she’d been doodling on a piece of paper, the crayon still poised between her fingers. The woman gets a shy, toothy grin in return. One of his favorite smiles right there.
Pleased, she dips her head as she wraps her scarf back around her neck—with impressive ease for a woman with two full hands, he must say. Then, with one last lingering glance in his direction, she steps back out into the morning chill, the door’s bell ringing out above her head.
He watches her pass by through the glass window.
And then she’s gone.
With the last customer on their way, Ted swaps the OPEN sign to CLOSED.
He goes through his end-of-day checklist with a now practiced ease—he clears the tables of any lingering trash, straightens up any slightly askew decorations, and wipes down the front counter.
As he finishes up, he ensures he has everything set for Keeley to open the shop tomorrow.
His right-hand gal in this place, she was out sick today. Keeley’s been a blessing ever since she started working for him—though he prefers to think they’re working together, since he’d argue that she’s become the brains behind his more recent marketing ventures.
He’s “behind the times” in terms of self-marketing, apparently.
“This shop is too fucking cute to remain a hidden gem, babe,” she’d said mere hours before posting something on Instagram, a move that brought in a fairly large handful of new twenty-something clientele throughout that entire week. Since then, he’s pretty much given Keeley the freedom to market as she sees fit.
In the grand scheme of things, his little coffee shop is still new.
There isn’t a large employee pool—it’s just been him and Keeley thus far, though his buddy Beard helps out now and again when they’re in a pinch. He knows he needs to expand, but it hasn’t been too overwhelming yet and he did just add on another member. Will, their most recent hire, doesn’t start until tomorrow.
With Keeley out, though, it was a party of one up front today.
Satisfied with what he’s accomplished, Ted unties the apron from behind his back and folds it over his arm; he’ll hang it on the hook in the kitchen before he leaves.
Rounding the counter, he makes his way over to where his daughter’s working very diligently on what’s sure to be another masterpiece. If the chaos surrounding her is any indication, it might just be her best yet. She sits with an array of crayons spread out on the table in front of her, rainbow galore, her tongue peeking out between her teeth in concentration.
“Would ya look at that,” he says as he presses a kiss to her temple. He smoothes her bangs back from her forehead, the hair flipping right back down, messily and in every direction. The rest of her hair’s fallen free from its ponytail, a bunch of unruly strands dangling in front of her face. “That’s just about the best sun I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks,” Lila preens, looking up at him with a dimpled smile. “Is it time to go, daddy?”
“Sure is,” he nods, moving to gather the crayons into a haphazard pile. Lila reaches for the crayon box and holds it open while he places them in. “And because you were so good hangin’ out here with me all day, I think there should be ice cream for dessert. Whaddya say?”
He doesn’t have Lila with him at the coffee shop every day. She’s usually in school or with her babysitter Shannon, a nice high school girl they met about a year ago. Sometimes she’ll spend time with Uncle Beard, too, when Ted’s babysitting needs align with his off days. But today was some kind of “inset” day, which he’s pretty sure is UK speak for teacher in-service day.
Ted doesn’t mind having her hanging around with him. Not at all. He loves it, really, havin’ her close by. Heck, if he had it his way he’d have her with him every day. Shame about the whole “having to go to school” and “having to run the shop” stuff.
On the days she does stick around, she doesn’t make much fuss about it—she gets a kick out of chatting up some of the regulars or playing with the ornaments on the Christmas tree up front. Rearranging them is her favorite; swapping this ornament for that one, removing and replacing the tinsel around the front, wrapping a colorful pipe cleaner around a few low branches.
Overall, Lila’s a pretty easy-going kid.
She doesn’t have much of a problem occupying herself, never has, but when he’s working and she’s spending the whole day hanging at the shop he worries about her getting bored.
Keeley’s usually a godsend on days like this. When it’s slow and she isn’t really needed behind the bar, she’s more than happy to hop out into the main area and keep Lila company. His girl adores Keeley; she was taken with her from the moment she started working at the shop. It comes as no surprise—she’s a big kid with a kind heart, Keeley Jones.
Lila’s eyes widen at the mention of ice cream, that grin of hers deepening as she gives an enthusiastic nod. “Cookie dough?”
“Now how’d I know that was gonna be the request?” he muses, leaning down to lift her from the chair. She opens her arms for him easily, allowing him to haul her onto his hip. He knows because it’s her new ice cream flavor of the month, and he already has three cartons of it stocked in the freezer. Rest in peace to the leftover chocolate cartons from last month’s kick; he’ll have to finish those off himself. “Go on and grab your picture for me.”
She does as she’s asked and leans forward in his hold to pluck her latest creation from the tabletop. She tucks the paper to her chest tightly, a light crinkling heard as he walks her back toward the front of the shop.
He deposits her onto the counter. “Think you can keep an eye on things while I run into the back real quick?” he asks.
Lila brightens at the responsibility. With a tiny salute she most definitely learned from Uncle Beard, she says, “Uh huh.”
Chuckling, he pats her shin and then turns to make his way toward the kitchen.
He flips on a light so he can see what he’s doing—no need to recreate the early October hip-to-table’s-edge incident; he was dealin’ with that bruise for weeks—and lets his apron fall from the crook of his elbow so he can hang it onto its usual hook.
Passing through the opposite end of the kitchen, he turns into the narrow hallway leading to the back office. It’s a small space but it works well enough for his purposes; he doesn’t spend much time back here, honestly. He’s sure most other business owners would find that odd—choosing to be out front rather than handling things behind the scenes—but he doesn’t mind.
He prefers it, actually. He thinks he’d hate sitting at this desk all day, stuck with paperwork and numbers and solitude. He knows all that has to get dealt with, too, but it just ain’t his personality to want to sit around and let everyone else do the hands-on work.
Ted takes both of their jackets from the corner chair, tossing Lila’s scarf over his arm and holding her beanie between his fingers. Confident he’s grabbed everything, he switches off the light and follows his earlier path back to the front of house.
When he reemerges Lila’s right where he left her, her short legs dangling over the counter, heels connecting with the edge of the shelf with each swing.
“All good out here?”
“All good, daddy,” she confirms with a nod.
Ted smiles. “Perfect. All right, little miss,” he says then, laying their outerwear on the counter beside her so he can start layering her up. He wraps the scarf around her neck, then follows with the beanie. He tugs it over her eyes to hear her giggle and then pulls it back. “Oops, so sorry.”
He pulls her gloves free from where he’d had them balled up in her jacket pocket.
“Do I need to put on the gloves?” she asks, just shy of a whine.
“‘Fraid so, sweetheart. It’s chilly out there. You don’t want your fingers gettin’ all red and frostbitten now, do you?”
Lila sighs but lets out a quiet, hilariously sad, “No. I need my fingers.”
Ted chuckles. “You sure do.” He lifts one of her hands, pressing a light kiss to the tips of her fingers. Nodding toward her drawing from earlier, he says: “You need ‘em to draw more gems like that, right?”
“Right.”
He gets both gloves on, helps her arms into her jacket, and then bends to zip it up.
After he gets his own jacket on, he reaches for her again and lets out an exaggerated groan as he picks her back up into his arms. She curls in, arms looping around his neck as she rests her head on his shoulder. He runs his free hand down her back.
“Let’s get home. Bathtime and then—”
“Ice cream?” she asks, head popping right back up.
“Dinner, and then ice cream.”
She rests her head back down and lets out a heavy sigh against his neck, like this is the biggest grievance of her five year old life.
“Lila Lasso, just what do you think you’re doin’?”
Lila freezes.
She stands on her tippy toes, one arm raised with her hand quite literally stuck in the cookie jar on the counter, her other hand hidden from view by her body. Very slowly, she lowers down onto the balls of her feet and her small hand slips from the container, a quick clink of the glass sounding as the lid slides back into place.
When she turns around her cheeks are puffed out, cookie crumbs on her lips and tiny smudges of chocolate evidence on the corners of her mouth. She smiles sheepishly at him while she chews, a light giggle escaping. There’s a half-eaten cookie in the hand that was hidden.
Ted can’t help but chuckle even as he shakes his head.
“C’mere, you.” He steps forward and grabs a cloth from the drawer, wetting it with lukewarm water before he wrings it out and bends down to wipe her mouth. “You just had a bath and you’re gettin’ all chocolate-covered already. What am I gonna do with you?”
“Mm,” she hums around her cookie, her head tilted in consideration. “Keep me.”
Another laugh breaks free. This kid comes out with the darndest things.
“Wasn’t plannin’ to let you go, sweetheart,” he promises with a light smile, patting her cheek before he turns to toss the cloth back into the sink to deal with later.
Her grin makes his chest burst. She finishes chewing, swallows, and then peers up at him with those big eyes of hers. “I just wanted a little snack.”
“Oh just a little one, yeah?”
“Uh huh. Small, like this,” she says, staring down at her fingers as she spaces her thumb and forefinger apart in roughly the size of a cookie. Probably a bit smaller than the two cookies she actually ate. “See?”
“I do. But snacks come after dinner, you know that.”
“I wanted a…” Lila pauses to think for a moment. “Before dinner snack.”
He bites down on the smile. “A pre-dinner dessert, huh?”
A few strands of hair fall into her face with the bob of her head. “Uh huh.”
“I hear ya. Sometimes I want one of those too,” he admits, tucking those hairs behind her ear. “But how ‘bout you let me know next time, and I can make us both a little somethin’?”
“Okay. We can share next time.”
“Perfect,” Ted says. “Now, I got a question. I could really use a sous chef to help me finish up dinner—do you know of anyone who might be up to the task?”
Her eyes light up, widening as her mouth drops open to release a little gasp. “Me,” she says, rolling onto her toes to make herself taller.
Playing with her, he says, “You know someone? Who?”
“No, daddy,” she says with a hilariously exasperated drawl, her head tilting back. She grips her fingers in the hem of his shirt and balls the fabric in her fist. “It’s me. I can help!”
“You wanna help?”
He knows she does. She loves being in the kitchen with him.
Since she was little, he’s had her in there with him while he’s cooking or baking—a tiny thing bouncing on his hip as he stirred a pot, unable to speak beyond babbling but one chubby hand reaching for the spoon to help; and then, a bit older, sat on the countertop beside him with more flour on her cheeks than on the toddler-sized apron he’d gotten her for Christmas.
Nothing’s changed except the height at which she stands and the list of cooking or baking tasks she’s able to help him with.
“Yes, please,” Lila says with another nod.
Ted grins. “Well let’s go then, sweets. You wanna go grab our aprons?”
She takes off toward the alcove connected to the kitchen where the pantry is, their two aprons hanging on a hook that he made low enough so she could get them herself. That does mean his typically piles on the ground a few inches at the bottom, but it’s worth it for the look of pride she gives him each time she hands it off, just pleased to be a part of the process.
“Here’s yours, daddy,” she says as she reappears, gripping his apron at the top and holding it as high off the ground as she possibly can.
Taking it from her, he smiles. “Why thank you.” He pulls it over his head and around his torso, then looks back down at her. “Think you can tie this up for me?”
Lila nods dutifully. “Yeah.”
Ted turns around, holding the two ends of the straps until he feels her take them into her hands. He can’t see her, but he can imagine the look of concentration on her face, the tongue peeking out between her teeth.
It’s a few minutes of tightening and looping and “I got it” later, but there is eventually something resembling a bow tied at his back and his apron is secured.
“Thank you kindly.”
“Can you do mine?” she asks next, holding out her own apron.
“‘Course I can.” Lila hands him the apron, a cute little yellow thing with strawberries all over. He tugs it over her head, turns her around, and ties off her apron strings in one smooth motion. He places his hands on her shoulders when he’s done, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re ready to roll, baby.”
She claps her hands together, a smile on her face as she tells him to, “let’s go, I’m getting hungry.”
Ted laughs at the sudden urgency as he follows her back into the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Daddy?”
Ted turns away from the sink, peering down at Lila. She’s standing there in her Christmas pajamas, festive gingerbread men littering the fabric; her hair is damp and curling over her shoulder, leaving little wet spots on her top. One of the poor gingerbread’s eyes is soaked.
He’d been swayed into letting bathtime come after dinner and ice cream, which means she’ll be sleeping with wet hair. It’s not his favorite, ‘cause then she wakes up with it in a wild mess and he hates having to detangle and pull on her hair. But she doesn’t love the sound of the hair dryer and he usually only makes her sit through it when they have somewhere to be.
It’ll probably be all knots tomorrow morning, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.
“What’s wrong, sweet pea?”
He already tucked her in, burritoed with a kiss to the forehead, and she doesn’t often pop back out of bed once she’s all snug. Her stuffed bunny, Buttons, is held securely in the crook of her elbow, its face squished tight against her chest.
“I think there’s a monster under my bed,” she whispers, looking down at her bare feet.
“A monster, huh?” Lila nods, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. He scoops her up, holding her and Buttons close. “What does this monster look like?”
“He’s got a big red nose and scary eyes and fire hair.”
Over her shoulder, Ted winces. Okay, so maybe showing her The Year Without a Santa Claus was a bit premature. He loved it as a kid, but it was Lila’s first introduction to claymation and he can admit it might be a little scary.
“I think I know just the one. Is he big?”
“Real big,” she says, leaning away to hold her arms out as far as they’ll go.
Ted looks at her with wide eyes. “That big?” She nods again, then burrows back into his chest. “Wow. That is pretty big. But you know what?”
Her eyes lift to his. “What?”
“Your daddy’s bigger,” he murmurs into her ear.
When they get to her room, he turns on the overhead light and makes a show of doing a scan of the space. With Lila on his hip and clutching at him, he opens her closet and looks both ways.
“Clear in here,” he says as he goes.
He continues with every corner, around her dresser, behind her curtains. He lowers her onto the mattress so he can crouch down onto his knees and inspect under the bed.
“Hi Mr. Heatmiser,” he says to the empty space beneath his daughter’s bed. He hears her gasp from above.
“He’s there?” she whispers, crawling on her knees so she’s perched at the edge of the bed, her hands clutched over the side.
Ted nods. “I’m gonna talk to him, okay?”
“Okay,” she agrees.
He smiles at his girl and then bends back down, folding himself in a rather uncomfortable position as he focuses his attention on the—admittedly dusty; this place could use a vacuum—space in front of him.
“I can see that you’re just hangin’ out under here and you mean no harm, but do you think you could switch rooms? My bed’s a lot bigger, so you’ll have a lotta space to move around, and Lila here is gettin’ a little warm.” He pauses, like he’s getting a response. Nodding along, he continues: “Yeah? That’s mighty nice of ya—we appreciate you.”
Lila’s small voice floats down. “He’s nice?”
He rises up onto his knees to find her sitting back on her haunches. He places his palms on her thighs. “Perfectly nice,” he smiles, smoothing his palms up her arms to squeeze her biceps. “He’s gone, sweetheart.”
“Gone? F’real?”
“Yup. He’s gonna go hang out under my bed instead. Roomier.”
She smiles, her shoulders dropping with relief. “Thanks, daddy,” she says, letting him guide her back down and pull the comforter over her once more. Like her pajamas, it boasts a festive scene—this time, a bunch of jovial looking snowmen with red scarves. “Is he gonna come back?”
“I don’t think so, but if he does, just remember that he’s a nice Heatmiser. There’s nothin’ to be afraid of, okay?” he tells her, pushing her hair away from her face.
She looks hesitant, but she gives a slow nod regardless. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to ya about this, alright?”
Lila’s content with that. “Okay,” she repeats.
Ted finishes tucking her in for a second time, making a show of folding her into a tighter blanket burrito this time to get her to laugh. Brushing his thumb along her cheek then, he bends to kiss her forehead. He’ll never complain about a second kiss goodnight.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I love you.”
Her eyes are already closed, but she still murmurs a quiet, “Love you, daddy.”
Downstairs, long after Lila’s finally sleeping peacefully, Buttons’ soft little face squished beneath her chin, Ted settles comfortably into the corner of the couch.
The overhead light is switched off in favor of the smaller, dimmer tableside lamp that casts the room in a subtle glow. He prefers the duller lighting in the winter especially; it just feels like it fits the energy of the season better, all gentle yellows and warmth.
Beside him is a hot cocoa—his second of the evening, but it’s been a long day so what the heck. He left out the mini marshmallows from this one, though, mostly because the bag is dwindling down and he wants to make sure there’ll be enough for Lila’s nightly cocoa. He plans to head to the store tomorrow, but just in case he doesn’t get to it.
As Ted winds down for the night, he keeps the television on low and lets his body slump into the cushion. His eyes stare at the movie on the screen, a Hallmark-like Christmas film he doesn’t know the name of, but his mind wanders elsewhere.
He runs through a list of what needs to be done tomorrow at the shop—coffee restock, menu board changes, the addition of some more festive decorations up front. He makes a mental note to set his alarm to wake Lila for school in the morning, even though it’s not like he’s forgotten yet. He thinks about Keeley and wonders if she’s feelin’ better, about Lila up in her bed and her sweet face as she wished him goodnight a final time, about their new hire Will and how he’ll work to make him feel at ease and at home in their little shop.
And, without meaning to, he thinks about the woman from today.
He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until her face has already popped into his mind. Green eyes as cautious as they are captivating, windswept cheeks, and a mauve color on her lips.
There was something about her, something… curious. The way she was slow to warm to the shop itself, inspecting it like there might be something nefarious hiding somewhere between all of the Christmas decorations; the suspicion she showed at what he would consider a normal, kind gesture; the immediate switch of her demeanor when she spoke to Lila.
There’s a story there, there’s no doubt. He wonders at it, about the sequence of events that’ve happened in her life to culminate in all of these little things.
He hopes she stops into the shop again, if for no other reason than to know if she liked the shortbread—for Lila of course, ‘cause it makes her happy to know people like what she suggests. Though he gets the impression that this woman would tell Lila she loved them even if she didn’t, as if she was the one who baked them. On the contrary, he thinks she’d tell him the truth.
Ted wonders if she’ll become a regular. Or at least pop in now and again.
Maybe he’ll get to figure out her favorite coffee order—or tea, perhaps, even if he’ll always think the stuff’s a disgrace to the taste buds. Absently, he thinks maybe he should add some more tea to the menu. It is England, after all.
Maybe she’ll come back and try another dessert. Maybe one of the scones.
Or maybe that’ll be the first and only time he ever sees her.
With a shake of his head, Ted sighs. Silly. He doesn’t even know her name. He leans forward for the remote, switches off the television, and flips the lamp until the room slowly fades to black.