Chapter Text
A.Z. looked out the window anxiously as his stop approached. He grabbed his coat, book bag, and suitcase and made his way toward the sliding doors, holding the rail to keep himself steady as the train made the approach to the station. He looked up, double checking the lighted sign as “Tadfield,” before stepping out onto the platform as soon as the doors opened.
He had recently lived a number of years in London, and had become an expert on reading the maps and minding the gaps. He was quite proud of himself for catching on to public transportation so quickly from his original small town roots. He knew all the best ways to get around the city and enjoyed riding all forms of public transportation, including double decker buses, the tube, and trains.
He especially loved riding trains.
He looked around the platform in expectation, trying to find the next bus schedule for his next stop, but didn’t see anything listed, and in surprise noticed that there was no one else around.
This was a smaller town, he realized, maybe they didn’t have the need for the same types of transportation they had in London. Tadfield must be similar to the town he lived in growing up. He stepped out into the street, and waved his hand for a taxi.
At that moment, a black, classic looking older vehicle careening through the street at unreasonable speeds screeched to a halt suddenly in front of him. A red-headed man in sunglasses rolled down the window and asked, “Can I give you a lift?”
A.Z. looked him over and asked, “Are you a taxi? I was trying to call a taxi just then but haven’t seen any around…”
The man laughed. “Naw, we don’t have taxis here. I’ve been known to Uber for folks, but the trek across town is so short it’s rarely worth it. But I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Well, I do appreciate it,” A.Z. said, grabbing his bags. “I’m staying at an Airbnb downtown and I’d hate to get lost.”
“Sure. What’s the address?”
A.Z. reached into his pocket and handed him the piece of paper.
“Yeah, I can be there in two minutes,” the man said, reading it over. “Hop in.”
“I really do appreciate this,” A.Z. said, climbing in. “I’m so used to the big city. I usually just step out into the street and wave my hand and like a miracle, a car appears and I go where I need to go.”
The man smirked. “Well, maybe your miracles are working here too, since I stopped for you. Are you in town visiting family?”
“No, I’m here for a mandatory winter holiday from my employer. I’ve been firmly instructed to not return until I find the holiday spirit.” A.Z. said, clutching his bags tightly and trying not to react to the man’s high speed driving on the small dirt roads.
“Well, that’s a strange assignment,” the driver said. “Where do you work?”
“I work at Callmark Cards. I’m a writer there, for the Q4 seasonal holiday card division. I was putting in a lot of overtime, and they said my writing started feeling stilted and uninspired, so they forced this trip on me,” A.Z. said with a sigh. “So I booked an Airbnb in a small town, where I plan to consume a lot of chocolate, drink a lot of sherry, watch a lot of silly Callmark Christmas romance movies with logs on the fire, and call it a day.”
“Sounds cozy,” the driver smiled. “Think that will help you find the holiday spirit?”
“Not in the least,” A.Z. said with a grin back. “I just think that might make this forced winter holiday more bearable. And I brought plenty of books, so I can at least spend the next few weeks hiding away and reading before I return to my writing career in the big city.”
“Fair enough,” the man said, pulling up suddenly to a curb in front of a bookshop. “Here we are.”
A.Z. peeked out of the window at the warm and inviting exterior of the bookshop that had closed for the holiday but was rentable as an Airbnb with the promise to not sell any books to customers. A perfect winter retreat. He smiled to himself, and started to feel a smidge of excitement for his forced vacation. “Ah yes. You’re right, that was very quick. How much for the lift, my dear fellow?”
“Don’t mention it,” the driver said, and held out his hand. “Name’s Crowley, by the way.”
“Thank you ever so much, Crowley,” A.Z. said, shaking his hand. “I’m A.Z. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
A.Z. grabbed his suitcase, and stepped outside the car. He waved to Crowley and moved to the front door to figure out the lock code that the host had given him.
He turned in surprise when Crowley appeared at his side. “You almost forgot all about your books,” he said, handing him his book bag. “Very important thing to bring with you, when you’re staying in a bookshop.”
A.Z. smiled at him, and reached out to take the book bag, their fingers gently brushing as he did. “Oh, thank you for saving them! I certainly would have missed these.”
“Not a problem,” Crowley gave a half grin, and stepped back toward the driver’s seat of his car, before turning back around to face him again. “And yeah, if you’re having trouble finding the spirit of the holiday, I happen to sell Christmas trees on a farm just outside town. That’s my main business. Well, they’re just trees really, but I have it on good authority they bring holiday cheer to any home willing to take them in. Feel free to give a ring if you’d like to check it out.”
Crowley handed him his business card as A.Z. took a moment to read it over:
“Tony Crowley’s All Holiday Sustainable Trees! Year-round holiday trees to decorate and enjoy for years to come. (All trees guaranteed to be well-disciplined).”
“This is… quite an endearing business model, Crowley. And here’s my card,” A.Z. said, fishing his out of his pocket.
Crowley read it out loud. “A.Z. Fell, Card Writer, Callmark Cards. Well, I suppose it’s appropriate you have a business card then."
“Quite! Well, if I’m to find the holiday spirit, I suppose a tree is in order. I’ll certainly keep this in mind,” A.Z. said, holding his card with a wave.
“Please do,” Crowley said, getting back in his car. “Ciao!”
“Ciao!” A.Z. said with a wave as he watched Crowley drive away.
He opened the door to the bookshop, which rang a little bell above the door as he entered, before mumbling to himself, “Speaking of which, I’m suddenly quite peckish.”