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By Jessica Payseur
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Wreck the Halls
By Jessica Payseur
Business has been good at Paul’s Café in Madison, Wisconsin—until a few months before Christmas. When Nick opens Nick’s Restaurant next door, Paul watches his customers leave for cheaper food and an owner who smiles more. With his livelihood at stake, Paul lashes out, trying to drive away Nick’s customers, but Nick won’t go easy, and escalating sabotage threatens to ruin the holidays for both of them.
Paul thinks all he wants for Christmas is to see Nick’s Restaurant go under, but the more he tries to drive Nick away, the less he’s sure he wants him to go. Nick is everything Paul secretly craves, but by the time he realizes Nick is all he really wants for the holidays, he might have ruined any chance for them to get together. And there might not be a present in the world that can fix that.
“HE’S BACK in the kitchen,” said the breathless waitress as she hauled away the mess of plates and napkins at the abandoned table.
Paul thanked her and turned, tugging on the bottom of his sweater. He hadn’t bothered to throw on a coat since Nick’s Restaurant was just next door to his place. He’d had a moment, so he figured he ought to introduce himself to his rival.
It had only been a few months, but Nick’s business was really eating into the profits of Paul’s Café, and Paul was not happy about it. He had been putting off a potential confrontation for weeks now, but as the calendar turned over into December and Christmas was fast approaching, the time had come to take some form of action. The first step was to get a feel for Nick.
The damned kitchen was loud and busy, like the rest of the place, so unlike Paul’s Café next door. Paul narrowed his eyes and scanned the area for anyone who looked to be in charge while workers wove around him.
A man dressed in a button-up shirt peeled away from the other staff and pasted a warm smile on his face as he caught sight of Paul. He was probably about Paul’s age, midthirties, although Paul never had been good at guessing that sort of thing. His hair was brown and long enough to get in his eyes, which were also brown. His white skin was pale, he was clean-shaven, and Paul guessed he was who he’d come to see even as the man motioned to him.
“Hey, I’m Nick. If you’d just return to your table, I’ll make sure you get your order ASAP.”
“I’m not here for food,” Paul said, not caring how much of an asshole he sounded like. How Nick had so much hair still left on his head annoyed him. Paul had started balding before he hit thirty. He grew a short, neatly trimmed beard to try to make up for it, but it figured his rival would have a full head of hair.
“What can I do for you, then?” Nick asked, smile unwavering.
“I’m your neighbor. Paul, Paul’s Café.”
“Right,” Nick said, the enthusiasm in his voice making Paul want to punch him. He resisted the urge and instead accepted the hand Nick offered. They shook. “I kept meaning to introduce myself, but things got busy here fast.”
“I noticed,” Paul said, releasing Nick’s hand the moment he was able. Nick had a good, solid shake, and Paul hated that he liked that. “Business is good?”
“Business is great! State Street’s the best location in Madison, as far as I’m concerned. Customers have been keeping me on my toes since the grand opening. They especially seem to like the pile of curds, smothered in gravy and bacon. How do you keep up with the crowds?”
“I manage,” Paul said, unclenching his jaw to let the words out. One of his popular items had been fried Wisconsin cheese curds topped with gravy. But apparently Nick’s had a better version available. Maybe Paul should make the bacon a standard topping and not an add-on.
“Good, good. Look, I’m kind of busy here right now, but thanks for stopping by.”
“No problem,” Paul said. The sooner he could get away from Nick’s positive, youthful face, the better. All he’d learned from this venture was that Nick probably appealed to customers more, and his food certainly did. Paul wondered whether the entire menu was similar to Paul’s Café, or just the popular items. He’d have to check on the way out.
Nick ducked back into the kitchen to return to whatever the hell he’d been doing before Paul had imposed on his busy schedule. Paul passed the stressed waitress on the way out and nodded at her. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been hired by an overenthusiastic asshole. Still, Paul glanced over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t paying attention before moving to the door. Like most places to eat on State, Nick had taped a menu in the window next to the door.
Paul ripped it off the pane. It was three pages long and he peeled off every one.
Yes, there it was, he noticed at a glance. Nick’s pile of curds, bacon included, and twelve cents cheaper than Paul’s version. Paul scowled. That was it. Nick could go fuck himself.
Paul took the menu with him and turned the sign on the door to read Closed before stepping out into the cold. He hoped it lost Nick at least one table.
IT WAS two days since he’d met Paul, and Nick was still bothered by the way he’d acted on the way out. At least, he assumed it had been Paul who had stolen his window menu and turned the sign on the door. Nick tapped his fingers on the counter as he waited for his staff to get in. He didn’t think he’d said anything that would provoke such a reaction, and he’d perceived Paul as being polite. He had come all the way over in the cold to introduce himself.
“Stressed at ten in the morning?” Sammie asked as she got in. She was Nick’s dishwasher and was fast as hell at it. “Most people wait until the customers start throwing fits before getting pissed.”
“Why are you in so early?” Nick asked, not wanting to talk about his neighbor. He didn’t want to admit out loud that part of why he felt so betrayed was that he’d liked Paul on first impression. He was put together, a well-groomed white man about Nick’s age, broad-shouldered, no-nonsense mannered. That someone Nick liked should betray him by trying to make him lose business…. And there was no way it could have been an accident. Paul had his own restaurant. He understood what turning the sign meant.
Sammie leaned on the counter. “Got a ride with my roommate, but her shift starts earlier than mine.”
Nick nodded. “If you want to clock in early, the bathrooms could be cleaned,” he said. He was going to do it himself, but if Sammie took care of it instead, maybe he could go over to Paul’s and smooth things over. He didn’t like to think the man hated him, after all.
“Yeah, all right,” Sammie said, not moving. Nick found her to be mostly agreeable, and she was definitely a hard worker, so he didn’t mind paying her. She did well back in the kitchen, too, bantering with the cooks, but she pulled out the deeper conversation for him. It looked like she was about to do that.
“Well?” he asked. “Time clock’s in the basement. You probably want out of your coat.”
Sammie rolled her eyes and took off her coat, which was blue like her hair and eyes. Her skin was white, her face round, and she was making one of those expressions Nick had come to notice meant she wasn’t leaving until he’d told her what she wanted.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “You’re not still pissed that asshole from next door stole your menu, are you?”
“It’s posted online,” Nick said, trying to deflect.
“Yeah, and he probably wanted to mess with you. I’ve been in Madison a while—Paul’s used to do better business. But it’s not your fault you have better food.” Sammie paused. “Actually, it is. But come on, these things happen.”
“I’d rather we get along.”
Sammie exami
ned him a moment, maybe wondering whether he had a crush on Paul. The thought almost made Nick laugh. Sure, he’d broken up with his boyfriend a week after opening, but that didn’t mean he was ready to move on yet. Even if they had only been going out a few months. Nick was happy with how he’d been filling his time. And his feelings of betrayal had nothing to do with desire—he just didn’t like to think he’d pissed off his neighbor.
After a moment, Sammie seemed to decide he didn’t have romantic interest either. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I mean, how good of a person is he, anyway, if he turned your sign first time meeting you? You’re a decent guy, Nick. If the asshole can’t make the effort, he deserves to go out of business.”
“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”
Nick was not enjoying this conversation. He definitely needed to go over and have a talk with Paul. There should be enough business along State Street for the both of them—it was a hub of shoppers and tourists, the Wisconsin capitol down the far end as much of a draw for some people as the clothing stores were for others. And when people spent a day out, they needed to eat.
“Okay,” Sammie said, leaning in more. “I didn’t really want to mention this, but I was out back tossing trash while Kelly—she’s one of Paul’s waitresses—was on a smoke break. We chatted a bit, she said he wants to drive you out of business. Scours your menu after closing.”
“Paul’s doing this?” Nick asked, thinking he definitely needed to go over there.
“He wants your place to fail,” Sammie said. “I don’t really like that—hell, you gave me a job—and obviously you don’t either. So just let him stew. I know you’re a people person, but you’re not going to get him to change his mind.”
The back door banged loudly, and one of Nick’s cooks stomped in.
“Bathrooms,” Nick said, and Sammie straightened.
“On it,” she said.
Nick watched her follow the cook downstairs to punch in before moving to the door and stepping into the chill winter air. He wasn’t going to let Sammie talk him out of going over to Paul’s, and it’d only take a minute. He shuddered in the cold, then breathed out as he entered into the warmth of Paul’s Café, the tinkle of the bell over the door announcing his presence.
“Be right with you,” the waiter said as he moved to put an order in. There were already two tables at Paul’s—unsurprising, since he opened earlier than Nick did. Well, Nick wasn’t here for food anyway. He moved to the back of the café, looking for Paul and not finding him.
“Where’s Paul?” Nick asked as the waiter came back and grabbed a menu.
“Not here. Just the one?”
“I’m here to see Paul, not eat,” Nick said, smiling.
The waiter eyed him and let the menu fall back onto the stack of printed cardstock. “Like I said, not here. Not sure when he’ll be back either. Apparently the guy next door’s a bastard and Paul’s trying to figure out how to get rid of him. Are you here for an interview?”
Nick’s smile faltered. Paul was trying to drive him out? For opening next door, maybe taking a few of his customers? Nick wasn’t sure whether knowing that hurt more, or knowing he’d misjudged Paul so badly that he’d actually liked him the brief couple of minutes they’d spoken.
He focused on keeping his hands from clenching, but Nick was pissed. He’d come over here to patch things up. He’d thought Paul’s actions were part of some misunderstanding, but no, it sounded like he genuinely wanted to drive Nick out.
Well, two could play at that sort of thing.
“No,” Nick said, forcing the smile back. “I’m actually a new hire. Paul told me to come in today. I guess that means you can go home?” He paused when he saw the waiter glance at the tables. “I’ve already had a couple of training days here, so I can handle a few tables until Paul gets back.”
After a moment, the waiter nodded. “All right,” he said. “My girlfriend has the day off today, so I guess that works.”
Nick played up his best newish-guy-on-the-job act as the waiter collected his things and left. He nervously straightened the menus and refilled waters at the tables, careful not to let anyone in the kitchen see him. He waited three whole minutes after the waiter left before heading back to his restaurant.
Maybe Paul would get the hint and back off after he lost a few customers.
PAUL CRINGED at the sound of Nick’s smoke detector going off next door and turned the music up.
“He owns a restaurant and burns all his food—how talented,” he said as he checked his pasta to determine whether it was al dente yet. “And he makes you talk to yourself.”
He glared at the wall he and Nick shared. The last person to own the place next door had rented it out to a quiet woman who Paul got along with well—mainly because he only had to nod at her in passing. But apparently Nick thought living above his business was as good of an idea as Paul had, so not only were they at odds with each other at work, they were stuck with each other after hours.
Maybe he’d be gone for Christmas. Paul liked the sound of that. His own family had more or less moved away, so it was usually just him unless they cared to fly out to visit. He was fine with that—he’d set up a little tree to put gifts from them under and called it good. Christmas didn’t mean much to him anyway, apart from annoying snow and annoying music and an annoying number of people in the stores.
Christmas shoppers down State Street were usually good for business, but this year he was competing. He glared in the direction of Nick’s place again. There was no way this energetic asshole was going to drive him out of business. Paul had been here for seven years. He wasn’t going down without a fight.
He strained the pasta, topped it with vegetables and tomato sauce, and considered turning down his music only momentarily. Let Nick suffer. He sat at the table and ate, looking over applications as he did. Four people had applied to be the new cook, but he wanted them to help him develop a new menu too. Or at least revitalize the one he had now.
“I just want whoever’s reliable,” he said as he shuffled through the papers. He’d been operating with one cook for a while now, so it was a key position to fill, but Paul also wished he had a smarter waitstaff. It hadn’t been a week yet, but he was still pissed about Nick getting his waiter to walk off the job. When Paul had returned from posting an ad for the new position, it was to find the cook handling the customers’ checks poorly and looking sour about it.
Fuck Nick. As far as Paul was concerned, that asshole deserved whatever he got once Paul updated his menu and figured out a few holiday specials. Maybe this would be the Christmas from hell for Paul, but it was possible he could start the New Year with the business next door for sale and the potential for another quiet neighbor in the future.
It was almost a shame. Nick was nearly charming. But Paul couldn’t play nice with a rival.
He finished his meal and switched off the music, thankful Nick had managed to turn off the smoke alarm at some point. Paul picked up his phone.
“Hey, this is Paul from Paul’s Café, I’m calling to set up an interview….”
It took about twenty minutes to contact everyone. One person had already taken a job, but he set cooking interviews up with the others and hoped one of them would be talented—and committed—enough for the job.
When he’d finished, he could hear faint Christmas music coming from Nick’s apartment. Paul gritted his teeth and ran through the list of possible reactions—pound on the wall, shout, turn his own music back on. He checked the time. It was late, but not so late he couldn’t pop out for a drink, so he decided to do that. By the time he had his dishes loaded in the dishwasher, coat on, and keys in hand, the music had stopped.
Paul glanced at the shared wall. Screw that, he was still getting a beer. He descended the stairs and opened the door, only to find Nick in the lot behind the buildings. Paul would have turned back immediately except Nick looked over at the sound of the door and saw him.
He was weari
ng one of those long coats that didn’t really protect against a Wisconsin winter, but it wasn’t yet the sort of bitter cold that tended to come in January or February. The asshole was fashionable. Paul was still working out an appropriate reaction—and berating himself for momentarily wanting to actually talk to Nick—when Nick took a step forward.
“Going out?” he asked. Nick’s voice wasn’t as cheerful as it was back in his restaurant, and Paul almost felt bad for hating him. But this was the man trying to run him out, so Paul recovered fast.
“I need a drink,” Paul said.
Nick scuffed at the slush on the pavement. “Yeah, what a day,” he said.
Paul wanted to snap at him. If he was overworked, it was only because he was taking Paul’s customers. Paul didn’t care how tired Nick looked, or that he was probably being more real with him at the moment. He was less obnoxious, but he was still Nick. Even if he tried to be friendly now, come tomorrow he would be Paul’s rival again. There was no reason to even try to talk to him.
“You mind if I join you? We don’t have to drink alone, then.”
Paul stared at Nick, who hadn’t bothered to look up as he suggested it. This from the person who’d sent his waiter home? What was Nick playing at? They were too far down the path of hating each other to have a drink. Paul opened his mouth to tell Nick he didn’t drink with enemies, thinking it was too late to care about being anything other than blunt, when his phone rang. He pulled it out. His brother, Mike. Paul had been avoiding talking to him for a couple months, but right now he knew who he’d rather speak to.
“I have to get this,” he said to Nick, holding up the phone. Well, Nick wouldn’t have to hear to his face how much Paul hated him. Today. “It’s my brother.”
“I can wait—”
“Don’t bother,” Paul said, turning back to his door. “He’s a talker.”
Paul answered as he trudged back up the steps to his place. He had a few beers in the fridge, and if Nick was going out, at least it would be quiet. He winced as Mike asked how he was, children screaming in the background.
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