Page 3 of The Night Before Grumpmas
His expression softens slightly, but he’s still clinging to his irritation like it’s his life’s mission. “Earplugs, huh?”
I nod, stifling another laugh. “Yep. Earplugs. You should try them. They work wonders, especially if you’re allergic to joy.”
His brow arches, the corners of his mouth twitching for a brief second before he catches himself. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Ms. . . .?” His eyes narrow, suspicious. “Who are you again? I didn’t know that Mrs. Holiday moved out.”
“Grandma didn’t move out,” I say, trying not to panic. The fact that subleasing the rent-controlled apartment is technically illegal makes the release of information very tricky. So, he doesn’t need to know that I’m here on a permanent basis.
“I’m Noelle. Noelle Joy Holiday.” I give him a half-smile that says Yeah, I know. “Believe me, I didn’t name myself. Blame my parents—they thought it was festive or clever. I just call it a lifetime sentence of Christmas jokes.”
I shift awkwardly, hoping my confession will defuse whatever this is. “Anyway, I’m just apartment-sitting while Grandma basks in Arizona’s winter sunshine, which I guess she prefers over snow shovels.”
He raises a brow, still suspicious. “Winter doesn’t even start until December.”
I shrug. “Look, the woman left at the first leaf drop. That counts.”
His frown deepens. “You might want to tell her it’s illegal to sublease a rent-controlled apartment.”
I wince again. “Oh, I’m not subleasing—promise. Just playing delivery mule with a million boxes because, apparently, she couldn’t not order half of QVC.”
“Speaking of boxes,” he continues with what feels now like an interrogation, “were you the one moving all those boxes up the stairs?”
“Yeah and maybe you could’ve offered some help.” I give him an appalled look.
“Why would you be moving stuff if you’re just house sitting.” He draws air quotes.
“Well, I’m here for a couple of months. I had to bring my clothes, some books . . . I’m not a total animal, Mr. Grump Next Door.”
“Jacob. The name is Jacob McCallister,” he says, a bit less grumpy now. “And if you’re wondering, I’m more of a ‘Bah Humbug’ type.”
“Clearly.” I let my grin break free. “Well, Jacob. Jacob McCallister, you’d better get used to festivities and all holidays. You’ve got a neighbor who celebrates all the holidays—fall, Halloween, Christmas . . . the works. I go all out.”
He groans, dragging a hand over his face like he’s mentally preparing for a long, holiday-filled battle. “Of course you do. But don’t get too comfortable—I’ll make sure you find moderation, or the board will hear from me.”
“Or maybe,” I counter with a smirk, “you’ll learn to appreciate them. Who knows, I might even convert you into a holiday lover.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Highly doubtful. But thanks for the warning. I’ll start stockpiling earplugs now.”
I shrug, giving him a cheeky smile. “Good luck. You’ll need them when December hits.”
His lips twitch, the grumpy mask slipping just a little. “Can’t wait.” As he turns back to his door, he throws over his shoulder, “I’ll make sure that by December, there are new building rules, and your ‘festivities’ are reduced to one tiny Hallmark card on the coffee table.”
“Or . . . you’ll be the one singing carols before Christmas Eve,” I fire back, grinning.
His jaw tightens, and I can practically see the irritation flare in his eyes. “Not happening. Ever.”
I watch him retreat into his apartment, feeling oddly victorious. Sure, my neighbor’s a total grump, but at least he’s kind of cute. And honestly? His reaction to my fall decorations just makes me even more determined.
If he thinks a couple of pumpkins and cinnamon candles were bad, wait until he sees what I have planned for Halloween. This place is going to be a full-blown haunted house. And don’t even get me started on Christmas.
This is going to be so much fun.
Chapter Two
Jacob
There’snothing quite like coming home to your own personal hell.
I glare at the wall separating my apartment from hers. It hasn’t even been 24 hours, and I’m already regretting the sarcastic comment I threw at Noelle yesterday. Well, comment is a nice way of putting it. Then before bed time, I had to be a lot more assertive. It was past ten-thirty and her music was equally loud. I told her to fuck off, and she had the audacity to shoot back, telling me to duck off myself—or something equally ridiculous.
