It was only a week until the shop closed for Christmas and the staff were given time off for the holiday, but to Rachel it felt like an eternity. As she went through her shifts, conscious, as always, of Emily, she found herself constantly checking the clock above the mantelpiece. Every day she pressed a treat out of her advent calendar—filled with chocolate, since she liked the tradition—and knew that it brought her closer to the Christmas party.
The get together was set a few days before their holiday, organized so that no one had any other plans, and was really just an evening at the local pub. They did it every year—and at Halloween, too—as part of ‘keeping up morale’. At least, that was what Phil said.
Rachel groaned as her alarm beeped anxiously at her from the nightstand. She rolled over, determined to get another five minutes in, before she realized what day it was—it was the day of the Secret Santa.
She bolted out of bed, head knotted up on one side from a fitful night’s sleep, and tugged at the covers to pull them back into place. She hurried into the bathroom for a quick shower, not letting herself indulge any more than a few minutes longer than she needed to, even though it was cold, since she knew she didn’t have much time left. It was her own fault—she’d gone to bed late the night before and set her alarm later to match, but it was still inconvenient.
Another snowstorm had blown in overnight, coating everything outside the window in another inch of white. Rachel shivered as she stepped out of the shower, feet damp against the bath mat. No wonder it was cold, even in her flat.
Luckily, the shower had warmed her up some—or shaken the cold from her bones, at least—and Rachel was able to quickly get dressed into her ‘festive’ uniform. After a quick bowl of porridge and a moment to check that her outfit for the party later was tucked away safely in her bag, she was ready to leave. Rachel grabbed her keys from the side table and headed out into the snow.
It was more brutal than usual that day. Pathetic fallacy, her high school English teacher would have called it—when the weather reflects your mood. She was tense, too highly wound for someone who hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet, and the snow seemed to be holding its breath as well. It was too pristine, too stark and white in comparison to the gray clouds. No car had driven across it yet and no feet had trodden through it—everything was beautiful and still and so painfully, painfully perfect. Until Rachel walked across, of course. She hoped that wasn’t an omen for the night ahead, especially when she crossed paths with Ms. Baker’s old black cat. She wasn’t superstitious, not in the slightest, but she needed all the luck she could get.
Rachel sighed. She was making far too big a deal out of it—if Emily didn’t like her gift, then she could always try again next year. And, really, did it matter that much? It wasn’t like Emily was going to suddenly fall into her arms over it; best case scenario she’d get a sincere thank you.
She held the neck of her coat closer together, trying to block out the cold. A few solitary flakes made their way across the sky, landing on the tip of her cheek. She cursed the snow while it was falling, but she knew that, come the spring, she’d miss it.
No one she knew was out that early—Rachel had first shift, meaning that it was mostly dark when she started, the sun having only just begun to rise behind the heavy winter clouds, and she had to be careful as she followed the trail of black and blue wrought iron street lamps. In the distance, she could make out a few lethargic dog walkers, but that was about it. No Ms. Baker today, then.
When she arrived at the store, Ryan was already there, as were Amy and Phil. She checked her watch to make sure she wasn’t late—exactly on time, actually—before heading in to join them. Once the snow was stamped off her boots and an apron had been tied snugly around her waist, Rachel was ready.
“So,” said Ryan, as they began the process of setting up the cafe. “Did you manage to pick out something for Emily?”
Rachel grinned. “Yeah, I came up with something.”
“Something good?”
“I hope.”
She pressed a button to begin grinding coffee beans behind the counter, and the conversation moved on.
There were plenty of people in the cafe that day, since school had been let out and most adults had taken the week (or two) as holiday. There were groups of kids and teenagers hanging out together, trying not to be too raucous, and polite old couples coming in for something warm themselves with after some long walk. For all the people, the noise level was fairly subdued, and Rachel found herself grateful whenever somebody stepped up from the counter. It gave her some distraction from her thoughts, at least.
It was a full day’s shift she was working, so she knew she’d be tired by the end of it. To combat this, she drank at least one cup of coffee with each break, hoping the caffeine would keep her energetic enough for the drinks they’d be getting at the pub. She wasn’t introverted, exactly, but she had a definite ‘social battery’, and she just hoped that it wouldn’t be all used up by the end of the day.
Ryan’s shift ended around lunch time, and that was when Emily came in. She strode in from the back room, chipper as anything, and gave Rachel a wave. Rachel returned her smile, but her hands were too busy with a pot of coffee to do much else. The Christmas music playing softly in the background seemed at once both too loud and too quiet—whichever it was, Rachel, once again, couldn’t think. Not that that was unusual when it came to Emily.
“Hey,” said Emily.
“Hey.”
“You looking forward to the pub tonight?”
Rachel nodded. “Yeah, actually—this is one of my last shifts until after New Year, so I’m planning on having fun.”
“Oh?” Emily frowned, her expression one of confusion. “I thought you were off completely after today.”
Rachel’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t meant to let the change in timetable slip. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it is my last shift. Sorry, I was just being forgetful.”
Hopefully that would be convincing enough.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully; they sold out of brownies—Rachel’s favorite—before her break, leaving her to the custard tarts instead, but besides that it became slower at the cafe. One of the perks of living in a small town, Rachel guessed. There were tables to clear, drinks to serve, and little old ladies to engage with in largely very wholesome conversation. A normal day, truth be told.
By the time they closed, Rachel was glad of the change in scenery. She headed into the bathroom, stripped, and came back out in a casual outfit—black jeans, a pretty blouse, and a little makeup. It wasn’t too formal but it was perfect for the pub, and Rachel liked the uplift in confidence that always came with being out of uniform.
The people on staff that day walked together, planning to meet up with a handful of others at the pub. It was only a few streets away—though the weather made it feel longer—and Rachel walked between Emily and Ryan. As they were walking, Emily saw her shiver and offered Rachel her scarf. Rachel refused, but, a few minutes later, the scarf was looped safely around her neck.
The pub itself was old—one of the oldest buildings in town, in fact, having been built sometime in the 18th century—and was a mix of past architectural styles. Most of it was made from wooden beams, but there was the occasional pile of chipped red bricks near the attic and along the chimney, which jutted out at the side.
They went in through the back, via the little drinks garden, and swarmed into the main room. Between the low hanging, uneven ceiling, the tinsel stretched across paned glass windows, and the roaring fire in the grate, stepping into the pub felt like stepping into the concept of Christmas itself. Honey cider and mulled wine boiled somewhere in the background, the smell permeating the room, and a row of little black dishes were arranged on the counter, each with a different type of finger food for them to munch on.
“Ullo, there!” called the landlord, waving from the doorway that led off into the kitchen. He was a jolly middle-aged bloke, with an apron tied around his waist and a vibrantly red beard; in one hand was a glass and dishcloth, which he’d probably just been using.
The group turned to greet him, half finding seats by the counter while the other half chose a table near a window.
Rachel clapped her hands together in an attempt to shake off the cold of the outside. A few flakes of snow had been caught on her clothes, so she brushed them off as she waited to be served—she hadn’t realized it was snowing. Emily was laughing at something Ryan had said, but her hand rested—ever so slightly—on Rachel’s elbow. It was all Rachel could think about.
“And for you two, m’dears?” the landlord asked.
“Oh—uh—just a pint please,” Rachel said, while Emily echoed the order.
“Right-o. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The landlord pulled out two tall glasses—and their matching coasters—and pulled on a handle behind the counter. Once each pint was drawn, he handed it to them.
“Put them both on my tab,” Rachel said, smiling softly.
Emily raised her eyebrows, turning back toward Rachel. “Thanks,” she said, “next one’s on me, yeah?”
“Don’t worry about it—early Christmas gift,” Rachel responded.
There was a pause as Emily decided whether or not to accept it; she opened her mouth to say something but, before she could, Phil had already called them all to attention.
“Alright, everyone!” he said, his voice barely above speaking level but still commanding enough to make them turn. Thankfully it was still a bit early for there to be many other people in the pub. “Time for the Secret Santa!”
He held up a list—presumably listing who got who as their Secret Santa—with a cocky smile on his lips. “Everyone’s here, so we can start handing out gifts—Ryan, this one’s for you.” He set a small square box in Ryan’s hand.
Ryan, for his part, looked surprised. He thanked Phil before turning to another one of their colleagues to give off his. Once he’d opened his own, though, his eyes were back on Rachel, watching her in an almost ravenous way.
“Go on, Rach,” he mouthed. He gestured at Emily, who was rifling through her bag.
Rachel took a deep breath and reached into her pocket.
Feeling the paper slide between her fingers, she steeled herself. Hopefully, she’d chosen the right thing. Just as she was about to pull it out, though, Emily landed something in front of her.
It was a wide, flat box, only about half a centimeter tall.
“You’re my Secret Santa,” Rachel said flatly.
“I am! Now open it.”
Rachel pulled the box toward her, slipping her thumb under the ledge of the top. She pulled off the ribbon—red, the color of wine—and opened the box. Inside sat two folded up pieces of paper. She lifted the first and straightened out the crease.
“It’s…tickets to an ice-skating rink?” she said, her voice going up at the end as though it were a question.
“Look, I realized you were never going to ask me out,” said Emily, “so…I did it for you.”
“What?”
Emily placed a hand on her shoulder, a warm, indulging smile taking over her face. “I asked you out. We’re gonna go ice skating.”
“I—I don’t—there is—” Rachel locked eyes with Ryan, who was stifling a laugh as he gave her a thumbs up. She swallowed thickly.
This wasn’t what she expected. This wasn’t what she planned for. Suddenly, all her best hopes—and fears—were confirmed, and Rachel didn’t know how to handle it. Her throat was big and sore beneath her skin, and there was a steady stream of sweat escaping through her pores.
“Could you give me a minute?” she asked, throwing the tickets back onto the counter and running out the room.
She ran through the pub until she found the bathrooms, separated from the rest of the pub by a wooden door and a simple bar lock. Rachel thrust herself inside, wanting nothing more than a few moments to think.
A single picture frame decorated the wall, showcasing a simple oil painting of oranges, and the window was kept from view by a short red curtain. Like the rest of the pub, the owner had strived to keep a quaint, comfortable air in the room—not that Rachel noticed any of it, she was too far in her own head to take in her surroundings.
This wasn’t what she planned for. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. Emily was meant to be oblivious—unaware of Rachel’s feelings, or unsure, and able to give her time. That was what Rachel needed—time. Time to think, time to process what had happened; time to figure out what she should do.
In all of her daydreams, in all of her half thought out plans and scheming, Rachel hadn’t considered that Emily might ask her out first. It had felt impossible just moments ago—in truth, it still did. How had this happened? Was it really true that Emily felt the same way about her?
Rachel gasped, her breath more ragged than it had any right to be. None of it seemed real; it might as well have been a hallucination. The bathroom felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in, oppressive, constricting—it was too much, it was all too much—
There was a knock at the door.
“Um—I’m sorry—could you—” Rachel stammered out.
“It’s me,” came Emily’s soft, earnest voice.
Rachel closed her eyes. “Oh.”
She reached over and flicked up the latch, letting Emily in.
“You left pretty quickly there,” she said, palm against the door, “would you like me to come back in a minute?”
Rachel shook her head, slumping against the wall of the bathroom. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m sorry, I just—gosh, this is going to sound so stupid—I just panicked a bit. It was all so public and I didn’t know what to say. I’m…I’m not always the best in crowds—I mean, you know how anxious I get, especially with you—and…”
Emily put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “Rachel, you’re rambling. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. If you want, I can just sit here with you for a bit until you’re ready to go back out…?”
She slid into the spot next to her.
Rachel stared at the opposite wall, trying to calm her racing thoughts. It was nice to have Emily there, to be able to feel her warmth and hear the steady rhythm of her breath. She used it to ground herself, timing her own breaths in and out with the rise and fall of Emily’s chest. After a moment, she felt calm enough to speak.
“Thanks,” she said, wondering if there was anything even slightly more interesting that she could say.
“Anytime.”
Rachel turned to look at Emily. “So, ice skating, huh?”
Emily shrugged. “I thought you might like it.” There was a pause as she smiled apologetically. “Look, if I misread the situation, then I’m sorry. I thought you liked me; I thought you were flirting with me, actually, quite obviously, and I kept waiting for you to ask me out—you know, I was certain you were going to do it at the fair, kept hoping you would…but then I realized you might be nervous. I don’t know. You hide your anxiety well, but I can see it in your eyes when you get flustered. I thought maybe you’d prefer it if I were the one to ask—maybe I was just projecting, though.”
She shook her head in dismay. “I’m sorry. Honestly. I should’ve considered that maybe I was misreading things, or that Ryan was wrong—”
“Wait, Ryan was in on it?”
Emily laughed. “I thought you knew he rigged the Secret Santa?”
“Well, obviously, but I figured that was just to give me a chance—are you saying you two have been scheming together?”
“For a few months now.”
It seemed as though Rachel’s perception of the whole situation had been wrong. So much had been going on without her knowledge—next thing she knew and her boss would be involved too!
The bathroom light had turned her skin into a washed out, yellow version of itself. Rachel shoved her face into her hands, trying to hide the heat gathering beneath her skin. She needed to correct Emily, of course, to tell her she was wrong…but how to do it? How could she go about this in a way that wouldn’t turn her off completely? She’d embarrassed herself enough already as it was.
“You don’t…you don’t need to apologize, Em,” she said eventually.
“What?”
“You weren’t wrong, Em,” Rachel said, “so you don’t need to apologize. I’ve been wanting to ask you out since…well, since I met you, to be frank.”
“Really?”
“Yup.” Rachel took a deep breath. If Emily could be honest, then so could she. “Really. I think you’re funny and smart, and you light up every room you’re in just by walking in; I look forward to my shifts with you more than I do my days off, and I’m a mess when you give me any attention at all. Being with you…it feels like coming in from the cold. Like Christmas day after a long, hard winter. And, if it’s still okay, I’d love to go ice skating with you.”
Rachel lifted her head, hoping to gauge even a sliver of a reaction from Emily. What she saw was enough to make her pause, and, finally, to give her hope.
Emily sat, eyes wide, a grin eating up her face. “Oh, that is such a relief!” she giggled, the laughter spilling out from her chest, bubbling over like a bottle of champagne. “You silly thing, oh, I’m so happy! Yes, I’d love to take you out—that’s the whole point—just so long as you’re really still okay, and I haven’t ruined my chances!”
Rachel smiled tentatively, a warm feeling flooding her chest. She was as giddy now as she had been panicked before—too giddy to anything but nod enthusiastically.
Emily reached over and looped her arms around Rachel’s shoulders, pulling her in tight. This hug was different to the hugs they’d had before—warm and tight, as though they were trying not to let go of each other, as though all the little things that had been holding them back had simply evaporated. In a way, they had. Rachel sighed, smiling into Emily’s shoulder, her nose resting against the soft fabric of her clothes. The comfortable silence lasted for only a moment, giving Rachel enough time to gather her thoughts.
“Are you ready to go back to the pub?” Emily asked, her voice a note softer than the infectious delight of a few minutes ago. Perhaps she was trying not to startle her.
Rachel nodded, her chin moving against Emily’s chest. “Yeah—yeah I am.”
They stood slowly, hesitant to untangle themselves from each other, and compromised by Emily sliding her arm protectively through Rachel’s. She was shaky as she got to her feet, pins and needles acting in clumps along her legs, but Rachel shook it off. It was easy to put up with a bit of discomfort when she had Emily next to her.
They pushed open the door and strode out into the corridor, Emily’s side against Rachel’s the whole time. As they entered the room where the rest of their colleagues and friends were, Ryan’s eyes flicked up to meet Rachel’s. He grinned, one eyebrow raised, as she rolled her eyes.
“So, how’s it going, you two?” he questioned. She wasn’t sure how, but Rachel was certain it was, somehow, an innuendo. He raised a pint of something—mulled wine, she thought, by the steam coming off the top of the frosted glass—and made as if to toast them.
“Oh, shut up,” Rachel laughed, swatting at his arm. Emily just looked smug.
The rest of the gifts had been given out, it seemed, and the tickets burned a pleasant hole in Rachel’s pocket. Every few minutes she let her hands stray down to tough the corner of the partially laminated paper, a smile flickering across her lips. It didn’t feel real—and yet, there she was, stood next to Emily, with the secret knowledge of their upcoming date. Nothing could have been more perfect in that moment.
A beer was bought, and then a glass of cheap prosecco, and then, when she was feeling tipsy enough from the feel of Emily’s arm—now flung over her shoulder as they sat at a table with the rest of their coworkers—Emily offered to buy her a pint of mulled wine. Rachel smiled.
“That would be wonderful,” she said, knowing that, like the rest of their offhand remarks and friendly gestures that night, Emily had meant it to say I like you.
Thankfully, her alcohol tolerance was high enough that, by the end of the evening, she was more affected by the way Emily whispered in her ear, breath hot and inviting, than by the alcohol itself. The same could not be said of Phil or Ryan, who both ended up standing, to sing several off-key renditions of their favorite Christmas songs. The rest of the group joined in, though less loudly, and with at least a slight attempt to keep in time with the radio playing in the background.
“And a very merry Christmas!” Ryan cried out, raising his glass, once again, in a toast. “To a happy holiday, a well-earned break, and a marvelous New Year!”
The pub collectively raised their drinks, letting out a sound, “Here, here!”
“And,” he said, grinning, “to the two most oblivious idiots I’ve ever met. The rest of us have been rooting for you for ages, so here’s to the end of that long wait, and the tenner Phil now owes me!”
Ryan tilted the glass at Rachel and Emily—both too shocked to react at first—while the rest of the table cheered. The other pub-goers were confused, but enthusiastic, as they celebrated the new couple in front of them.
“Really, Ryan?” Rachel began, realizing just how many of their friends and coworkers had been able to suss her out. “You made a bet on whether or not we’d get together?”
“Not exactly,” he said, “we bet on whether it would be before or after the New Year. Phil was hoping one of you would grab the other under some mistletoe, but I had more faith in you two.”
Rachel sighed, too amused to be upset about it. It probably helped that Emily was grinning like a Cheshire cat, laughing at the jokes and looking pleased as anything to be sat next to Rachel.
When the drinks were over, and cabs called for the more drunk of the party, everyone said their goodbyes.
“Would you like me to walk you home?” Emily asked.
“If you’d like,” said Rachel, glancing through her eyelashes in a way that clearly meant please.
They trudged through the snow, shoes leaving imprints on the unbroken white of the recent snowfall. The streets were lit by candles in nearby windows, preparing for the season ahead, and Rachel found herself appreciating the soft glow of them as they led the way back through town.
Despite the cold, she didn’t shiver. Maybe it was the mulled wine—the spiced flavor still coating her tongue—or the fact that Emily was so close, and so happy, and so easily talking to her about every matter under the sun; but, either way, there was no room for her to feel anything other than deliciously warm.
“You know, I’m so glad Ryan suggested this whole Secret Santa thing,” Emily said, “and I’m even gladder I got you—I know that wasn’t a fluke, but still. I’m glad. Even if I didn’t get one myself.”
“Oh!” Rachel cried out, startling Emily. She quickly quietened down, praying that she hadn’t woken up any sleeping villagers. “I completely forgot—I was your Secret Santa!”
“You were?” Emily asked, her voice colored with disbelief.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised—it was Ryan who orchestrated the whole thing, remember?”
Emily laughed. “Both of us, though? Really?”
Rachel dug out her present, nodding as she did so. She handed it to Emily with a half-ironic flourish. “Here’s what I got you, by the way. I didn’t forget entirely. The main present is in the envelope, but there’s also some hot chocolate powder and some biscuits I baked, just in case you wanted some over the holidays.”
Emily slipped her finger beneath the flap of the envelope, her face drawn into an adorably confused frown. She tore it open and shook out the contents, her mouth folding down even further when she saw what it was.
There, in her hands, was a simple print out of the last text conversation between Rachel and Phil. She glanced past the emojis and erroneous questions before her eyes fell, finally, on the conversation in question. Specifically, the part where Rachel had offered to take on all of Emily’s unpleasant shifts, so that she would have time to go visit her family. Behind the print out of the texts was a freshly printed rota, which Rachel had made sure wasn’t put up until after Emily had left the cafe, back when she’d gone to change before they went to the pub.
“Don’t worry,” Rachel said, “I made sure it wouldn’t affect your shifts when you get back. No worries about too many sick days or anything.”
Emily lifted her head once more to meet Rachel’s gaze, her eyes wide with delight. She flung herself at Rachel, nearly knocking her over, and pressed their bodies flush together. “Thank you,” she whispered, too happy to speak any louder, “thank you.”
Emily pulled away, leaving her hands around Rachel’s waist, and leaned her forehead against her. There was a pause as she laughed breathily. “I’m so happy I could kiss you!”
Rachel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Then do it,” she said, the nerves in her stomach falling silent for once.
Emily grinned, one side of her mouth rakishly higher than the other. “Why, I might just—”
She swooped down, eyes fluttering closed, and placed her lips gently against Rachel’s. Her mouth moved confidently, lips parting after a moment, causing Rachel to gasp, and she grinned against her lips. The contrast of it all was astounding—the cold of the night air, the warmth of Emily against her, lips moving with her—as Emily threaded her hand through Rachel’s hair and slid her tongue into her mouth, Rachel melted against the outline of her body. Like the candles flickering around them, she was wax to Emily’s touch.
When they finally parted, gasping for air, Rachel felt a blush creep, once more, across her face. She was suddenly glad for the darkness, even as she felt that she was surely glowing.
“That was…”
“That was wonderful,” Emily finished.
“We’re nearly at my house.”
“We are.” Emily smirked. “Can I kiss you goodbye then?”
Rachel bit back a smile. “Please.”
And with that, she fell back into Emily’s arms, certain that it was going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.
THE END