Sandra sipped her martini with a thoughtful expression on her face.
The bar was quiet for a Christmas Eve—soft jazz playing through an old speaker, garland twinkling along the mirror behind the counter, and only a handful of regulars chatting in low voices. Snow drifted lazily outside the front windows, catching the warm glow of the streetlights and making the whole world look like it had been wrapped in a glittering hush.
She’d worked at Haddock’s Tavern for five years, long enough to know which stool creaked, which bulbs flickered, and exactly how many minutes late her boss, Lou, would be after his smoke break. But tonight felt different, as if the air had a special kind of electricity to it—the sort that made her chest tighten with a hope she didn’t fully understand.
The door swung open, letting in a gust of icy air and a man shaking snowflakes from his hair. He looked startled to find anyone looking back at him, offering a shy smile as he approached the bar.
“Cold enough for you?” Sandra asked, setting her glass aside and slipping back into her role with practiced ease.
“Starting to think my car’s heater gave up on life,” he said. “Can I get a hot toddy? I need something that’ll convince my fingers to work again.”
She laughed, a warm, melodic sound that seemed to surprise him. “One hot toddy coming right up.”
As she mixed the drink, he watched her with curious eyes—soft brown, the kind that seemed to notice everything without staring too hard. She found herself glancing back, just to make sure he was still there.
“You visiting family?” she asked, sliding the steaming mug toward him.
“Not this year,” he said, wrapping his hands around it gratefully. “First Christmas alone, actually. I thought sitting in an empty apartment would feel pathetic, so… I guess I ended up here instead.”
“Well, Haddock’s may not have a fireplace or a choir, but we’ve got decorations and mediocre music,” Sandra said. “You picked a decent place to spend the night.”
He smiled at that, the kind of smile that reached the eyes. “I’m Mark, by the way.”
“Sandra.”
They talked. About little things at first—weather, favorite holiday drinks, the tragedy of fruitcake. But soon, the conversation deepened: her dreams of owning a bakery one day, his job restoring old buildings, the childhood memories that still made them laugh. Hours slipped by unnoticed, the tavern gradually emptying until only the two of them remained.
At midnight, Lou waved goodnight and left them alone with the twinkle lights and the fading jazz.
Mark glanced around and said softly, “This place feels like a snow globe. Peaceful. Kind of magical.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Maybe it’s just the company.”
He hesitated, then reached across the bar, brushing her hand with his fingertips. “I’m glad I walked in tonight.”
Outside, church bells began to ring—clear, bright, and full of promise. Sandra squeezed his hand, her heart fluttering like the snowfall beyond the window.
“Me too,” she whispered.
And in the cozy glow of a nearly empty tavern, with Christmas settling gently over the world, Sandra realized that love sometimes arrived quietly—like a shy stranger seeking warmth on a cold, lonely night—and that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something wonderful.
Therapy Bits 
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