Thinking about what happened between Coffee girl and myself had me breaking out in the occasional cold sweat that week. Something unexplainable was going on, and I had the sneaking suspicion that it was already too late to stop whatever it was. First I had shared my table with her out of necessity. Later inclination, but that was all right because she never talked. She stuck to her business and I to mine, until some ill-begotten bastard out there had to go and buy her book. And before Coffee girl even had the chance to break her perfect record and ask me for something, I went and offered my own magazine. Discussed it with her, no less. None of this was what I wanted when I first began my weekly retreat, and the truly frightening part was that I hadn't minded. Something about Coffee girl was very calming, she was easy to talk to. I did not dread seeing her again come Sunday.

Hence the suspicion that it was too late to stop this.

'development'

Well, at least she had her book back. She smiled self-consciously when I looked up, my gaze moving automatically to the novel in her arms.

"I told you they'd have it by this week," she pointed out, and then, "Annyeonghaseyo."

"Hn."

She dropped into her chair and began shedding various bits of winterwear, not seeing how my gaze lingered on her face. The cold turned her cheeks the color of strawberries, and it was kind of… cute.

Eyes closed in bliss, she took that hallowed first sip of her drink and uttered a little "hmm" of pleasure.

"What is that, anyway?" I muttered, ready to satisfy a six-month curiosity. "It's not coffee, is it?"

She shook her head. "Coffee is a little too strong for me, and it keeps me up. This is chai; it's sort of a spicy and creamy mixture." I raised an eyebrow and she grinned. "Er, it's not easy to explain, but it's really tasty. Would you like a sip?"

"No thanks."

Too strong indeed. I eyed my own pure black coffee and wondered how anyone could even taste something weaker.

"Your loss," she chirped, and picked up her book.

"Sure you don't want The Economist?" I offered, with a smirk.

She eyed me skeptically, just to make sure I wasn't serious, then glanced at the mess of magazines and newspapers under my elbows.

"No thanks," she echoed. "It was nice, but I think I'll stick to fantasy. It's more fun."

I shrugged. "Your loss."

She smiled, and I think I might have too, and then I prepared to dive back into the financial report. I was held back by a quick giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing. I showed that article to my brother, the one on interest rates, and I tried to explain it to him like you did for me. He said I gave him a headache. I guess I'm not as good a teacher as you are."

I've been called the sharpest CEO in the country and various other titles, but no one's ever complimented me as a teacher. Something inside me fluttered strangely.

"Either that or your brother's not the brightest bulb," I mumbled, and she shrugged.

"I think he's very smart. He just spends most of his time pretending otherwise so no one will expect too much of him. He's strange like that."

"Hn."

When the dialogue had run its natural course she slipped back into her book, disinclined to any more conversation. I felt the same way, and I decided that Coffee girl and I must run on the same wavelength.

Or should it be Chai girl? Something about it felt strange, when I tried it out mentally, that just didn't fit. Besides, it was my name for her and I'd pick anything I liked. Here in our world she was Coffee girl, and no one else.

- - - - - - -

Paper snowflakes scattered across store windows and colored lights blinked around their edges. By the second Sunday of December the shopping season was in its final frantic stretch, and my company's production department could barely meet demand. Sales forecasting was a little off this year; I'd have to meet with that committee sometime and go over their formulas. But not now. Now I was relaxing in the only place that would allow me to relax, and Christ did I ever need it. Even Coffee girl noticed.

"Are you all right?" she ventured, somewhere in the middle of her two hours. "You look… tired."

"Am," I mumbled, not looking up from the Journal. "And stressed."

"Oh. It's the holidays, isn't it?" Rather surprised that she'd pinpointed it so quickly, I looked up. My brother could never understand why the season was so difficult for me. She smiled sympathetically. "It's a little tough for me too. The shops are packed, and everything is so expensive."

I considered telling her my reasons for finding the season stressful, just to see the look on her face, then decided against it.

"And then there's Christmas Day itself -" She stopped herself short and my interest sharpened. Let me escape were the words she'd used when I last saw that look, I remembered it clearly.

"What's wrong with 'Christmas Day itself'?"

"Nothing." She fidgeted and dropped her eyes. "Um, sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

"Do I look bothered?" I replied coolly, lacing my hands together in my most executive pose. She cringed slightly under my direct stare, then shrugged.

"My parents are divorced, that's all. Both halves of the family want me to spend it with them."

Better to have two divorced parents than no parents at all, I almost said, but held back. The last thing I wanted was to bring up my story, and besides, the unhappy shadow in her eyes had me questioning the truth of it. My brother and I didn't make too much of Christmas, but at least there wasn't any doubt about who we'd spend it with.

"Never mind that," she sighed, and the shadow was gone. "Christmas is supposed to be a happy time, I don't want to mope. There's ice-skating and parties and eggnog, and I love all that. And of course the music." She nodded her head in the direction of the ceiling speakers, trickling out some choir song. "I just love Christmas carols, they make me feel so warm. I think it's better to enjoy yourself, rather than think about troublesome things. Don't you?"

She smiled at me expectantly, apparently not noticing my nonplussed stare. Ice-skating? I think I did that maybe once, back at the orphanage. Most of the time, if I recall correctly, was spent picking my brother up off the ice. Parties? Yeah, right.

But then, she had a point. No one got anywhere in life sitting around and feeling sorry for himself. I should know.

"Yeah," I finally muttered. "I do."

We retreated to our reading material, and at 5:40 she bid me farewell and left. On my way home sometime after that, I stopped at a convenience store and bought a quart of eggnog.

- - - - - - - -

"Annyeonghaseyo."

"Figure it out yet?"

"Figure what out?"

"Your family. Next week."

Coffee girl sighed and nodded. "Yes, I finally worked it out. I'll have Christmas dinner with my mom and stepdad, and spend Christmas eve with my brother. We're going to see the lights show in the park with all his friends; he's really excited about it."

Good plan. I nodded approvingly and she opened her book.

Wait a minute. She was splitting up her time between her mother and her brother? Where was the father? Why wasn't the brother at the Christmas dinner with her- their mother? The whole picture was skewed, but she was already wearing that drowsy contented smile that she always wore when reading and I couldn't bring myself to pry. This was her escape from the world just as much as it was mine, and I wasn't going to bring up what she didn't want to talk about.

We read.

Her chair scraped back at exactly 5:40, as always, but she didn't say good evening just yet. Her smile was timid.

"Um, next Sunday is the 24th."

I regarded her blankly.

"Christmas eve," she reminded me. "I'm going out with my brother and- I can't come read."

Oh.

And still I said nothing, not sure what to make of that. It had been a long time since I'd sat at this table alone.

"Anyway, that means I should give this to you now." She ducked below the table and came up again bearing a small cardboard carton, printed with candy canes and teddy bears and tied with a red ribbon. I looked at it like my brother would look at a computer chip schematic. "I don't have much money to spend on Christmas presents," she continued, apologetically, "so it's not much. But I hope you like them."

"You're giving me a Christmas present?" I finally managed, sounding like quite the idiot.

"Well, yeah." She smiled bashfully. "I mean, I do see you every week. And please don't look at me like that, it was no trouble at all. I like baking."

Numbly I watched her shrug into her coat and throw on her scarf, fluffing her long hair out from under its weight.

"So I'll see you in two weeks, then. Or no, wait, the next Sunday after that is New Year's Eve, and the bookshop will be closed. So I guess I'll see you… next year. Merry Christmas." She waved and left, and my eyes followed her as far out of the café as they could. Only once she'd disappeared beyond the bookshelves did my gaze drop back to the innocuous package sitting on the table.

She gave me a Christmas present. No one gives me a Christmas present, not ever. I could remember a time, many years ago, when my brother would scribble a badly drawn picture and present it proudly, at least one tooth missing from his childish grin. But he'd long since grown out of such things, and there was hardly any sense in him buying presents for me with my money. We didn't bother to exchange presents at all, actually, our holiday tradition was to just go shopping and I'd buy anything he pointed to. We didn't even get a Christmas tree.

A lavish one graced the lobby of my company, and I'd seen the employees exchange little wrapped gifts, but no one had ever offered me one. It had not occurred to me to mind. And then there was Coffee girl, who didn't even know me. Without demanding anything in return, not expecting anything at all, she'd simply given me a present and left. I didn't even say thank you.

After a full minute of staring at it I finally grasped one end of the ribbon and pulled the bow free, then unfolded the lid. She'd filled the carton with at least a dozen Christmas cookies, obviously hand-made and hand-decorated. Every one was a different shape. I selected one cut out to look like a Christmas tree, painted in green frosting and sprinkled with colored sugar, and bit into it.

It was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted.

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