A Billionaire Irish Christmas

"Hunter, the guy who wants five extra pumps of vanilla is back again."

"I think he's secretly a warlock who is powered by vanilla extract."

"Ooh. I wonder how you get started in that. Vanilla extract's cheap."

"Not if you buy as much of it as this guy."

They had cute nicknames for their regulars, and they were always looking for new ones. Nicknames, that is; they had plenty of regulars who had long since fallen under the spell of pumpkin spice lattes, warlocks or not.

It had been a slow day at the shop, apart from the warlock. These were the days when Hunter liked to wax philosophical.

"What are your life goals?" he asked. "Mine is to move to a beach where I can stay barefoot all the time. And surf every day."

"You don't even know how to surf."

"Well, that's because I don't live at the beach. One thing at a time."

"I want to be dressed in Coco Chanel and sitting at an outdoor cafe in Europe with a pet poodle. The waiter brings the poodle some water in a dish. I'm writing, and drinking coffee, and having one of those weird cake things with tons of cream."

"Sounds like Paris. Or France, at least. I thought you were all about Ireland."

Ellie sighed. 

"Yeah," she said. "But I'll need a pile of cash to ever get there."

"You'd need a pile of cash for France, too."

"I saw they sell houses for like twenty grand over there."

"In the middle of nowhere, probably."

"And probably the only house I'll ever own, my fantasy house in France."

"Are you going to invite me over for raclette?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You're always invited over for raclette."

"Be still my beating heart. Let me pencil it in. I'm a busy man, you know."

Ellie laughed.

"What with all the beach living."

He gave her a serious nod, and they both laughed.

Hunter was great, fun to work with, a real friend. She had no idea where he went after work, and his life was a mysterious one.

Her latent curiosity about him suddenly flared bright.

"You know," she said, "I never see your friends or family around here. My sister's always sniffing around for a free frappuccino, my mom stops by with cookies which is sweet but...you know, we have cookies here."

"Cookies made by moms are special. It's not like corporate hands us over these brilliant happy face frosting guys."

He held up one of the cookies her mom had dropped off that morning and took a big bite out of it.

"And besides, they're awesome cookies."

But Ellie was on it like a shark now, because he was being evasive.

"Come on, don't change the subject," she pressed. 

"I'm not! You were talking about cookies."

"I was talking about you. Where are all your associates? Are you secretly in the mob? Witness protection?"

Hunter gave her a serious look.

"Something like that."

Ellie's eyes widened and she gasped.

"Really?"

Then Hunter laughed, and she shook her head and gave him a playful little shove.

"You are such a weirdo," she said, and then it was lunch rush, and she forgot all about their conversation.

That evening, she said her goodbyes to Hunter again, as he sped off to whatever mysterious destination he went on his bike of an evening, and she walked over to the bookstore.

"Hi Celine," she greeted the woman behind the counter, a chubby lesbian lady with black hair cut in a rectangular, severe style that abruptly ended at her chin. She was wearing a black sweater covered in cat hair, with her nose deep in a book. She peered over her horn-rimmed glasses, a sour librarian face, but then smiled when she recognized the newcomer and waved merrily at Ellie.

"Hi Ellie," she said. "New books about Ireland just arrived! I saved you a couple I thought you'd like, over there in the corner."

"Wow, thank you!" Ellie enthused.

"Anything for us old relics," said Celine.

"Ah, we're not relics, we're classics," said Ellie. "Nothing wrong with real books."

"How's Sal?"

"Doing good!" Ellie said, as she went over to the pile of new arrivals. "He's a real sweetheart. I don't see Ray Catbury anywhere?"

"Oh, he's around. Jumps on you when you least expect it. Princess Peach is over there, on top of the sex books."

"Interesting choice. Hiya, Peachie!"

Peach didn't seem very interested, and then Celine took a phone call from someone who turned out to be her wife, and so Ellie took the pile of new books over to a stuffed armchair and settled in for the evening.

Ellie knew that Celine's shop was one that probably wasn't long for the world. Not everyone used or needed physical books anymore, and given her own lack of space in her apartment, she could see why the public would not have much interest anymore, given that the alternative was to have an entire library in their pocket. 

Still, there was something comforting and familiar about a bookstore, and about the physical existence of books.

Celine dropped off a mug of coffee, just the way Ellie liked it, and cruised on back to the other shelves to stock the rest of the new arrivals.

Ellie sat paging through the new coffeetable books about Ireland. The green color of the fields outlined by their little stone fences seemed so unbelievable as to be photoshopped, but she'd heard from enough people on the forums and elsewhere that Ireland's emerald-green had to be seen to be believed. So she assumed this was a factual representation of the color, perfect for a coffeetable book dedicated to photographs of the Emerald Isle.

There was also Dublin, and the historic buildings along the Liffey. She was charmed by pictures of Cork and Westport and Dingle, all names she had long since memorized. Ellie wasn't sure what had first attracted her to Ireland, as she wasn't particularly enamored of the sort of fantasy-magic-land thing it seemed others had going for them in their somewhat misguided interest in the Celtic nations. She wasn't even Irish of extraction herself. Still, there was something about Ireland that had long captured her imagination. And who knew? Maybe there was something to be said for that magic. She'd never been there, and probably never would be, given the amount of money it would cost and the meager amount she earned at the coffeeshop.

Maybe someday, when she had a better job, if someday ever happened. For now, she was grateful to have work, and her little apartment, and a cozy armchair in a bookstore run by a lady who knew her interests. Small things in life could matter just as much as the big ones, and for Ellie, all of those small things were enough to be thankful for.

She let her mind wander to Hunter, then, and his mysterious answer to her straightforward question. There was no way he was really in witness protection. He had a certain quality about him, a sense of humor and silliness that matched her own, and they'd always worked well together. She'd only recently realized that he never talked about his own life, and that had finally piqued her interest. She wondered what was so secret that he couldn't tell her.

Or he was just pulling her leg, in true Hunter fashion, and he'd bring in a gaggle of handsome brothers the following day to prove he was just as normal as the next guy. But there was something Ellie couldn't really put her finger on, about the way he'd reacted when she'd pushed a little, that was very unlike the Hunter she'd come to know over the last year. He was usually so fun and open, but it had been like something shuttered behind his eyes when she'd started asking questions.

Ellie thought perhaps she should leave it alone. There was not always a good story behind the lives of some people, and it was possible that Hunter was one of those. Unfortunately, she was also something of a bloodhound, and once having caught the scent, it was not something she'd let go until she learned the answer.

She stared down at a two-page spread of Mount Juliet in the twilight, its windows lit golden and the ivy overgrown across the building, a classic car in the foreground and a horse and carriage off to the side. She momentarily pictured herself there with Hunter, and then shook her head. Dreams were one thing, but there were limits, despite his new status as man of mystery.

Ellie bought the book, despite knowing there wasn't much room left on her shelf, but wanting to show her appreciation for Celine remembering her interests and saving it for her, among other things. Celine had once asked her why she didn't just save the money she spent on books for a trip to Ireland. Ellie didn't really want to tell her that she was so poor such a thing was completely out of the question, or would take at least ten years to accomplish at her rate of pay.

So, for now, it was books at Celine's store, and silly philosophical coffeeshop conversations, and Ireland was likely to stay nothing more than a dream, unless something changed.

Ellie still believed it would be possible someday, but also knew that someday was most likely a very long way off.