Page 2 of One Night, Two Holidays

“Should I be worried?” she calls.

Something about her is familiar. I stare up at her, confused, until it hits me: she’s the woman I keep seeing around the building. She’s hard to miss, with that wild, curly dark hair and big, bright eyes. Just last week, I saw her helping an older couple in our building carry their groceries in, her laughter floating down the hall and bringing a genuine smile to my face for the first time that day.

I’ve thought about saying something to her more times than I can count. But with my long hours, late nights, and barely any sleep, I haven’t had the energy—or the guts—to even try.

“Huh?” I manage, still dazed.

She gestures at the toppled snowmen behind me. “Am I next on your hit list?”

A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Nah, you’re safe—unless you’re made of the same stuff ruining my holiday plans.”

She laughs, and a flicker of warmth spreads through me, like a candle igniting in the dark.

CHAPTER 2

December 24, 6:47 pm

NESSA

One person’s day ruined, another’s night made.

I lean further out the window into the bitter cold, wishing I’d tamed my hair, or at least put on lipstick before investigating who or what was making the ruckus in the courtyard. If I’d known it was the man we’ve been calling Hot New Guy since he moved in last summer, I would have made more of an effort.

Situations like this are exactly why my grandmother always told me not to leave the house without clean underwear. You never know when you’re going to get in an accident or have a chance encounter with the man you and your roommates have been low-key stalking for months.

We’ve barely gathered any intel, but not for lack of trying. Maybe this is the universe’s way of throwing me a bone since I didn’t have enough money or enough time off to have an actual vacation like my roommates, and my parents are going on an anniversary trip to Cancun rather than visit their only child.Now, at least I’ll have something to contribute to the post-holiday debrief.

“You can’t blame the snow for your bad decision,” I say, wrapping my sweater tighter around myself. “You should have left town early like everyone else.”

“You sound like my mother,” Hot New Guy says.

“And every news anchor and meteorologist on TV.”

Hot New Guy glares up at me, and even from the courtyard below, his icy blue eyes send a chill down my spine. For a second, I worry I’ve crossed the line—the guy’s clearly having a shitty day—but then the corner of his mouth quirks up, and I can tell he’s fighting back a smile.

“Did the snowpocalypse ruin your Christmas plans, too?” he asks.

“I didn’t have any Christmas plans to ruin.”

Something pity-adjacent flashes across his face—which I want to put the kibosh on immediately. I got enough of that from my roommates before they left, breaking our annual tradition of making latkes, drinking wine, and watching whatever cheesy Hanukkah movie we can find (there’s usually at least one for every two hundred Christmas movies).

I’m not upset at them for leaving—hanging out at home with me wouldn’t be my first choice for the holidays, either. And I don’t blame my parents for choosing Mexico over me—they deserve to celebrate thirty years of marriage. But I can’t help but feel the sting of being left behind. By everyone.

“Don’t feel bad for me,” I tell him, and myself. “It’s just not my holiday.” I lift my Star of David necklace even though it’s too small for him to see from a distance. “I’m Jewish.”

“Ah, then happy almost Hanukkah. First time in almost twenty years that the first night is on Christmas.”

“You aren’t Jewish, are you?” If I had to guess, he looks Irish with his fair complexion and dark hair. But maybe he’s dating a Member of the Tribe. “Or you have a Jewish girlfriend. Orboyfriend?” I add, hoping the question in my voice isn’t too obvious.

“No girlfriend or boyfriend. Jewish or otherwise.”

My fingers twitch, torn between grabbing my phone to text ourApt 2B (Or Not 2B)group chat with this hot intel, or risking hypothermia to keep hanging half out the window to get more of it. Of course, I have no choice but to take one for the team. I’ll text them all the details later, provided my fingers haven’t frozen off.

“I heard someone talking about it at the hospital,” Hot New Guy says, “And my brain holds on to random facts—I swear, it’s the only reason I passed my boards.”

“You’re a doctor?” I ask, pretending this is news to me and we haven’t clocked him coming in and out of the building wearing scrubs.

“First-year resident in pediatrics,” he says. “So, you don’t have any plans tonight?”

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