I didn't get this written in time for the Holiday contest, but thought I'd post it anyway. I will probably visit these two for the contest next year. They may have a future.
As for the characters: I do work in a warehouse and I did meet this pretty young lady during the Christmas rush, though I did not train her. Past that, all is fiction.
*
My wife celebrated our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary by announcing that she wanted a trial separation. She moved in with her sister, two states away. Her sister is a Lesbian, which was just fine with me. Everyone is entitled to their own way to get off. She converted her sis to girl-on-girl. Five months after the separation, we agreed to a no-fault divorce. I got the house and pickup, she got the car, we split all monetary assets down the middle and shook hands. And agreed we were thankful our two kids were grown and long out of the house.
What I found confusing was that my wife, Eileen, would never allow me to kiss her on the lips after cunnilingus unless I washed her off my face and mouth. And now, apparently, getting a mouth full of another woman is okay. I have to wonder if she's tasted herself now on the lips and tongue of a playmate.
I'm one of three trainers in a distribution center. We train new hires and current employees changing departments. Nine months out of the year we trainers just work like everybody else. But from the end of September to the end of the year we train lots of new hires, most of them seasonal, for the big Christmas rush.
And after training there are always little questions, computer problems, and unusual circumstances that we need to address.
The absolute best part of this is that every year we get two or three really pretty young women among the one-to-two dozen seasonals. That doesn't mean much to Cathy, but Louis and I appreciate it.
Of course, every silver lining has a cloud. Company rules are very clear and very strict. Even a hint of sexual harassment can result in a suspension or even termination. No rule against regular employees dating, or asking for a date—once—but Louis and I, being in positions of (very limited) authority, need to be extra careful.
This year we had three outstandingly pretty young women hired for my department. Each one near the same age as my daughter. I stayed completely professional and unbiased during the training. But after...
Olivia was one of the three, and the only blue-eyed blonde. Those eyes scared me. Blue eyes like that can tempt a man into making promises he can't keep without serious self-sacrifice. She's a short little nymph, eight inches shorter than my six feet. Doesn't have a great body; small breasts and a little extra tummy weight. But I prefer small breasts, and since I carry some extra weight behind my belt buckle, I couldn't be critical of hers. However, from the waist down incredible doesn't do her justice. If there was a magazine that focused on legs and ass, she'd be a centerfold. She didn't wear shorts, of course, in the fall and winter, but her jeans and stretch pants left little to the imagination.
Whatever your own personal ideas are of pretty and cute, she was right smack in the middle. Those wide-set blue eyes were over a soft-bridged slightly up-turned nose decorated with a spray of freckles above perfect lips.
She seemed to like me.
She always had a happy smile for me and you can bet I returned it. Every interaction with her made my day better. And we usually had a friendly teasing word or two for the other.
I will not admit that we flirted. Nor will I deny it.
The other two pretty youngsters treated me as you'd expect them to treat a man about the same age as their fathers that helped them with their work when necessary.
With Olivia, there seemed something more. But there was no way I was going to chance so much as an unnecessary touch or a suggestive phrase. I need my job.
A week before Christmas the work had declined; the seasonals could be laid off any time.
I'm usually one of the last to leave work every day. On Thursday when I left I found her waiting for me. My day immediately got better. And then better still.
She put a hand on my upper arm and looked up at me with those eyes and smiled.
"Greg," she said, "I know you won't dare to ask me out. So I'll ask you. Would you be interested in going out to dinner with me tomorrow night?"
I looked at her and grinned. "Is this a trick question?"
She looked puzzled. "Why?"
"Olivia, almost every man in the world would like to have dinner with you. But why me? I've seen at least four of those young bucks practically lying at your feet to get your approval."
She shrugged. "Not interested in them. Interested in you. We can talk about the why at dinner. I'll buy."
"Not for me you won't. I would love to have dinner with you. What time tomorrow and where shall I pick you up?"
"Could we just leave from work? Have a drink or two, an early dinner, and then see what might happen?"
"What, like a movie or something?"
"Or something."
"Young lady, there is no chance that I will let any kind of scheduling questions get in the way of having your company at dinner. Should I bring a change of clothes, or are we going casual?"
"Definitely casual. I do have some tentative plans for after, if they'll be agreeable. We can talk about those at dinner too. Or maybe while we're having those drinks."
Her hand had never left my arm, though she had moved it down from my upper arm to my forearm. I reached with my other hand and took hers and kissed the knuckles while looking into those blue eyes. I think, maybe, I was in love at that exact moment.
"You have a date. I hope I can keep from dancing in the aisles during work tomorrow."
She laughed shortly, withdrew her hand, reluctantly, I thought, and gifted me with a cheery wink as she walked to her car.
I did not sleep peacefully that night. But I smiled a lot.
On Friday we got lucky though it didn't seem like it at the time. Not to me, anyway.
Management decided we could put in an extra two hours—turning a nine-hour day into an eleven-hour one, and not have to work Saturday. So we worked till 5:30. I was tired, but the thought of dinner with Olivia helped dispel the feeling.
She did not seem tired. We'd had little interaction that day. But like the day before she was waiting for me just inside the door (it was about twenty degrees outside) and as soon as we exited she put both hands around my upper arm and smiled like a kid at Christmas. She practically bubbled with enthusiasm.
I grinned like a teenager.
She followed me in her car to our local steakhouse. There's always a waiting line on Friday nights and they don't take reservations. So my date and I sat in the bar section and had a couple of drinks until our table was available. She had to show her i.d. Turns out she was twenty-two, which was a year older than I'd guessed. I suppose most observers figured I was out with my daughter.
We talked. Mostly she talked and I listened.
Her mother died from a car accident eighteen months before. She'd lingered, conscious, in the emergency room, just long enough to talk to her family before she died of her injuries.
Olivia was grief-stricken, just as you'd expect any teenage girl to be at the sudden loss of a parent.
Then, a year later, she was orphaned. Her father had felt unwell for weeks. Pain in the stomach and side seemed constant, but he felt it was just a bad case of the flu and he didn't want to make a big deal of it by seeing a doctor.
One day, though, it was so bad he called in sick and asked Olivia to drive him to the emergency room. He never left the hospital. Pancreatitis won't kill you if you see a doctor in the first week or so of symptoms. But if it goes untreated long enough, you die.
The hostess called my name and showed us to the seating I had requested. Olivia said she wanted as much privacy as possible so we got the booth on the end nearest the back wall.
We gave our attention to the menus until the waitress brought us our next round of drinks and took our orders.
Then she continued.
"Greg, I was always Daddy's girl. His princess. Mom was never bothered by that because she was his queen. When she died, he was devastated beyond anything I could even imagine. He didn't go into any obvious depression, and he certainly never ignored me. He made sure I knew I was still his princess. After the funeral he went back to work and to anyone else it seemed like he'd moved on.
"But every night I'd hear him in his bedroom, sobbing, speaking her name, talking to her before he finally cried himself to sleep."
She stopped and looked at me. I didn't see any tears in her eyes but she looked incredibly sad. Which made me sad.
She stopped then, like she needed a break before she told me more. She asked about me and why I was single and I told her.
We had a curious similar circumstance. Both of us lived alone in a house that had room for a family. The difference was that I still made house payments while she owned her house free and clear due to her father's mortgage insurance policy. She still had to pay taxes and insurance, plus the regular living expenses, so she couldn't really scrape by for long without working, even with the money from both parents' life insurance. She hadn't found any regular work she liked, so she worked various seasonal jobs.
She'd decided she didn't mind the warehouse work. She'd talked to HR earlier in the week and asked to be kept on full time. Her production was good and her attendance perfect, so there was a good chance she'd stay.
The waitress brought our dinner and we devoted most of our attention to eating it until we were both near to finished.
Then she looked at me with those gorgeous blue eyes.
"Greg, would you make love to me tonight?"
"Is that another trick question? I don't personally know any man that would say no to that. But it brings up the same question I asked before. I hate to question my wonderful luck, but why me?"
"Greg, I'm afraid I'm going to shock you."
"Highly unlikely. You might surprise me, but unless you tell me you're a werewolf and can prove it, you won't shock me."
"But you have no idea what I've done."
"I think I may have an idea. But go ahead and tell me."
She looked around, then leaned forward and dropped her voice to barely above a whisper.
