Page 16 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

My gaze travels over my bright and festive Christmas tree and the sole, sad stocking hanging next to it. It’s supposed to be theseason for goodwill to all.How have I found myself in a petty battle with the hottie next door?

“I think I’ll wait until after Christmas,” I tell her with a firm nod. Even the fiercest battles in history took a day off to celebrate the birth of Jesus. “And then catch him off guard just when he thinks it’s all over.”

She grins at me with an admiring whistle. “Girl, you’re cold. And diabolical.”

I like the sound of that. I’ll give him one day to celebrate with some Christmas cheer, lulling him into a false sense of security, and then I’ll hit him with something when he least expects it. What that something is, I’m not sure yet, but as I hang up with my bestie, promising to maybe save her a cookie (not going to happen), and rummage through my trusty ‘just in case’ cupboard for my old DVD player, I’m determined to make it something amazing.

The elf next door gets a day off to enjoy his minor victory, not knowing that I’m plotting to win the whole, entire war.

CHAPTER 8

Noah

It’s too quiet over there.

In the hours since I’d left the DVDs and cookies on the Grinch’s doorstep, I’ve been waiting to see what she’s going to do next. It’s been excruciating, anticipating how she’s going to retaliate, what she’s going to subject me to, and so the silence has me…worried.

“This is stupid,” I mutter, keeping one eye on my front window to catch a glimpse of her.

It’s Christmas Eve. I should be relishing in festive joy and the knowledge that I have the next week off work, but I’m on tenterhooks instead, willing her to do something. To get it over with, so that it’s my turn.

“I’m acting like a lovesick schoolboy,” I observe as I open the door to check if she’s made a delivery that I missed when I blinked too long. “She’s obviously over this little game and is moving on. Or perhaps I took it too far with the DVDs and she’s upset.”

Not liking that thought at all, I go to my happy place looking for a distraction. Today, my happy place is my kitchen whereI have the makings of a Christmas pie laid out for me. As sad as it sounds, I’m spending Christmas Day home alone and am planning on spoiling myself with a feast of sweet treats. Partly because I love dessert more than the main course and partly because I’m a chef who cannot cook a main meal to save myself.

It's a travesty, really.

I put some background music on low and after checking the front doorstep one last time to make sure I haven’t missed something (I haven’t), I get to work, rolling out the pastry for the pie crust. The monotonous work soothes me and I lose myself in it, letting my mind go blank.

“Looking good,” I tell the pie as it sits complete on the counter, ready to go in the oven.

Now what?

This is the problem with turning down all the invitations from my friends to join them to celebrate Christmas. I’d done it because I’m sick of being the third, fifth, seventh wheel at every event, with all my mates suddenly settling down and getting into serious relationships. Now that I’m staring down the barrel of a lonely Christmas Day, though, I’m regretting being so resolute that I’ll ‘be fine by myself’. I’m somewhat of an introverted person, who is fine with being on my own, but for some reason all the alone time I have staring at me now is…depressing.

“What are you doing over there?” I ask the wall, or rather the gorgeous woman on the other side of it. In the months since I moved in, before theLove Actuallyof it all, she’d been quiet but present. I’d often hear her talking to herself, sometimes singing. There was the occasional laughter and the click clacking of high heels, and until now, until her complete silence, I hadn’t noticed how much I’d noticed her. Her presence on the other side of the wall had kept me company without me realising it and the now deafening silence is unnerving me.

“I know you’re home. Your car is in the driveway.”

That doesn’t mean she’s home, a little voice whispers in my mind.Maybe she’s walked somewhere? Or took an Uber? Or someone came and picked her up? The ex-boyfriend, perhaps? Maybe that’s back on?

These last thoughts needle me in a way I don’t want to examine. So what if she’s back together with whomever had made her cry for the past month? That should be a good thing for me: it should mean no moreLove Actuallyto suffer through. And yet, after seeing her, after knowing her through her stubborn acts of neighbourly war, I can’t shake the idea that I want to get to know her more. Want to see her more. Want to learn what makes her tick.

“Oh, was that a sound?”

Ignoring how desperate I look, I press my ear against the wall and let out a relieved sigh when I hear shuffling on the other side. It’s faint and not her usual pottering sounds, but it’s there. It means she hasn’t left, that she’s still keeping me ‘company’.

“You’re such a loser,” I tell myself as I settle onto the couch, the restless feeling that had plagued me all day now gone.

PING!

The sound of my phone notification startles me and I smile when I see the message.

GAVIN: Ready to watch?

He’s attached a photo of the three of them: Gavin, Mum and Dad wearing matching Christmas pyjamas, all sitting on the couch with big grins on their faces. It’s been a tradition for most of my life, to gather on Christmas Eve, more often than not dressed in some matching outfit that Mum bought us, to watchHome Alone. I don’t remember how or why we started it, but it continued through to our adulthood and followed me to Australia. Now with the time difference, they get up at 7a.m. London time to fit in with 5p.m. Melbourne time. Looking attheir smiling faces staring back at me from my screen, I feel an acute pang of homesickness.

What I wouldn’t give to be sitting on the couch next to them right now.

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