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“Growing up in that house, it was always holiday mad. So many decorations, gifts, and family traditions—Easter, Halloween, Christmas, you name it. And as a little boy, one who struggled to make sense of other people sometimes… I didn’t always understand those traditions. I pushed back. Asked too many questions. Made things less fun.”
My heart aches, and I can see it now. Little Reid with a tiny scowl on his face, bristling at being told what to do. At being told to be happy, to becheerful, without understanding why.
“Over the years, my family got tired of it. Tired ofme. Can’t blame them, really, but once I went away to college, the invitations to family events dried up. I’ve spent every Christmas alone since I was eighteen. That’s why I’m a—what did you call me?—a Scrooge.”
My stomach churns, and I’m queasy at the undercurrent of hurt running beneath Reid’s words. The emotional damage that only I can hear. This man wears such armor, and finally, I’m getting a peek at his squishy middle.
“My own family didn’t want me, Noelle.” Reid’s hands are white-knuckled where they grip the wheel. “Because I’m a killjoy. So tell me that’s not embarrassing; tell me that doesn’t put you off. Go on.”
And he throws me this look, like he’s daring me to even try. Like it’s unthinkable that I’d find out about that lonely little boy, find out abouthim, and still want him.
Such bullshit. I suck in a deep breath, puffing up my chest underneath yesterday’s green dress.
“I’m sorry, Reid, but your family are grade A assholes. And you’re not a killjoy. I have fun with you all the freaking time.”
So much fun. Even discounting last night’s pure, sweaty joy, this man makes me laugh all the time. Teases me and lets me tease him back. He walks me home after work and pretends he doesn’t live in the opposite direction; he ‘forgets’ my cat’s name and calls him a fur ball.
He played I Spy and Fuck, Marry, Kill with me. Badly.
He detoured to get me coffee in Aspen Ridge, and watched A Muppet Christmas Carol.
Reid Merryweather has a heart of gold. I called it.
“Yeah?” My boss’s throat works.
I squeeze his thigh, and my heart throbs like a guiding star. “Absolutely.”
Twelve
Reid
Noelle lingers by her front door, fiddling with her coat sleeves. Traffic rumbles past in the street, and even here in the city, snow has covered the buildings and sidewalks like icing.
It’s late afternoon, the sky is pink, and the wind whistles through my clothes. I stand three steps down from Noelle, hands in my pockets and my heart in my throat.
Invite me in.
Invite me in.
I won’t say it out loud, but by god I’m thinking it. Beaming it to her via brainwaves.
Noelle still wants me—that’s what she said in the car. Even after my many awkward missteps, even knowing that my own family couldn’t get rid of me fast enough, my dream woman still wants me.
Fucking hell, please invite me in.
“Do you, um.” Noelle fishes for her door keys, her mittens slipping around the metal. “Do you want to come up?”
Thank you, universe.
“No pressure,” she adds, with a nervous laugh. “I know you must be sick of me by now.”
I’m at the top of the steps before she can blink, plucking the keys out of her useless mitten. “Never.” My heart thumps as the key slides home and turns.
In all my years of walking Noelle home, I’ve never been inside her building. Have never seen past the red brick facade with its climbing ivy and sloping roof, a metal fire escape clinging to the side. I don’t even mind the holly wreath on the front door as I push it open, because somehow I know, instinctively, that Noelle hung it there.
Her apartment is probably a real life Santa’s workshop. An explosion of tinsel and string lights and cheer. Already there are decorations all over the lobby, and a Christmas tree twinkles by the window.
Noelle must be thinking the same thing, because she follows me to the elevator slowly, tugging on the back of my coat. “Um. Reid?”
