Elena Gilbert absolutely could not stand the holidays. Okay. Well, maybe that hadn't always been the case. In fact, growing up, she'd been exactly the kind of girl to make snow angels and twirl around like a princess under the glow of twinkling lights. Unfortunately, growing up had made her much more of a Grinch than anything else. But despite this deep-seated hatred for the holiday season, the thirty-year-old reporter still plastered a smile onto her face as she stepped out of the blustering snowstorm and into the warmth of the Channel Six lobby.
"Elena," the receptionist was quick to accost her. "Mrs. Chamberlain is asking for you in her office. Immediately."
The journalist unwound her scarf and tossed her thick coat, God, she hated New York in the winter, onto a rack near the door and crossed the room to press a button on the elevator without acknowledging the woman's comment. So? Sue her if the chill in the air made her bitter. Her socks were wet from the snow. How could she be expected to operate like a normal human being? All she wanted was to get this conversation over with so she could go about her work and go home where she'd cozy up to a space heater with a cup of gas station hot chocolate in her snug studio apartment.
As the elevator climbed upward, one annoying Christmas song or another played over the loudspeaker and Elena had to resist the childish urge to put her fingers in her ears. Just as the last lines of Jingle Bells threatened to drive her absolutely insane, the elevator doors opened up to the eighth floor.
The eighth floor was packed full of cubicles and bustling writers all with their own stories to tell. Though, more than likely, they'd been assigned stories they didn't care about at all. But bills needed to be paid, and just like Elena, they'd take what they could get. The journalist, though sometimes it felt fraudulent to even call herself such, tossed her backpack into her desk chair, and turned to walk down the hall toward her boss' office with a notebook in hand. Her knockoff shoes clicked on the shiny floor all the way. Other writers dared to steal glances over their cubicle walls, knowing just as well as she did that an early morning summons into the devil's layer never meant good news.
In fact, it almost always meant pack your bags and get out, or here's a story no one else wants to handle. Thankfully, in Elena's case, it did not mean the former. Elena knocked on the glass door to her boss' office, waited for a mumbled "Come in," and then pulled the door open.
She pressed a smile to her face, trying to at least fake a sense of joy. "How are you this morning, Gwendolyn?" Elena asked, not the most convincing she'd ever been.
Unfortunately for her, Gwendolyn Chamberlain sniffed out bullshit like a hound. "Oh cut it out, Gilbert. We all know you're miserable from November to January."
She let out a sigh of relief as she walked deeper into the office, pulling out a chair to take a seat before the aesthetic and likely thousands of dollars glass desk that shined iridescent under the harsh lighting. Gwendolyn, newly promoted, had immediately replaced all the old wooden furniture with chic, poppy colors that she believed inspired creativity in her writers. In an office surrounded by glass walls, Elena thought it only inspired jealousy. After all, she'd been sitting in the same Herman Miller for years, surrounded on three sides by ugly gray cubicle walls that definitely didn't inspire any kind of anything.
"Well, don't look too relieved," Gwen said, clicking around on her computer, not looking at her employee but instead pulling up an email she'd received earlier that morning. "How'd you like to get out of New York for the holiday?" she asked, scrolling down a lengthy webpage, a wall of text reflected in her glasses.
Elena knew better than to take the bait, but her desire to leave the city for the holiday overshadowed anything else. Even if it was some puff piece that showcased none of her creative ability, at least she wouldn't have to be anywhere near Manhattan. "Whatever it is, yes."
Gwen raised both eyebrows in a show of only mild shock. She'd known what she was doing when she'd asked Elena. Any other writer may have protested too, may have even outright rejected the job. Who wanted to be away from home during the holidays? Not many.
"Great. Well, we've been trying to get in contact with the owner of Giuseppe's Bistro for ages at this point, and they're finally available for an interview, as long as we can make it over to Burlington in about twenty-four hours. The local office can't spare anyone, so it's up to us if we want the story covered." Before Elena could speak, Gwen continued. "I'm sending you an email now with all of the details. You can take a company car, and there's a five-star hotel with your name on it."
Giuseppe's Bistro? Why did that name sound so familiar? She must have heard something about them before in whispers at the news station. While Elena and many of the other writers on her floor didn't work directly with the broadcast sector and were more focused on writing pieces for the website, their paths crossed on occasion. She could have sworn there'd been some piece written about the swanky restaurant and how it was making waves or something like that. Why people were so invested in a restaurant hundreds of miles away, she had no idea.
"Great. When do I leave?" Elena asked, ever eager, even for boring assignments.
"Now, preferably. You'll have the night to read over everything I sent, the interview is first thing tomorrow morning. And Elena?"
"Yes?"
"Try not to look so bitter when you're interviewing Mr. Salvatore tomorrow, would you?"
Her cheeks flushed red out of embarrassment and she flashed a smile that was equally as fake as before, but it felt necessary. "Right. Of course."
"You're dismissed."
Elena nodded and backed out of the office. Quickly, she gathered her things from her cubicle and headed back down to the lobby while scrolling through the email on her phone to get as many details as she could before departing. The elevator ride was just long enough for her to read the first few sentences.
Giuseppe's Bistro is an Italian fine dining establishment and staple for locals and tourists in Burlington, Vermont. With a cult following and a massive online presence, many are reeling after changes in staffing leave the Bistro with an uncertain future. Famous and beloved Chef Giuseppe recently passed, leaving the restaurant behind to his son Damon Salvatore. Savlatore's decision to shut down the restaurant before the holidays has left the community in shock. New owner Salvatore has not made an official comment on said decision.
It was difficult to resist rolling her eyes at the words before her. Why did Channel Six even care about such a thing? Certainly, there were more interesting stories to cover in the city. The fate of some random restaurant in another state couldn't be that interesting to readers. But as Gwendolyn liked to remind her, their fluff pieces had an audience, and every piece had the chance of going viral. Maybe this could be her viral story. At least if she framed it like that, it didn't feel like a massive waste of time. But in all likelihood, she would finish the interview, write the piece, and be back just in time to celebrate Christmas alone. A lose, lose, really.
After a quick trick home to pack the essentials, she was on the road to Burlington. The drive took approximately five hours, during which she started listening to an audiobook about a woman who'd been murdered in her home after a series of strange events. Nothing like a little true crime to get her into the holiday spirit. She hadn't even fired off texts to either of her friends, letting them know she was heading out of town. Hopefully, it would be quick enough of a trip that they wouldn't even notice she was gone. Then, they wouldn't have the chance to berate her about leaving during the most magical time of year.
When she arrived in snowy Burlington, Vermont at a fairly sterile-looking hotel, she pulled her luggage out of the trunk and trekked through the collecting snow to the entrance. The lobby looked as if it had been pulled straight from a Christmas movie, with a larger-than-life tree decorated to the nines in the center of the room, and large Christmas ornaments hanging from the ceiling all around. Banisters were spiraled with lights, and Christmas music played softly over loudspeakers.
Kicking the snow off her boots, she wheeled her carry-on suitcase to the front desk, stopping with a huff, cold from the winter just as bitter as she was.
"Happy Holidays!" the front desk agent said cheerfully. She wore a forest green sweater and a Santa hat, the brim decorated with pins. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes," Elena said, sliding her ID and company credit card across the counter. "For Elena Gilbert. Should have been made by Channel Six just this morning."
"Right, well, let's get you checked in. I see you're here for two nights," she said, scrolling on a computer screen and clicking as she went before pulling out two cards and sliding them into a paper pouch. Then, she ran Elena's credit card and waited for a piece of paper to print. "Do you have any fun holiday plans this year?"
Elena knew the woman was just trying to make small talk, but she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "Just work," she said, tapping her nails on the counter as if it could help to pass the time faster.
"Oh, how unfortunate! Well, I do hope your stay here is enjoyable. Please do let us know if there's anything you need," the agent said, placing the printed receipt in front of her with a pen. She signed quickly, took the cards and her copy of the receipt, and made her way toward the elevator without another word.
As soon as the doors started to close she let out a sigh of relief. Footsteps approached and she pressed the close doors button as fast as she could, hoping to avoid another awkward interaction with someone who absolutely adored the holiday season. Just before the doors finally clicked shut, a hand slid between them and they started to open again.
Slipping into the elevator in a clean pressed black suit was a man only a few years older than her with slicked-back black hair and blue eyes. He stood taller than her with a cold, far-off stare and no luggage in sight. His gruff voice broke the silence. "Thanks for holding the door," he said with a roll of his eyes. She realized she'd been staring and averted her gaze.
"You're welcome," she said, bitterly, because she couldn't help herself.
He reached by her, invading far too much of her personal space, to press the button marked 8. The smell of him, some expensive cologne she was certain, flooded her nostrils. The elevator ticked upward in silence. Finally, it came to a stop and the doors opened once more. He stepped out first, smiling cooly over his shoulder as he said, "Have a good night."
Unfortunately, her room was also on the eighth floor. So, she followed, struggling for a moment to pull her suitcase over the break in the floor. Ice coated the wheels, gumming them up. The man chuckled as he pulled out his wallet and procured a room key. Once her luggage was finally free, she grumbled, "Yeah, you too." She'd made it to the other side of the hall and was fumbling through her pockets for her own card when he disappeared into the other room. Closing the door to her own suite behind her, she hoped that would be the last she'd see of her snarky neighbor.
After hours of reviewing information sent over by Gwendolyn, she hadn't learned all that much about Giuseppe's Bistro or its history. It was a fairly famous Italian restaurant, that much she knew. Celebrities had often rented it out for events, and it was a hot spot for wedding receptions, Christmas parties, and family reunions alike. Giuseppe Salvatore himself had been beloved by the community, always wearing a smile on his face in the kitchen. He'd even been on a few different cooking shows in his time. He'd passed only a few weeks prior after a long battle with cancer, and his decision to leave the restaurant to his eldest son Damon Salvatore was a shock on its own. Googling his son's name returned no new information and no pictures. He seemed to live a fairly offline life. She did, however, find pictures of the youngest son, one Stefan Salvatore, as well as a Reddit thread in r/Burlington that contained unhelpful but incredibly juicy information.
One commenter complained about the late Giuseppe's decision to leave the restaurant to Damon instead of Stefan, citing the eldest son as a playboy who didn't have any interest in the culinary arts, while Stefan had always worked hard alongside his father. Another comment reinforced claims about Damon's behavior, going so far as to cite personal details about a date gone wrong with the bachelor. Great. Her so-called puff piece seemed to spiral into more of an expose on Damon Salvatore and why he was unfit to take over such an institution of local Burlington. She was certain he'd be just like every other stuck-up man she'd ever met in the city. At least she knew well enough how to put men like him in their place.
She couldn't help but wonder why he'd chosen to interview now, and why with Channel Six of all places. They were a large news center, of course, with local stations all across the country, but if all of this information about Damon was true, what else could he have to say on the matter? Or would he simply spend the entire interview defending his decision to close the restaurant?
Elena spent the next several hours writing interview questions and brainstorming different angles for the piece. Only when she finally closed her laptop did she begin to pace around the suite, stressed. It had been quite some time since she'd been out on an assignment like this. For the most part, her work kept her glued to her desk on the eighth floor of the Channel Six building downtown. She started to pick at one of her cuticles, then groaned. No, she could do this. She had a degree. She'd had successful interviews before. This one would be no different. In an attempt to calm her night-before nerves, she slipped into a little black dress and made her way down to the hotel bar.
Like the lobby, the bar was decorated with lights and had soft holiday music playing, a hum in the background. The bar was fairly empty, with only a few people sitting at the counter, and a few more scattered at tables throughout the large space. Mounted TVs played different holiday movies on mute, including some of her old favorites. She kept her eyes downcast in order to avoid dredging up old memories she didn't need to access while drinking.
"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked, stopping in front of her. He wore a clean white button-up shirt and black slacks, as well as a denim apron. He had a white towel tossed over his shoulder. In any other circumstance, she probably would have flirted with him, but her spirits were too low to engage in any even slightly meaningful conversation.
"Sam Adams and a shot of your cheapest tequila," she said. The pair were an old favorite back in her college days when she'd spent much more time in bars and had less work to do the following mornings. The shot gave her the buzz she sought out immediately while the beer gave her something to sip on in the meantime.
She threw back the shot like it was nothing, then pulled out her phone. Only a few missed texts lit up on the screen. One from Caroline read, Christmas party this weekend? and another from Bonnie read, you hanging in there? Oh, how she loved her best friends. Caroline always tried to pull her out of the house during the holiday season and Bonnie always tried to get her to talk about her feelings. Neither strategy was particularly effective, and ultimately she ended up clicking off her phone screen and sliding it back into her bag.
"Excuse me, Miss?" the bartender said, placing another beer and a second shot in front of her, shortly after she finished the first combination. "These are from the gentleman across the room." As he said this, he lifted a hand toward the back of the bar, and she turned. Raising a glass at her from a booth in the back, was the man from the elevator. She let out a soft sigh. He was unreasonably hot, she'd give him that. But Elena Gilbert had no desire to indulge him or his expensive suit. She raised the new bottle of beer with a half smile in thanks, then turned back around to drink it in silence.
Apparently he'd taken her good manners as an invitation, for it wasn't long before he'd saddled up to the bar next to her.
"I believe we met earlier," the man said, placing an empty rocks glass on the counter.
Elena rolled her eyes. "I would barely call it a meeting."
"Then I suppose I should properly introduce myself," he commented, with that same charming smile still pressed on his face.
"Please don't," she said before throwing back the shot he'd paid for.
"A woman who prefers a little mystery, I like that."
"A woman who prefers a little silence, actually," Elena said.
"I don't mind that either," he said, taking a seat one stool away from her. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment as if trying to remain silent as she'd insisted she preferred.
She couldn't help but laugh at the hilarity of it all, of this man buying her a drink and intruding on her peaceful night. It was just like many of the encounters she'd had at slimy bars in NYC, except the men were never nearly this attractive. Though, they always thought otherwise.
He broke the silence quickly, and Elena groaned. "So, what are you doing all by yourself the week of Christmas?"
"How do you know I'm all by myself?" she asked, raising a brow. "I could have a loving husband or best friend waiting for me upstairs."
"Do you?" he asked.
Elena scowled. "No, but that's beside the point."
"I don't think it is," he said.
"Well, I don't think your opinion matters much to me." The silence between them stretched on again as Elena sipped her beer and the bartender delivered the man next to her another drink. "I'm here on a work assignment. Last minute thing. No one else could do it with the holiday so, Elena to the rescue."
"Elena," he said, turning over her name in his mind. "Lovely name. Lovely girl, too."
"Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes again. What was that, the fourth time? Or perhaps the fifth. "Does that actually work on anyone?"
"Well you're the first Elena I've met, so, you tell me."
"Absolutely not. Besides, you think I'm lovely?" she asked, narrowing her gaze on him, turning her body to face him completely. "I tried to close you out of the elevator and I've rejected every one of your advances—that's lovely, to you?"
"What can I say? I know what I like." He paused, looking at her with his kind blue eyes. She saw something in them more meaningful than whatever facade he wore now but refused to delve deeper. "Tell me something about yourself, Elena."
She raised a hand toward the bartender. "Take a shot with me; I'll tell you one thing about me. But you have to tell me something about you, too."
"Fine," he said, but attempting to keep the cheer out of his voice didn't work. He was clearly proud of the inch she'd given him. And besides, what was wrong with having someone to drink with?
Two shot glasses were placed in front of them. He motioned toward her first and she drew her brows together, trying to think about what she could tell him. "I hate Christmas," she said, finally. "That's why I took this job, because I didn't care about being home for the holiday."
"You hate Christmas? Why?" he asked.
"I didn't say anything about follow-up questions," she said pointedly before throwing back her shot. "Your turn."
"I'm not a huge fan of the holidays either," he said, looking at her with a sympathy that made her feel better, but at the same time, she didn't quite understand. Had he lost someone around the holidays too?
"You can't just steal mine," Elena quipped. "I want something original."
"Oh, so now you're interested in getting to know me, hm?" he asked, smirking. She hated how devilishly handsome it made him look. "Fine. I'm from Boston. Also here on some, well, last minute business."
"Boston? You mean New York for wannabes?" she teased, smiling for the first time.
He smiled too, laughing. "Oh, yeah? You a Yankees fan, too?"
"God, of course not. Baseball is so boring."
He chuckled. "Another round?"
She checked the clock. It neared 11:00 pm, but another drink certainly couldn't hurt. The interview the following morning would take place at around 8:00 am, but that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun. "Sure," she said, the smile still showing on her face. Maybe it was because she was three shots and a beer and half deep, or maybe it was because this man was damn charming. Either way, the conversation came easier, and her anger at the holiday season slipped away in equal measure.
"So, why do you hate Christmas?" he asked, as the shots were placed in front of them.
She swallowed thickly. This was always a difficult subject to discuss. It pained her little to speak of it, but most people reacted oddly as if they couldn't handle a discussion of grief and loss. Many people, as she'd learned in recent months, could not, and conversations almost always turned awkward and uncomfortable whenever she brought it up. But she was just tipsy enough to not care.
"My parents died. Last Christmas Eve. Freak accident." It felt strange to be telling such intimate details to a man she'd only just met, but the strangeness came from how normal it felt, how easy the words came forward. Before he could respond, she tossed back the shot.
He moved a seat closer, sitting on the stool next to hers, their knees nearly touching. "I'm so sorry. For your loss. I can't imagine what that must have been like," he said, his words so genuine.
She narrowed her eyes once more, her brow creasing in the center. "Thank you," she said, nodding, finding it odd just how kind his words came across. All of the sorry for your losses she'd received over the past year had felt much less genuine than his had.
"I lost a parent recently myself. Can't say the holiday season is the same without them around."
"It definitely is not," Elena said with a sigh, thinking back on all the Christmases she'd spent with her family, all the happy memories she had tied to a family that only existed in her heart, now. It hadn't started as anger, hatred, toward the holidays. But anger was the best way to mask the sadness, and if she decided that everything about Christmas was truly detestful, then maybe she wouldn't spend the days sobbing endlessly. It was easier, that way. Even if people didn't understand. She motioned to the shot in front of him. "Your turn, something juicy this time."
"Something juicy?" he looked at her, first meeting her eyes and then letting his gaze trail downward. "Well, Elena," he said, and the way he spoke her name sent shivers down her spine. "Would you believe me if I said I couldn't get you out of my head since I saw you in the elevator earlier today?"
"That's hardly a fact about yourself," she said, deflecting. Her eyes flicked away from his, suddenly feeling very warm under his gaze. He'd been attractive from the start, but now that he was actively flirting with her? She didn't stand a chance.
He shrugged, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile just before throwing the shot back. Why was it the sexiest thing she'd ever seen? She hated her mind for even thinking it. But now that she'd recognized him for what he was—devastatingly attractive and unfortunately charming—she couldn't think about anything else.
Raising a few fingers to summon the bartender, she passed him her company card. The man next to her pulled out his wallet too, and handed over a card. "The shots were on me," he told the bartender.
"Thanks," Elena said, shyly, her cheeks still warm, either from the booze or his compliments or his gaze, or a combination of them all.
"Don't mention it. I hope my interrogation didn't ruin your night," he said, chuckling under his breath as he signed the receipt and slipped his wallet back into his pocket. She did the same, standing with him, something unspoken between them. A buzzing electricity, that tense moment where everything seems flammable and dangerous, right before an explosion.
"Not at all," she said.
They stood there staring at one another for a moment before he broke the silence. "Let me walk you to your room?" he asked, a smile teasing at his lips.
She laughed under her breath. "I don't know, it's pretty far out of the way."
"Well I am a gentleman, so. I'll do what I must," he said. Then, he extended his arm to her. She took it, and they walked back to the elevator together. That same silent tension hung around them once the doors closed. As soon as Elena turned to look at him, her body reacted and she was stepping forward, reaching forward to grab him, standing on her toes to kiss him. He reacted in kind, arms looping around her waist and pulling her closer to him while her hands tangled in his hair and her lips parted against his. He lifted her up by the backs of the thighs and spun her around, pressing her against the wall with the weight of his body. Everything went off all at once, any alarms her body had were screaming, firing at all cylinders, yelling this is the hottest thing we've ever experienced and then she was moaning against his lips, grinding her hips against his in the most outward show of desperation for anything he would give her.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened on their floor. He pulled away, setting her back down on her feet, his eyes never leaving hers and she breathed raggedly, chest heaving. The hallway stretched out from the open elevator, leading to a dead-end with a window, one set of French doors on either side, leading to each of their rooms. The doors started to close again, and he shot a hand out to stop them, his other hand reaching for Elena. She eagerly took it, letting him lead her anywhere.
They didn't make it to either room. He pulled her against him again, one arm around her waist and his other hand burying itself in her hair as he kissed her with a passion she wasn't sure she'd experienced before. With her free hands, she dug through her purse, looking for the key to her room, deciding that if he wasn't going to make the move, she would. She found the key and tugged him by the bicep toward her door, crashing them both—still attached by the lips, bodies pressed tightly together—into the wall next to her door. She slid the card over the reader and his hand shot forward to throw the door open. Detaching from her, their eyes met once more, both wild with lust. He picked her up again, her legs wrapping around him instinctively, and walked her into the room, kicking the door closed behind him.
A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! This is part 1 of 2. I hope you enjoy this silly little Hallmark-style story. I've had so much fun writing it. Part 2 in a few days.