Page 19 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

Pregnant Carly’s brain is easily distracted by thoughts of food.

“He said he’s coming in peace. And he even fashioned a white flag out of a toothpick.” I wave it in front of my face and her expression melts further. She’s a softie.

“Oh my gosh, that is so cute.”

I sigh. “I know.”

“Does this mean we forgive him?”

I ponder this. The guy had spent the last few days suggesting (not subtly) that I am a sad, lonely, maybe crazy cat lady. Am I willing to let that go because he baked me a special cookie and waved a white flag?

“Yes.”

I’m easy to please.

“Yay!” she yells and I shush her, glancing at the thin door separating me from the wall. And the hottie beyond it. “I’m pretty sure he has Superman hearing.”

“So,” she whispers. “What are you going to do next?”

“I don’t know,” I whine. “Help me.”

Carly giggles and we strategise my next move. I’m not a baker, so making a treat of my own for him is out. I’m done with playing music through the wall to get his attention. I could write him another note, but that seems lame.

“What do you want to happen next?” My friend asks when I’ve vetoed all our ideas.

“I think I want to meet him properly. You know, have a conversation. See what he’s like beyond the wall and the notes and the DVDs?”

“Then why don’t you invite him over?”

I frown.Can it be that easy?

“I know!” she screeches and then winces, before resuming in a lower tone. “Sorry! I know. I have the perfect idea.”

She tells me her plan, and a smile grows on my lips. It’s perfect. Subtle, classy, not too desperate. It may actually work.

“I love you, you know,” I tell her when we’re about to hang up.

“I love you, too. Now go get to know the hunk next door. And if he turns out to be a dud, you can stay here until we find somewhere for you to move to.”

And with that slightly terrifying advice ringing in my ears, I change out of my sloppy pyjamas into a casual outfit that looks like I just threw it together, but really takes effort. You know, in case we actually meet in person, so he can actually see me as someone beyond the sad lady next door.

I comb out the knots from my hair, leaving it straight and heavy down my back, and coat my eyelashes with my favourite mascara. Once I feel decent, I gather up my peace offering, writea note of my own, and head to Noah’s front door before I can talk myself out of it.

I put the note and the bottle of wine on his welcome mat, knock and then bolt. My breath rushes out of me as I watch him open his door, the speed of which makes me wonder if he’d been waiting for me to visit. I watch, heart in my mouth as he picks up the wine, scans the note and smiles in my direction. He then closes his door, disappearing from sight and I’m left to wonder what he’s going to do next.

Because the note I’d left with a very expensive bottle of wine said:

Dear Noah,

Merry Christmas to you too!

I am home alone this Christmas Eve and believe you may be too. If you feel like enjoying this wine with some company, I have two glasses waiting over here.

From Emma (your neighbour).

P.S. That cookie was the best thing I’ve ever eaten!!

And now I get to wait and see what he’s going to do. Is he going to bring the wine over to join me so we can get to know each other? Or is he going to ignore the note, leaving my invitation hanging between us, torturing me with an impending sense of rejection?

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