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NIcholas wiped his sweaty brow with his shirt sleeve once again and tried in vain to push his hair back out of his eyes. He really needed to trim it again, but he’d just been so busy.
The oven in his cottage was going full blast and it was almost stiflingly hot in the small dwelling, but the cold winter night was frigid, so he didn’t want to open a window. Besides, Webster the Six-Toed Wonder cat might decide catching mice out in the forest was more important than staying safe and warm inside, and jump out of the open window again.
As he waited for the latest batch of baking to finish, he ran through his mental list of orders. He didn’t want to forget anyone’s bread or sweets. Making them wasn’t important, in the grand scheme of things, but it added to the enjoyment of the families gathering at their tables.
He had rows of crusty bread loafs and biscuits cooling and a batch of hand pies ready to bake. He consulted the hourglass on the kitchen table and guessed he had about fifteen minutes before he needed to switch bakes.
He made a simple supper of bread, dried meat and cheese, still too much to do for anything more complex. It was nice to sit down, even for a few minutes. He cleaned up, checked the ovens and started the next round of baking. It was late when he tamped down the oven and fell into bed, exhausted.
The damn rooster woke him earlier than he wanted or needed to be woken. The menace was defective and crowed at least two hours earlier than every other rooster around. He threatened to turn the bloody bird into stew at least once a week, but he was too soft to follow through. He dressed in his warmest layers and thick gloves to tend to his outdoor chores. The oven was stoked enough for the cottage to be comfortable when he returned.
After preparing more bread dough, he left it to rise and began sorting biscuits and hand pies for his neighbors’ orders. He loved contributing to their holiday cheer, but couldn’t help feeling lonely as he had no one to celebrate with himself. He missed his mother, at Christmas most of all.
He’d saved his least favorite job for last, which wasn’t wise, as it was the most time consuming. In between other tasks, he mixed and rolled out the spicy dough. He cut out dozens of vaguely men-shaped biscuits, ready to bake.
He’d finished almost everything before he got to icing the gingerbread men. It was tedious, but he was skilled and worked quickly. Soon he had a veritable army of edible men.
After fulfilling and packaging up all the orders, he had one extra gingerbread man left. He’d made a few extra to account for breakage. He wasn’t overly fond of eating gingerbread, so he decided to get creative.
All of the other cookie men were simple, with button eyes and the outline of a shirt. NIcholas was struck with whimsy and decorated his own differently. He swirled the icing around his head to make curly hair, his favorite. After making eyes, he added small cheek dots for dimples. He tried to add striped pants, but they ended up looking more like they had rips in them.
He considered adding more details, but his customers started arriving to pick up their holiday goods. The next two hours brought a steady stream of visitors. Two or three offered to deliver orders to homebound folks, so Nicholas didn’t need to go out in the cold.
It was nice to chat with his fellow townsfolk and he appreciated the greetings and warm winter wishes. Finally, the last loaf of bread and biscuit was picked up and once again Nicholas was alone.
Without any company or work to do, the cottage was blanketed in silence. Nicholas checked on the stew he had simmering and looked at his gingerbread man.
“Looks like it’s just you and me this Christmas Eve,” he told the biscuit, sighing heavily.
Just as he looked out the window and up to the darkening sky, a shooting star streaked across the darkness. It wasn’t a conscious thought but, his heart made a wish.
I wish I had a companion to share my life with.
After supper and a cake he’d made for himself, he went to bed early. It had been a busy and tiring few days.
When the damn rooster woke him on Christmas morning, Nicholas felt warmer under his blankets than usual and something was tickling under his nose. He opened his eyes and saw dark, sable curls by his chin, attached to a body that was resting on his chest.
His startled gasp roused the stranger in his bed and Nicholas practically fell out of the bed in shock.
“Who are you?” he asked quickly. “How did you get in my house?”
“Did you not wish for a companion last night?” the man asked back. His bright blue eyes were practically ethereal and he was beyond beautiful.
“What?” NIcholas asked, very confused.
“You wished on a star last night for a companion,” the man reminded him.
“How do you know that?” NIcholas asked.
“I heard you and have come to fulfil your wish,” the beautiful man replied serenely.
“Were you listening by my window?” NIcholas said incredulously.
“No, I heard you in the sky,” he answered. “If their hearts are true, those who wish on the winter Christmas star are granted their wish. I have come to be your companion, so that you will no longer be lonely.”
Nicholas looked over at the gingerbread man he’d decorated, then at the stranger in his bed, who had curly hair and sweet dimples.
“You are my literal dream come true,” NIcholas stated, not asked, feeling the truth in his heart.
“I am,” the man said with a lovely smile, showing his dimples. “You can call me Charlie.”