Almost Christmas
If there was one thing you were thankful for, it was the fact Jacob didn’t open on holidays. That had been an early set rule he had made when he first opened, one he stuck by religiously. And if there was ever a chance it looked like he wasn’t about to, for whatever reason, his wife made sure he stuck to it. Especially since once Thanksgiving or Christmas came around they were bound to end up out of town to visit family. This often meant the next trusted person was left in charge of checking up on things at the bakery. And who might that be?
Surprise surprise, it was you.
Shortly into earning this job you came to find out that Jacob had trust issues. Not in general, just when it came to his source of living, which you suspected was a good thing to have trust issues over. Normally he would only take a day or two away, unable to put faith in someone to routinely check in and make sure nothing had gone wrong in the storage or with the scheduled deliveries. But once you started to assert yourself, even if unintentional, he found that he very much trusted you to the point sliding the keys into your hand one evening, just as the snow was starting to layer, was as easy as breathing.
Thanksgiving was never a major thing to celebrate. It was in that strange category for the store as “Fall”. It meant the drinks, other than the specifically Halloween themed treats, were able to be carried over up until the start of December, just after the other holiday. There weren’t many decorations to put up. Not when they were already put up just covered by Halloween on top, which was tugged down and stored again for next year. Of course, like always. Jacob and his wife left for the weekend to see family and you checked on the store and received one of the deliveries you were meant to get.
But Christmas was different.
“A week,” Jacob reminded you, bringing his hand back into his glove. He had to take it off to properly lock up the store and he looked pained the entire time, flexing his fingers once the wool was pulled over them. “You’ll get two deliveries, one for the frozens this Monday, the fresher stuff will be next Friday. We’re due back Sunday morning, so if you’ll-“
“Come in that evening and help with prep, yep.” You stated. You were dressed much warmer, courtesy of a certain boyfriend (what a strange thing to say still) who had, after discovering your heat issue wasn’t uncommon, bought you a fresh assortment of thick, Winter jackets. They were much warmer than the other things you wore and styled well with the umbrella he had also bought you, one that he would frown in disapproval if he noticed you without it in the store. It’s why it dangled off your belt now, bouncing off your hip when you moved to hook the key to your key chain, which you clicked right next to the umbrella. Jacob snorted.
“You know the drill.” Jacob said. He dug out his car keys next. “You know, if I retire anytime soon, might as well give the store to you.”
“I don’t want to do the paperwork.” You stated simply. Jacob laughed and, like you had expected, he looked up and past you to the empty streets. The snow normally didn’t disturb the traffic of the ones in the air, those special vehicles gliding and flowing past in blurs of red lighting. But on the ground, with roads barely treated with the chemical mixture to prevent ice, you weren’t going to see as many people out in vehicles meant for the streets. Jacob was one of the rare ones acclimated to driving in such weather, which is why you predicted his question just as he started to open his mouth.
“Migs should be on his way.” You said and nodded your head to the empty street behind you, like the man would suddenly appear. Having grown used to the nickname, one of a handful that’s slipped out more than once in conversation, Jacob just cocked a brow and looked past. You knew he seen nothing when he settled you with a less than impressed look.
“Want to sit in my car until he shows up?” Jacob motioned. It was already running, one of the remote start ones. You could imagine the heat inside, just how warm it would actually feel compared to the snow slowly starting to cling to your jacket. Thankfully, the jacket was doing its job and keeping you warm. For now. Sparing a look behind you and spotting nothing except distant vehicles, street lamps catching falling snow, and the occasional figure too small to be Miguel wandering in and out of alleys. You sighed, breath misting and disappearing on the wind, then shrugged. As you turned to follow him, his hand already finding a spot to your arm as if to ensure you wouldn’t slip, something that just guaranteed you’d take him down with you, the sound of crunching snow caught your attention. Heavy steps. Heavy fast steps that had you turning in time to spot Miguel quickly clearing the road, managing to somehow keep his balance and manage to clear it quick enough that if you blinked you would have missed him.
For such a big man he could really move apparently.
The sudden arrival must have even shocked Jacob who looked puzzled, frozen in place as he immediately dropped his hand from your arm. Not that Miguel was giving him a look you’ve come to associate with ‘piss off’. No, that look was reserved for strangers who would lay a hand on your arm or shoulder or, if they were dumb and brave enough, your back somewhere. One glance from the large, intimidating man managed to convince them to rethink that motion. Usually. Miguel did almost slide once he got to the curb, faltering and wobbling as he made it to your side, immediately bumping into you with a muttered curse and apology all in one. A hand cupped your back in that spot you could have sworn was just made for his hand to rest on and he steadied into your side.
He had definitely grown more comfortable with the physical touch aspect of the relationship. You blamed it on the culmination of physical affection. From the touches that lingered, to holding hands, to leaning into each other, up until you both finally shared a kiss. Something that the two of you seemed to fall into a habit of. Neither of you actually spoke about it. Actually, in regards to a lot of boundaries in the relationship, neither of you really…spoke about them. If one of you didn’t like something you just redirected it to something else. If you didn’t feel like being touched you would hold onto his jacket, maybe pat his side or back and disengage. And in return, he would just stay by your side without touching you. If he didn’t feel like talking, shortening responses or just looking overall unfocused, you would settle with touching or silently moving with him. In a way it was entertaining in how quickly the two of you grew comfortable with one another. Jacob could see it too, obvious in the way he fought to keep his smile down into something nicer rather than mischievous.
“Miguel,” Jacob greeted him. Miguel’s body felt like it was curling over you, like he was trying to shield you from the snow that had already gathered in your hair and clothing.
“Jacob.” He said back. “Sorry, I was…work lasted longer than I expected.” He said to you, leaning down to kiss the top of your head in greeting. Another thing that you knew Jacob would tease you about at some point. Miguel’s work hadn’t slacked off, but he was attempting to make an effort to be around more than before. Especially in consideration to how long he would be gone before. Mentioning a promotion of some kind, you figured that the perks of such a thing came in the form of a better schedule and more money, which ironically was turning around to be spent on you. There were times you were worried this was no longer a relationship but some kind of sugar daddy situation with how he tried to continue and buy you things. Only as of the last few days have you managed to calm down his spending. Your hand came to rest on the other settling on your side.
“It’s alright, Jacob just locked up. Was going over a few things I’ll need to do next week.” Miguel’s eyebrows pinched together and he looked up to Jacob.
“I…thought you said you would be closed.”
“We are,” Jacob said. “But there’s still deliveries to receive in and have to check in every couple days and make sure nothing froze over or busted.” He explained. “Normally I do it up until Christmas, but-“
“I offered. I don’t really have anything to do on the holidays anyways.” You finished. Miguel’s gaze turned to you with his brows tightening further. There was a question in his eyes and you knew what it was without him asking it. “Oh, I don’t go anywhere for Christmas. Family send me some cards, but there’s no major celebrations or anything for me to go to.” Or, at least, none you were invited to. Not that you ever did anything to spite your family, or to make them disown you. It was just…how the cookie crumbled in the end. You weren’t close to your cousins anymore and your aunts or uncles all had extended family to celebrate with. Grandparents on both sides gone and your parents not exactly spring chickens, it just felt like a waste of energy to attempt to host anything for more than yourself. Hell, you didn’t even host anything for yourself anymore. Maybe something cooked at home instead of take out, but that was almost as far as you went. For a moment, Miguel looked almost confused by this fact, then he frowned heavily. Something you decided to ignore in favor of breaking from his touch to hug Jacob goodbye.
“Enjoy your holiday, alright?” He said, hand patting your shoulder. Jacob wasn’t all concerned about Miguel as Miguel wasn’t concerned about Jacob when he hugged you, all because the ring on his finger was a bright one and Jacob had always been respectful. So, when you pulled from the hug you just smiled as Jacob held up a hand past you. “You too, alright?”
“You too.” Miguel muttered from behind.
“Be safe, send me pictures too.” It was the same thing you always said. You always reminded him to be safe, always made him promise to show you pictures of family and the family pets, and he always, without fail promised you one thing.
“I’ll bring you back something.” Like always. Clockwork. The pattern you’ve come to remember, once again, coming into play. Except, unlike the daily pattern that has been changed due to the man who once again stepped up behind you as Jacob pulled away, this one wouldn’t be changed. Again, Jacob wished you a good holiday, another farewell, then he turned to disappear into his vehicle. It must have been running for long enough that the moment he turned on the headlights he was able to pull off and start home.
Leaving you and Miguel standing in the snow.
When you turned around to face him you opened your mouth to tell him you had bought groceries and hoped he would want to hang out a little late if you cooked, but you were stopped by his look. You couldn’t describe it as pity nor as something sad, but it was…remorseful in a strange way. Hesitating, you didn’t speak your offer and instead slowly reached out to take his gloved hand in your own.
“Migs?” He hummed and tugged you closer to his side, turning to start down the sidewalk in the now familiar path to your apartment building.
“Dinner?”
“I can cook,” He nodded and didn’t even bother to argue or suggest something different. He didn’t even bother to ask what you could cook or were offering, he just nodded and accepted what you said with a distant stare cast ahead. Maybe it was one of his off nights, so you ventured out to test the waters.
“Long day?” Normally, if his day was a rough one and he was drained, he would just nod. Or grunt. Or sometimes sigh if it was a particularly annoying day. None of those was his response, instead he glanced out of the corner of his eye to watch you watching him and cocked his head.
“…Do you do anything to celebrate Christmas? Anything at all?” You frowned.
“Do you?” You threw back a little defensive. Both of you looked shocked by your own response and you shrugged, attempting to snuff down that immediate feeling that you should defend yourself. But defend yourself from what? He wasn’t exactly attacking you in any way, he was just asking a question. Quietly, you muttered. “Sorry, no…no, I don’t.” Miguel didn’t immediately respond, his hand squeezing yours.
“I…Yo tampoco,” He muttered like he didn’t even want to say it. You didn’t need to know much Spanish, something you still tried to convince him to teach you outside of the few words he quizzed you on through texting or brief calls. He squeezed your hand again and you did the same thing in return. The snow crunched as you both walked and the shadows in the street stretched further and further. One bonus of walking home so late and in the pouring snow would be that nobody was on the streets. It meant the walk to your home would be a peaceful one, if not for the strange silence between the two of you. One you decided to break when the shop was out of sight and you couldn’t stand to keep chewing on your lip as you continued on.
“How about we do something?” You asked. “If work doesn’t keep you busy during-“
“I’ll be there.” He was quick to say, almost too eager to say it, then he closed himself off again once more with a scowl at his own actions. His face was burning hot, cheeks turning dark and eyes averted, and you found the sight adorable. Like always. Miguel had that habit as if he wouldn’t dare allow himself to get excited over something, wouldn’t dare let him showcase being eager even if just for a moment. It happened often and it’s why you enjoyed getting him worked up in conversation, just to watch him shift to that embarrassed expression you found endearing when he looked away. You laughed a quiet laugh and brought his hand up to kiss, something that wasn’t easing his blush.
“Christmas Eve. I can cook us something or, well, we both could cook. You can cook, right? I think you said you could.”
“Some things.” He said. You both turned a corner and you apartment building was coming up fast. You were already digging for the key to take hold in your free hand.
“You want to stay the night tonight?” You changed the subject because, while everything in the physical department had gotten mostly easier, there were still parts you had to ask about. Especially something like this, considering the few times he has fallen asleep on your couch he’s disappeared before you’ve woken up. You figured it had been a mistake, one he admitted he didn’t mean to make. One you told him wasn’t a mistake because you didn’t care that he stayed over. Miguel still didn’t enjoy whenever he let time get away from him. His face pinched up, watching to disagree and tell you he wasn’t going to, but there must have been a part of him who knew what would actually happen and his shoulders slumped slightly.
“I’ll have to leave early.” He reminded you and you waved him off. It never bothered you. Without fail you always dozed off beside him and woke up alone, blanket pulled up and over you and a text when he left, wishing you a good day and an apology for leaving.
“Wake me up before you go and I could make you some breakfast, you know. Don’t have to keep sneaking out on me.” He didn’t look guilty at your words. Just slightly embarrassed.
“I do not…Mirar.” He clicked his tongue. You both came to the steps of the building and started up them, releasing hands as Miguel traversed behind you. “My job-“
“Keeps you very busy, I know, Migs, it’s okay.”
“Is it Migs now?” He asked and this time there was that sign of amusement, that faint trace of it you always adored and clung to in hopes of keeping it there.
“I could call you Miggles again.”
“I would rather you not.” The amusement was gone, replaced by slightly annoyed Miguel. Not that he’s turned that annoyance on you, even if you were the cause of it at times.
“Teach me a pet name in Spanish.” When you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the immediate relief of the heat nearly took your breath away. Both of you kicked off your shoes by the door, the trail of ice and snow inside already starting to melt into tiny puddles. Your jacket and gloves were next and hung up next to the door, where Miguel mimicked your motions. He seemed to be thinking on your words, waiting until the door was shut and locked and both of you down to just your clothes before he spoke.
“Hermosa,”
“Boring.” He blinked and frowned.
“It’s not boring, it’s traditional. Straight to the point.”
“Unoriginal.” You tossed the key to the store, and your other keys, onto the counter in the kitchen and started towards the living area to turn on your TV. You’d put a show or something on for background noise while you cooked. Later you’d change it to a movie for you and Miguel to watch while you ate, then probably back to the late night news to doze off to.
‘Blissfully domestic.’ You thought. Overly domestic, really. You’ve only be dating a handful of a months and yet you acted somewhat like an old married couple that’s been doing this for years. Hell, Miguel even knew where your cups were when he went to fix you both a glass of juice because he knew after work you liked to drink something other than water and juice was the easiest thing to keep. He even put a straw in the cup for you, just how you did.
“Nena.” He said as you took the cup. He settled himself against the counter you weren’t going to use and watched as you sipped the juice then moved on to the pantry. Pasta was a simple and quick dish to make and you had leftover homemade Alfredo sauce you needed to use. Broccoli too, which you could boil alongside the noodles to soften them both up before simmering in the sauce.
“That’s…baby, right?”
“Babe.”
“Boring.” Miguel scowled as if insulted by your words.
“Mami.” He ventured out instead, but you made a small face at that one.
“That’s…used romantically?”
“Yes and no, depends on how you use it.” He explained, watching as you worked. You thought about it for a moment as you got out the pots and utensils for cooking then shrugged.
“Would I call you papi then?” He choked on his juice, startled by the question, then cleared his throat.
“Aye, if, eh, if you’d want.” He was flustered, his head turned away as he nursed the juice that had just choked him. You locked that bit of information down for another time. Flustering Miguel was a fun past time of yours, one you didn’t mind indulging in whenever you had the chance. Sometimes it was so easy to accomplish. Too easy. It made you wonder if this man had much experience in relationships. Was it in poor taste to ask him? Probably.
“I’ve heard a few before, mostly through some dumb evening shows.” You wouldn’t tell Miguel that you had, actually, been trying to search on the web some nicknames to use for him. While you had found a list, a long one actually, you weren’t so certain what would work or wouldn’t. You weren’t a native Spanish speaker, you had no actual idea how often these were used or if the list was right. Hell, for all you know you might have just found the longest source of incorrect nicknames you’ve ever had the chance to find and you didn’t want to see the amused expression Miguel would have if that was the case. He cocked his head curiously in a way that reminded you of a dog.
“Shoot.”
“Rey?” You tried to pronounce it how you could remember. Miguel nodded, something you took pride in. So, emboldened as you continued with the motions of boiling water, the wait being the longest part of cooking, you continued. “Vida mía?”
That one brought a slight flush to his cheeks, his eyes widening only a fraction before he blinked away his shock. Another thing to note for later as you repeated that term in particular over and over in your mind until you were certain you memorized it.
“Where did you hear these?” He asked, clearing his throat as though that would get read of the red on his cheeks and ears. It didn’t and you fought to keep from grinning at him.
“TV.”
“Ah,” He muttered, and you continued.
“Mi tigre,” You knew what that one meant for sure. Mostly. Miguel huffed out of his nose and you turned your back to the counter where the noodles and broccoli were. The sauce was in a pain to heat up while you set the bigger pot to boil. Now all that was left was the waiting aspect, of which you were all too happy to fill in with this very activity. Crossing your arms in a mirrored stance of Miguel, you cocked your head. “What?”
“You want to speak about cheesy, that’s cheesy.” He said. At your questioning look he waved a hand. “It’s something used a lot by the younger-ah, it’s…Estúpido. Very.” He waved it off as if his reasoning was good enough. To you it wasn’t because you didn’t see the problem with the cheesy nickname no matter how dumb it might be because, in a way, it was cute. At least to you it was. Another note was made of just what to call him whenever he was annoying you and you moved on. Again.
“Mi alma.” Miguel almost immediately corrected your pronunciation on the second word. You repeated it until he nodded, satisfied. “See? You’d be a great teacher.”
“What, are you wanting me to give you homework or something, chula.”
“Chula,” You snapped your fingers. Miguel jumped a little at the sudden raise in tone. “What does that mean?”
“Pretty.” He offered just the single word. You scoffed and he shot you his own look. “What?”
“And you said mi tigre was cheesy?” He threw his hands up.
“Mine is cute! It’s a term of endearment. Afecto. And the other is, is-“ He waved, unable to find the words in his frustration, something you were grinning over. However, once he saw your grin he paused and narrowed his eyes. “You’re finding this funny.”
“Cute, actually. Oh, sorry, that would be…” You thought, or pretended to think on it. “Chulo, right?” There was a moment after you spoke that Miguel and you stared at each other. He wasn’t moving, his gaze not once traveling once he held your gaze and a part of you started to worry you pushed it too far. Maybe you had annoyed him enough he might leave and then you’d be stuck watching something alone. Eating your dinner, alone. Just being alone. But the way he shifted, the certain way he took a step was all the warning you got in that moment. Because, you see, being so physically relaxed around Miguel had led to a couple of discoveries on his end. Discoveries you had wished remained secret considering how ready he was to take advantage of them.
You’re ticklish.
And that’s why you started to run before he even moved, hearing the sounds of his feet on the ground as you took off.
“Miggy, no!” You called back, ducking just from his first grab as his hand made contact with the counter. You hopped your way around furniture, ducked around corners, rounded the living area and ran seemingly circles around the entire apartment just to try and avoid his hands. Miguel didn’t speak back, didn’t give you any warnings or smart quips, he just chased you, hands waving and only barely missing you. A part of your advantage came in the fact you’ve come to read him so well, so you knew what moves he would make before you made them. But for such a big man Miguel was light on his feet, quick with his reaction speed and ability to adapt. Even when you cheated, though there were no rules, and knocked over a basket of laundry you would have to re-fold, he avoided it. That’s maybe why, despite being in your own territory and knowing just what you could use as a distraction, you were caught fairly quickly.
Miguel caught you trying to climb over the couch from the front, your hands just barely grasping at the hard back as you brought a foot up and you were lifted clean off the ground and furniture. You squealed, a sound you would deny if he brought it up, and gasped when you felt like you were falling. You weren’t, Miguel had you in his arms and had seated you right onto the couch, both of you on your sides as his hands immediately set to your sides and ribs. Those fingers were dexterous and dangerous and were quick to find your weakest points, making you spasm and thrash as you started to laugh.
You tried to call out his name, tried to throw him off in the heat of it all, yet you couldn’t get free. Nothing you did saved you, nothing could shake him off as he used the weight and strength of his own body to lean over you and keep you pinned into the couch even while you struggled. Tears had started to blur your gaze and you were wheezing when you managed to finally squeeze out his name in the most pathetic, begging tone you’ve ever managed.
“Please-Mig-sorry!” It blurred together, words becoming one, and finally, finally he eased off. You were gasping, shaking still in after-shocks as his hands hovered like they were vipers waiting to strike again. Then they settled on you, gently, and he turned you into him, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as you fought to catch your breath.
Never once have you seen a man look so smug.
“Going to play nice now?” He asked. You wanted to point out that it was him who started this and all you were doing was asking about cheesy nicknames. But you knew he would just dig those fingers into your sides again, so instead you shook your head, letting your cheek fall into the cushioned back of the couch. “Good.” Pleased with the answer, Miguel then sated himself by just watching you.
It wasn’t the first time. You’ve caught him plenty of times just enjoying the peace of it, watching you with half-closed eyes. Lost in thoughts he wouldn’t verbalize. Not that you had a reason to push them. You had your own thoughts you weren’t keen to share too quickly at times and respected that, while you liked to know as much about him as you could, you would never know everything about him. Not right now, at least. But things were nice and dumb and domestic and, for the first time in years, you had someone to spend Christmas with, meaning you’d have to hit the grocery store tomorrow to pick up supplies for a dinner. Not as much as you would have when you once cooked for your family, but enough for two.
For now? You were satisfied with earning a shocked grunt and startled hands on your sides when you kissed Miguel suddenly, a hand coming up to his cheek.