12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter one

She isn't the one behind the bar, though. There aren't many staff here, a total of six who rotate days and shifts depending on who needs what, and today I spy Julio clearing tables while the counter is manned by Casper.

"Beth!" He stands straight and waves as though he doesn't see me almost every time he has a shift here.

"Friendly Ghost!" I wave back.

He scowls, and when I reach the counter, he leans on his elbows and says, "What have I said about calling me that?" Pointing a long finger at me, he steps back and shakes his head, taking a large mug off the top of the coffee machine to start making my drink. He doesn't know what it'll be yet, because I've never ordered the same thing more than a few times in a row, but I never have less than a large.

"As far as I recall, you said that every time I call you Friendly Ghost, you tell another person what Beth is really short for. But," I point out, "I must've called you that at least fifty times over the last couple of years, and our circle of mutual friends is pretty small. By my reckoning, everyone you know who also knows me must by now know my dirty little secret."

Casper rolls his eyes. "What'll it be, Bethlehem?"

"What's your least popular Christmas drink?"

"So far ... I think the spiced ginger latte with almond milk."

My nose wrinkles of its own volition. "Okay, maybe not. I'm feeling like a basic bitch today; I'll have the mint hot chocolate."

"Ah, yes, the most basic and bitchiest of all our festive drinks," he says drily, twitching his head to flick black curls off his face. When he turns away, I see a hint of a smile grace his lips. "So, cold out there?"

"You wound me, Cas. I thought by now, our relationship had surpassed small talk about the weather."

"Winter is always an exception," he says as he steams the hot chocolate. "And that was a genuine question – I have to walk home in ninety minutes and if it's as cold as you're making it look, I might have to steal Julio's coat. And his car."

"It's disgustingly cold, and I think there are icicles in the wind based on how sore my face is after walking three minutes from my car," I say, at last warm enough from the shop's powerful heating to take off my top layer. "I was planning to stay until closing anyway, though, if you want a lift?"

"You know how to tempt a man, Nazareth," he says, squirting a mountain of whipped cream on top of my drink and adding a generous shaking of chocolate curls. "That would actually be great. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Your place is basically on the way to mine anyway. The pleasure would be all mine, Nearly Headless Nick."

He harrumphs at that, and tries on a scowl again, but it doesn't work on him. He may not look particularly ghostly, but he does have one of those naturally friendly faces. It can be hard to take him seriously when he's genuinely annoyed, as he just seems like a child throwing a strop: thick black eyebrows scrunch together and he pouts, sticking out his lower lip, and it makes it hard to believe that he's older than me. Exactly one year older, actually, almost to the hour.

"So, any plans?" He digs out a tub of edible glitter and shakes it onto my already extravagant drink.

"Nothing you'd like to hear about."

He raises his eyebrows and pushes my drink across the counter. "Try me."

"When I get home, I'm lighting a log fire and some nice wintry candles, and I'll be wrapping Christmas presents while Miracle on 34th Street plays."

"Ugh."

"I told you you wouldn't like it."

"I'm sure you'll have a lovely evening and you'll be very happy, but I'm glad I won't be there," he says.