Page 16 of The Night Before Grumpmas
“Sure, you’re a ray of sunshine. How dare I say you’re angry at the world,” she teases. There’s amusement dancing in her voice. “Plus, may I remind you that yesterday you growled at me? Pretty sure that qualifies as cranky.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “That wasn’t growling. That was . . .” I trail off, realizing I’m not sure what time she’s talking about. When I went for my daily coffee or the takeout incident.
“Forget it,” I grumble.
“Oh, no, please. Do tell,” she presses, that playful edge back in her voice. “Was it my new wreath on the door? Or maybe the berry-scented salts I used during my bath?”
I blink. New wreath? I need to check that out later. Make sure it’s not violating any building codes. But I shake the thought off, annoyed with myself for even caring.
“You’re impossible,” I grumble.
“Thanks, McCallister,” she chirps, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me in the last twenty-four hours.”
I open my mouth to fire something back, ready to give her some snarky response that’ll put this whole ridiculous conversation to bed. But I stop. All I can hear is her voice, and it’s softer tonight. Softer in a way that pulls at something deep in my chest.
For a moment, I picture her on the other side of the wall. That playful smile she always wears, the one that somehow manages to be both maddening and . . . cute. And those eyes—bright, always sparkling with some kind of mischief, like she’s just waiting for her next opportunity to push my buttons.
Fuck, why does she get under my skin like this?
I lean against the wall, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake the image from my mind. But it lingers. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she teases me, never missing a beat, never backing down. It’s . . . infuriating.
And yet, I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to see her face-to-face right now. To watch that smile of hers fade, just for a second, when I surprise her. To see the way her eyes widen, maybe with just a hint of surprise, when I step closer than I should. Would she push me away? Or would she hold her breath, waiting for my next move.
I close my eyes, feeling a knot twist in my chest as my mind betrays me, imagining how it would feel to kiss her. Just once. Soft at first, just to shut her up—because she talks too much—but then deeper, slower, as I let myself get lost in it. Her lips, soft and sweet, would taste like the chocolate cake she baked today. I bet she’d melt into the kiss, that stubborn sass of hers dissolving for a moment, leaving her breathless.
Shit.
I blink, pushing off the wall as if I can physically shove the thought out of my head. What the hell am I thinking? Kissing Noelle? I’ve clearly lost my mind.
But now, I can’t stop imagining it—her standing in front of me, that teasing smirk fading as I close the space between us. Her lips softening under mine, her body going still, and maybe, just maybe, she’d kiss me back. No more banter, no more sarcasm—just the heat between us, cutting through the silence.
No. Stop it.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to shake the image from my mind. The last thing I need is to complicate things further. She’s already upending my life with these damn meals. A kiss? That’d just be asking for trouble.
“Goodnight, Noelle,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. I knock on the wall once, a little gentler this time, then step away, as if putting distance between us will help me keep my thoughts straight.
“Goodnight, Grumpy McCallister,” she replies, her voice still light, still teasing. But it’s softer, like she’s winding down for the night too. And for some reason, that softness gets under my skin. It’s not annoying like usual. It’s . . . something else.
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself, stepping back from the wall and turning away, determined to shake off the thought of her.
Chapter Nine
Noelle
It’sOctober first and officially the perfect day to start decorating for the next holiday. That’s exactly how I spent my salary and my day at Safe Horizons making it extra special for the children and teens who live in the apartment buildings.
I step back, hands on my hips, and take in the full Halloween splendor of my apartment. String lights shaped like tiny ghosts flicker along the walls, a few plastic bats dangle from the ceiling, and the orange and black garland is draped across every available surface.
And I’m just getting started.
“Halloween, baby,” I grin, adjusting a decorative skeleton perched on the edge of the couch. He’s missing an arm, but I think it adds character. Spooky chic, I call it.
I already know what you’re thinking—isn’t this a little much, Noelle? To which I say, absolutely not. If I’m doing Halloween, I’m going all in. None of that half-hearted carved pumpkin stuff. No. I’m going for the haunted house vibes. Cobwebs, creepy dolls, a fog machine if I can figure out where to hide it. I’m even debating squeezing a ten-foot inflatable ghost onto the balcony.
I chuckle to myself, pulling out a plastic cauldron and filling it with candy. I can already picture the kids on the floor screaming with delight when they knock on my door. “Just you wait, trick-or-treaters,” I mutter, arranging the candy neatly. “You’re in for a treat . . . or a scare.”
My phone buzzes, snapping me out of my Halloween daydream. It’s a text from Val, my sister.So what’s in for Halloween this year? You haven’t sent pictures or links yet. I want to decorate this weekend while Steve’s off playing golf with his dad and brother.
