Page 25 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

“Calm down, Emma,” I mutter as I walk to the door, taking a deep breath and opening it.

Oh, holy heck. He’s delicious.

“Wow.” We say at the same time, our eyes running over each other with equal levels of enthusiasm.

Noah is wearing light chinos with a deep blue shirt, which hugs his biceps and his chest just so, and also makes his eyes pop. His hair is pulled back into a half-up man bun and his lips—currently stretched into a wide smile—are shiny and kissable.

“Um, come in.” I gather my senses and open the door further, moving to the side to let him in. As he passes me, I get a whiff of his cologne. Something masculine with a touch of vanilla. I want to bathe in it.

Get a grip, Emma!

“Your place looks great,” Noah says, standing in my living room and looking around in appreciation. He’s so big, he makes the room look small. Or maybe that’s just my perception; he’s all I can see.

“Thanks.” I motion him towards the kitchen, taking the dessert from his outstretched hand. “What’s in here?”

“It’s my famous Christmas pie!” His eyes are dancing with happiness and I can’t help but smile back at him.

I open the lid to the pie dish and sniff, my knees almost buckling with intense pleasure. It smells incredible.

“What makes it famous?” I ask after I swallow a mouthful of the saliva that had just pooled in my mouth.

He laughs. “Nothing, really. It’s just my favourite pie to make. It’s apple, cherry and rhubarb pie, and it’s perfect for Christmas. I was going to eat it by myself today, so I’m thrilled now to have someone to share it with.”

I put his famous pie on the kitchen bench, turning back to see him offering me another box. A familiar box.

“Oooh, cookies?” I squeal, snatching the box from his hand and holding it close to my chest. Just in case he’s going to change his mind and take them back.

“Yes, I baked them last night.”

I do the mental time maths. We’d finished our picnic well after 9p.m. and instead of going to sleep, he’d spent his time baking them for me.

He reallyisa unicorn.

“Thank you.” I open the box and inhale. These cookies are different from the previous batches but also delicious looking.

“I baked them especially for you. In lieu of a Christmas present…”

He rubs the back of his neck and I hasten to reassure him. “You didn’t need to bring me a present.”

His cheeks redden. “I kinda feel like I did. Like you deserve it.”

My heart goes pitter patter and I shove a cookie in my mouth to stop from saying anything foolish. Like ‘I love you’.

“Do you want one?” I offer him my cookie box, reluctantly, while the flavour dances over my tastebuds. Sugar, white chocolate and cranberries. The perfect Christmas cookie.

“No, they’re all for you.”

I gaze at him in wonder, trying to hide the admiration from my face. The man put together a picnic for me, made us a pie for Christmas lunch and baked cookies, especially for me.

Perfect.

“Lunch is almost ready.” I wrench my eyes from where they are getting lost in his, waving him to the dining table, which is set to Christmas perfection. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“I’ll get it.” He moves with effortless grace around my kitchen while I toss the salad. When we’re both ready, we move to the dining table and sit down, chatting like we’ve been doing this—being together like this—forever.

“This all looks amazing,” he compliments me as I place the turkey on the table with a sense of pride. I’ve never cooked a Christmas lunch before, so the pressure I’m feeling to get it just right is real. “Thanks for having me over.”

I smile at him, thinking I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else, and raise my glass in a toast. “To new friends and new beginnings. And to the wall that brought us together.”

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