Page 28 of The Night Before Grumpmas
“So I can help you overcome your fear of happiness,” she says, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
Fear of happiness? What the actual fuck? I let out a harsh laugh. “Let me get this straight. You think dragging me to some quaint little holiday circus town is going to cure whatever issues you think I have? Sweetheart, I’m not afraid of happiness. I just prefer not to drown in it while being smothered by tinsel.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear her rolling her eyes. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“No, I get it. I get that you want to turn me into some Hallmark movie character, prancing around in a fucking snow globe while sipping cider. But that’s not gonna happen. And besides, if I were going to spend a weekend with you, I could think of a hundred better ways to keep us . . . entertained.” I let my voice drop lower, practically daring her to challenge me. “Ways that have nothing to do with apple picking or hot cider. But it’ll definitely leave you breathless, begging, and far happier than any holiday spirit could.”
There’s a brief silence, and I know she’s flustered, probably picturing all the dirty things I’m implying. It’s easy to rile her up, to push her buttons, and fuck, I can’t help but enjoy it.
“Jacob,” she sighs, clearly trying to keep her composure, “you seriously need help. Not the kind I can offer in Vermont, but maybe therapy. Have you considered that?”
I smirk. “Trust me, sweetheart, you wouldn’t want to be my therapist. I guarantee you, within minutes, you’d be begging me to give you my version of happiness therapy. And I’m damn good at delivering.”
“So, to avoid happiness you use sex, huh?” she chimes.
What? Not only does she think I’m afraid of happiness, but I use sex to avoid it? What the fuck? And then, it hits me, she’s just figuring a new way to distract me. I won’t let her, two can play the same game. “Do you realize you keep inventing new issues for me as you speak?” I counter. “Maybe you’re the one with the problem. I think you take your last name a little too seriously. Is that even your real last name, Ms. Holiday?”
She laughs, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “Of course it is. It’s a long-standing family tradition to embrace all things festive. My great-great-great-grandfather legally changed the family name to Holiday because, according to him, if you’re not celebrating, you’re not living.”
I’m trying to figure out how far back great-great-great really is. Is that even a real thing? Does it matter? I let out a groan. “That explains so much. Your family has some serious holiday issues. Have you thought about getting that checked? Maybe it’s a DNA anomaly.”
She bursts into laughter. “And you’re gullible too. No one in my family would’ve changed their last name to Holiday, Mr. Grump Next Door. My sister, for one, hates the last name. The day she got married, she practically sprinted to submit her name change paperwork. She said being called Valentina Heart Holiday was the most ridiculous thing in the world.”
Damn, that’s not a cool name at all. “It is a little . . . out there,” I admit, actually feeling a bit bad for Valentina. “So what’s up with the festive names?”
“Mom thought it’d be fitting to name her kids something that matched the last name,” she explains, with a dramatic sigh. “Val was born on February tenth, so Valentina made sense. Then there’s me, the lucky kid who was born the day after Christmas. Naturally, they thought, ‘Hey, let’s slap the most on-the-nose name ever on this poor kid.’ Hence, Noelle. You know, because apparently, Christmas wasn’t festive enough—Mom had to make sure I carried the holiday spirit in every conversation for the rest of my life.”
I laugh. “So, basically, you were born, and your parents went, ‘Yep, let’s make sure everyone knows exactly when she was born. Forever.’”
“Exactly,” she exclaims, shaking her head. “And don’t think it stops there. Every year, I get a birthday cake shaped like a Christmas tree or Rudolph, or . . . it’s Christmassy all the way. Do you know how humiliating that is when you’re ten and you just want a normal cake like every other kid? But nope. It’s for Noelle Holiday, so obviously it has to be festive. Even my presents are wrapped in holiday paper. Every. Single. Year. I’m just one jingle bell away from being an elf.”
I smirk. “Sounds like you’re really living the dream.”
“Oh, totally,” she deadpans. “Who wouldn’t want their entire identity wrapped in tinsel and Christmas cheer when you’re that young? But now, I embrace it. Instead of the birthday song, I get ‘It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year’ before blowing out my candles.”
I shake my head, half-smirking as I imagine how that would look. Is it sad or something to brag about? Is she telling me the truth or just playing me? I change the subject slightly. “Do you have any brothers?”
“Nope, just Val and me. But can you imagine if there was a boy? He’d probably have been named Nicholas. Or Patrick, like my dad—he was born on March sixteenth.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Does he celebrate St. Patrick’s Day?”
She laughs, nodding. “Oh yeah, there’s a rumor he went all out in high school and college. But by the time I came around? ‘Fun Dad’ was just a legend. Now he’s more like ‘Let’s-all-go-to-bed-by-nine Dad.’ I missed all the glory days, but hey, I got the holiday-themed childhood trauma, so it’s a trade-off, right?”
“Your family seems to be . . .” I pause, searching for the right word.
“Interesting?” she finishes for me, a teasing smile in her voice. “Yeah, we’re just your average, mildly dysfunctional family. A little intense, a little quirky, and, well . . . we’re big on traditions. The holiday obsession comes from Grandma Holly—your neighbor.”
“The one who pretends to live here but actually moved to Arizona?” I ask, hoping to get some confirmation and, let’s be honest, a reason to get her out of here.
Noelle laughs again, clearly oblivious to my scheming. “Nice try, but Grandma Holly’s not gone for good. She’s just hiding from the cold for her joints. Trust me, she’ll be back when the weather’s warmer. She can’t resist New York.”
Damn it. There goes my plan to use that as leverage to get Noelle evicted. This woman is going to drive me fucking insane.
“And once she’s back, you’ll be leaving, right? And those damn decorations will finally be gone?” I’m not sure if I’m more hopeful or secretly concerned that when she’s gone, I’ll miss my chance to prove to her that I can ace her ridiculous kissing test.
“Not sure. I have a job in the city, and I’ll probably need a place to stay,” she says casually. “I might convince her to let me crash on her couch while I look for something affordable.”
“Because paying the current rent here is a steal, I imagine,” I say, baiting her.
