A Muffin Top Christmas Read online

  I glare at the stack of dishes again.

  “Tommy!”

  I march from the bar to the storeroom to look for him. My brother promised me he’d keep up tonight. It’s my first Christmas with my baby boy and I want it to be perfect. Cookies for Santa and nursery rhymes and packing the tree with presents and, of course, the sweet, blissful sex that’ll come after...

  I step into the dark room and reach for the switch on the wall. “Tommy, you in here—”

  A moan hits my ears and I bite my tongue. Another quiet grunt comes from the pitch-black corner, followed quickly by the soft intake of heaving breaths.

  Oh, come on!

  I flip on the light and my brother’s bare ass comes into view, along with a pair of red stiletto heels wrapped around his waist.

  “What the hell, Tommy?!” I say, covering my burning eyes.

  “Shit…” His feet scurry in a panic as he bends over to pull up his jeans. “Sorry, Evey.”

  “Not in front of the booze, man…”

  They move fast to adjust themselves. I lower my hand as Tommy tucks in his shirt and his lady friend rolls her skirt back down.

  I blink on her downturn face. “Monica?”

  She finally looks up with flustered cheeks as she runs her fingers through her tattered, red hair. “Hey, Evey…”

  Vincent’s employee and… my big brother?

  My lips purse, ready to ask any of the w-questions, but I can’t seem to choose which one to ask first. “What… who… why?”

  Tommy stands a little taller. “What do you mean why?”

  I hesitate. “Well…”

  He sighs. “Is there something you needed?”

  “Dishes,” I say. “They’re dirty.”

  “Oh, right…” He pauses to kiss Monica on the cheek while she reapplies her lipstick. “See you later?”

  “Later,” she nods.

  Tommy steps around me back into the bar as he fixes his wavy, dirt-blond locks.

  “Sorry about this…” Monica says. “Maybe the pencil skirt wasn’t the best idea. Tommy really likes it.”

  I cringe. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Uhh…” She slides her coat on and throws her purse strap over her shoulder. “August?”

  My mouth sags. “You two have been dating since August?”

  “Oh, no! Not dating, just kind of… you know…”

  She fist bumps herself.

  I blink. “Ohh…”

  “On and off. Here and there.” She bites her lip. “More and more as time goes by.”

  I nod, thinking hard to recall any clues I might have missed. “How did I not know about this?”

  “You’ve been busy,” she says. “New mom and all. You have a lot on your plate and us hooking up wasn’t exactly news-worthy, so we kept it quiet.”

  “Does Vincent know?”

  She shakes her head. “Vin can’t see three feet in front of him most of the time.”

  I pause. “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t seen the guy wound this tightly since… well, since before you two finally got together.”

  I deflate and lean against the nearest shelf. What the hell else haven’t I noticed between pouring vodka tonics and changing diapers?

  And how long has Vincent been so tightly-wound because of me?

  My eyes fall to my engagement ring and it shimmers lightly.

  Monica’s heels tap a little closer. “You okay? I didn’t think you’d be so upset by this…”

  “Oh, I’m not,” I say, waving my hand. “It’s great, actually. He’s always kind of liked you. I mean, I’d prefer it if you two respected the booze, of course…”

  She laughs. “Then, what’s up?”

  I sigh. “It’s my first Christmas Eve with my son and I’m here instead.”

  “I see…”

  “I mean… I chose it. I know I chose it. I easily could have closed and went home but Ryan’s Place is always open on Christmas Eve for those who don’t have anywhere else to go. Hell, I used to be one of them.”

  “They’re just an alleyway away,” she says. “You could go say hi anytime. I’m sure Tommy wouldn’t mind covering for a few minutes.”

  “Tommy is easily distracted,” I say, glaring playfully.

  She nods. “That he is.” Her lips twitch. “This isn’t just about a mommy missing her baby, is it?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because your cheeks have been flushed since the moment you caught us.”

  “They have not.”

  She raises a knowing brow.

  “Okay, fine,” I huff. “I’m as tightly-wound as Vincent is and we… have plans tonight.”

  “You’re counting it down to the minute, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to get out of here so you can go home and get some, don’t you?”

  “I would appreciate that,” I chuckle.

  She grins. “No problem. I’ll take the back exit so I don’t distract Tommy again.”

  “Thanks, Monica.”

  “Merry Christmas, Evey.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  She wraps her coat a little tighter before pushing the door open. “Hey…” she pauses. “Has Tommy really always kind of liked me?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  Monica hums with approval and steps out into the snow-covered alleyway.

  I head back into the bar. Some of the crowd has dispersed, but not many. I check the clock again, hoping that brief encounter suddenly floored me into the future but it’s only twenty past eleven.

  Tommy stands by the sink, furiously scrubbing at the glasses with soapy suds covering his hands. He notices my presence and quickly looks to the storeroom. “She still in there?”

  “No,” I answer, leaning against the counter. “She went out the back way.”

  He seems disappointed but he doesn’t say anything.

  I look down the bar to the man at the end again. Still quiet. Still staring into the bottom of his empty glass.

  “Can I get another one, Evey?”

  I snap to attention as a college kid waves at me. “Sure.”

  Less than an hour until closing…

  Chapter 3

  Vincent

  I slide the cookie sheet into the oven, once again keeping one eye on Anna and Zachary.

  Now that she’s told me she’s having a kid of her own, I notice the small changes. Nothing too crazy, just subtle hints in her eyes that I would never have noticed before.

  She used to look at my son as if he were the most precious and adorable human being the world has ever known and now, well, she still does, but now there’s a hint of fear in there.

  Evey looked at him the same way at first, too. She got over that quickly. There’s no doubt in my mind that Anna will as well.

  “So, little brother…” she says. “What else is new?”

  I shrug. “Not much.”

  “What’d you get Evey for Christmas?”

  My eyes shift to the clock again. Has time gone backward?

  “A necklace,” I answer. “A few books she’s had her eyes on but won’t buy…” I pause, wondering how much else I should say. “A business school application.”

  “A business school application?” she repeats.

  I set a sticky bowl in the sink. “Evey’s mentioned it a few times,” I nod. “Her dad handled most of the technical business stuff. She and Tommy do okay with keeping the bar running but she wants to learn how to do things right.”

  Anna nods. “I can see that.”

  “With Zach, she doesn’t think she can go, but I want to make it a priority. It’s important to her. And a good investment.”

  “Can you afford it?”

  “I have more than enough in savings to cover whatever she’d need,” I say, smiling slightly. “And with the money we’re not spending on the wedding, affording a good school will be easy.”

  Anna pauses. “Not spending on the wed
ding? You’re delaying it again?”

  “No, we’re not having one.”

  I look down on purpose, letting the words stew for a few seconds as I gather the dirty measuring cups together. When I finally do look up, Anna is glaring harshly at me.

  “Anna—”

  “You’re not getting married?!” she spits.

  I smile. “Anna—”

  “You’re not going to marry the mother of your son?”

  “No—” I recoil from her red eyes. “I mean, yes. We are getting married but we’re not having a big, expensive ceremony.”

  Her face relaxes. “I nearly shot you.”

  I laugh. “Evey doesn’t want to make a huge deal out of it, and neither do I, so we’re keeping it simple. You know, the kind of thing you do at 1 City Hall Square, in room 601, with a Justice of the Peace… at 2:15 in the afternoon on New Year’s Eve.”

  Anna tilts her head. “That’s really specific.”

  “More or less set in stone.”

  Her frown fades into a smile. “You’re getting married on New Year’s Eve?”

  I nod. “I was going to tell you at lunch tomorrow, but since you dropped your bombshell early, I figured I’d drop mine, too.”

  She heaves a deep, proud sigh. “Congrats, little brother.”

  We need a witness or two,” I say. “Thought we’d give you and Tommy first dibs—”

  “Oh, hell yeah.”

  I laugh as she shoots off her stool to give me a tight hug. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  I swing my elbows around her, being careful not to touch her and get flour on her clothes. “Neither can I.”

  “Will there be a party?”

  “Back here afterward,” I nod. “I’m making a cake and—”

  “Oh, no.” Anna lets go of me. “You’re not making your own wedding cake, Vin. Let me take care of that.”

  I pause. “You’re going to make our wedding cake?”

  She snorts. “No. I’m going to buy one like a normal person.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Anna. I can make one here.”

  “Let me do this for you, Vin,” she says. “Rarely do I get to do anything like this for my little brother…”

  “Okay,” I say. “But keep it simple. All right? No more than two tiers. Red velvet. And no buttercream.”

  “Five tiers and chocolate with buttercream. Got it.”

  I sigh but I know she’s kidding. “Perfect.”

  She turns back to Zachary. “Well, Vin, I must say, your timing has improved.”

  “A little,” I say. “I’ve considered Evey my wife for so long already; I’m just happy to finally make it official.”

  A phone rings and Anna reaches into her back pocket for her cell. “Oh,” she says. “It’s the precinct.”

  I shrug. “That’s Boston on Christmas Eve.”

  She rises off the stool to pace around. “Silva,” she answers.

  I chuckle as she morphs into her stone-cold, work persona.

  “What?” she asks. “Why wasn’t this reported earlier?”

  My smile drops. I reach for a dish towel to wipe off my hands. Her eyes find mine but she quickly turns her back on me.

  “Yeah,” she says into the phone. “Call me if anything changes.”

  “Anna, what happened?” I ask.

  Her head rises as she looks at me. She takes a slow, hesitant breath and I grow more worried with each passing second.

  “Nolan Shank escaped from prison this afternoon.”

  My chest sinks. “Nolan? That’s…”

  Anna nods. “Aiden Shank’s older brother, yeah.”

  The Irish mob jerk I killed in this kitchen last year. In my defense, he tried to kill Evey first.

  “Where was he held?” I ask.

  “Lancaster.”

  “Do they know where he went?”

  She shakes her head. “They’re interrogating his father and brother now but so far…”

  “No one’s talking,” I finish. “And they won’t.”

  Zachary fidgets in his highchair and whines, almost as if he feels the same crushing weight as I do. I reach him before he cries, tapping into an instinct that still surprises me every day.

  “Shh,” I whisper in his ear. “Daddy’s got you, Zach.”

  Tears fall from his eyes but he doesn’t scream. I wipe his nose and kiss his head, looking over at Anna as she watches with admiration. “How did he escape?”

  “Killed a guard, paid off a few more,” she says. “It happened at shift change and no one noticed Nolan was gone for hours.” Her face twists. “Idiots.”

  I walk from the kitchen onto the bakery floor, gently bouncing Zachary in my arms as I move towards the windows. My ears twitch at the sound of voices outside but it’s only a few college kids crossing the street, stumbling and stomping through the fresh snow.

  I look at the clock above the door. It’s finally midnight. Evey should be home soon.

  “Vincent…” Anna says behind me, “we’ll find him. You better believe that the Boston PD feels a whole lot better when all the Shanks are locked up.”

  “Yeah,” I say, holding my son a little closer. “Me, too.”

  Chapter 4

  Evey

  “Goodnight, Evey!”

  “Merry Christmas!”

  I give them a wave as the two men bump and knock into each other on the street outside. “Bye, guys!” I say, recoiling from the cold. “Merry Christmas!”

  I pull the door closed and lock it.

  It’s midnight.

  But I can’t hightail it out of here just yet. First, I promised I’d let the trio of tipsy ladies in the corner finish their drinks and wait around for a cab. I also still have to count down the cash register but that shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.

  And then, there’s the guy at the end of the bar to kick out.

  I grab the broom from the corner to finish tidying up but I’m not too preoccupied with getting this place completely perfect.

  I have plans.

  My eyes scan the floor for noticeable clumps of tracked-in dirt and I sweep up what I see as I move around the tables and stack the chairs on top. “Hey, Tommy…” I say.

  He shuts off the sink and looks up. “What?”

  “Got a few empties on table nine.”

  I hear him groan and I smile. He moves fast, almost sprinting, to grab the empty glasses. Guess he’s just as eager as I am to get out of here.

  “Have somewhere to be?” I ask, teasing.

  Tommy says nothing but he glares at me as he passes by.

  I chuckle but my laughter fades as I move behind the bar in front of the man again. He doesn’t seem like the type who usually populates that stool at Christmas. From what I can make, he’s no older than forty but his clothing is torn and dirty. Maybe he’s homeless.

  Well, that doesn’t this next part any easier.

  I pause in front of him and smile. “Excuse me. I hate to kick you out but we’re closing. I’m sorry…”

  He raises his eyes and for the first time, I see his icy blue irises beneath his hat. “You know,” he begins, “this was the first drink I’ve had in eight years.”

  His voice scratches down my back. That frightening and familiar Boston-Irish mix curls off his tongue like a hissing snake.

  I clear my throat. “Oh, yeah? How was it?”

  “Not… unpleasant.”

  “That’s good.” I pick up a towel to wipe down the bar. “So, what brought you out here for your first drink in eight years on Christmas Eve?”

  “I came to visit family,” he says. “Boston is a rather important place. Very dear to my heart.”

  “Mine, too. I grew up here.”

  “As did I, ma’am. As did the man I came to see. He lives nearby with his wife and child.”

  “What’s his name?” I ask, glancing once more at the clock. “I might know where you can find him.”

  “Oh, I’ve no d
oubt you can, Evey, but it’ll be more fun if he came to me.”

  My ears twitch, forcing me to halt and I let go of the cloth. The way he said my name just now… I’ve heard it before.

  I look up and he’s staring at me. His scarf has fallen from his chin, revealing a deep scar from his left eyelid all the way down to his throat.

  He licks his lips. “People often think that Christmas is a time of giving and sacrifice,” he says. “And they’re right… to an extent. The modern tradition of gift-giving comes from an ancient Roman holiday called Saturnalia. Did you know that?”

  “No,” I answer.

  “It was held in December,” he continues. “Everyone gathered in the Roman Forum for a great banquet — not just men — but women and children. Gifts were exchanged among friends and lovers. Rules and social norms disappeared. Gambling was legal and encouraged.” He pauses. “And then, there were the slaves. The outcasts. They were included in the celebrations. Masters of households cooked for them, gave them gifts, and treated them as family. It was the one night of the year where they could openly insult their masters and face no punishment because the god, Saturn, saw fit to treat them as equals, and so they were.”

  I flinch as Tommy enters in from the storeroom and walks out onto the bar floor without glancing up.

  “Evey…” the man says, drawing my attention back. “It’s awfully kind of you to keep this place open for the outcasts on Christmas Eve.” He cracks a smile. “You invite them into your home to celebrate with you and yours. It’s admirable.”

  “Thank you,” I say, my voice quivering.

  “But myth tells of a slave named Quintus,” he says. “From a young age, he was abused and tormented by the masters of his home. Then… one Saturnalia, his master smiled upon him and presented him with a gift. A newly-minted blade as long as my forearm.” He slides his fingers from his wrist to his elbow. “Quintus waited until his master and his friends drunk themselves silly and as they all passed out around him, he walked up and he slit their throats.”

  I shudder, once again casting silent, screaming eyes at Tommy but he’s still across the bar, wiping down tables with a rushed gait.

  The man leans forward. “As the soldiers marched Quintus to be executed the next morning, Saturn himself appeared and ordered them to spare him. He said, ‘Do not condemn him. Don’t you see? This man is a free man.’” His lips curls. “And they let him go.”