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“Let’s go.”
“Wait, I gotta lock up.”
“We’re going right out front. It’s fine.”
I glanced back at my apartment, scanning all my valuable possessions I worked my ass off to own. What if someone broke in when we weren’t looking? What if they stole my laptop—?
A sharp whistle echoed down the hall. “Avery, let’s go!”
I twisted and shut my door, swishing like a fat penguin waddling down the hall as he held the elevator open. Our clothes rustled as we walked through the lobby and I felt like an idiot as we passed the doorman.
“Evening, Winston.”
“Evening, Mr. Wolfe.” He jumped up to grab the door. “Evening, Ms. Johansson.”
I sighed at the doorman, silently informing him that I was being abducted on a midnight, snowy play date against my will. “If we’re not back inside in twenty minutes, send out a search party.” The door opened, and icy snowflakes pelted me in the face. “Oh, yuck.”
The walks were covered with a good six inches of snow. It caked on the front of buildings and street signs and covered the mailbox and the road. A small path was cleared in front of the door, but that was it.
Fat, white flakes mixed with a misting of frozen rain. The damn shit was everywhere, sticking in my hair, flicking me in the eye. Who liked this? And it was eerily quiet for the city.
“This way.” Noah walked to the corner of Delancey, and I waddled after him, our footprints the only proof of human life anywhere. “We’ll start over here and roll it toward the door.”
I wasn’t rolling shit. I stood off to the side while he formed a boulder of snow. With my arms crossed over my chest, I bounced to stay warm, He packed the snow into a tight ball and rolled it down the walk, each turn increasing the size.
“Are you going to help?”
“Nope.”
I squinted up at the light from my apartment, snowflakes catching in my lashes, noticeably dancing in the glow of the streetlamps. A snowball pelted my shoulder, exploding on impact, getting my cheek wet.
“Hey!”
“Help me. This is a team effort.”
Grumbling, I marched over to where he’d rolled the ball, which I supposed formed the body of our snowman. He fumbled with his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
He pressed a few buttons and looked up. I followed his gaze but didn’t see anything. Suddenly a flute trilled, and Bing Crosby started to sing White Christmas.
“A little ambiance…” He pocketed his phone and put his glove back on.
He’d thought of everything, even had the foresight to set a stereo in his window. His apartment was going to be freezing. I couldn’t help it. I smiled.
“I see that smirk.” He took my hand, tugging me into the empty road.
Just as the backup chorus began to sing, he spun me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “What are you doing?”
“Dancing with you.”
“Um…”
“Humor me, Avery.”
I went with it, my pants swishing with every step as he turned me in a slow circle. We were literally dancing, in the center of Delancey Street, under the glow of antique streetlamps, as snow fell around us.
“Relax, Avery. Embrace the moment.”
I let him lead, mostly because I didn’t know how to dance like people were supposed to in real life. I only knew how to do the freshman mixer hold, where I wreathed my arms around a guy’s neck and swayed from side to side. Noah knew how to dance. It was unexpected and romantic. When the song ended, I was a little sad it didn’t last longer.
But Noah didn’t let go. He held me and continued to turn as our feet made tracks in the snow and Nat King Cole took over singing The Christmas Song.
A lump formed in my throat. I loved Christmas carols. They were like fables of perfect lives, where families didn’t fight during the holidays, and the turkey was never dry, and people decorated with real greenery instead of cheap metallic garland and flea market, felt placemats.
His arms tightened around me, and I rested my head on his chest, blinking as the music echoed from his apartment window down to the vacant street. I didn’t know how to process this magical moment, but I wanted to keep it forever.
I bet Noah had a lifetime of beautiful holidays at his picturesque family home. I found myself trying very hard to imagine what childhood might have been like for him. How different it probably was from the holidays I had as a kid.
My chest tightened as Judy Garland’s Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas played next. This was my favorite carol of all. The hope of a better year ahead and troubles being left behind, miles away. The thought of real friends and togetherness. My eyes closed as she belted out the need to muddle through, and my lashes were suddenly wet with something other than snow.
