Page 59 of Just a Taste
I try again, folding the corners just like they showed. First one side, then the other. I can feel the tension building in my shoulders, but I refuse to give up. I’m not about to let this piece of flimsy metal foil beat me.
After what feels like hours but is probably only ten minutes, I hold up my creation. It’s… well, it’s something. Not exactly a star. More of a wrinkled approximation of one. A deformed blob of shiny metal with vaguely pointy edges.
I stare at it. It stares back. We both know it’s a failure.
I toss my latest attempt into my pile of increasingly worse attempts and slump back into my chair with a groan.
How did I get here?
How did I, Alexander Hoxton, CEO and founder of the third-most successful tech company in the country gethere? Freezing my toes off while I glare at the failed arts and crafts project in front of me.
If Luca could see me now, he’d be in hysterics. I can practically hear him, ‘What’s got into you, man?’
At least I have an answer to that.
Noelle’s frowning face fills my mind front and centre as I pick up another piece of foil and begin rolling and folding it into something vaguely star-shaped.
Christmas doesn’t have to be complicated. You can make it whatever you want it to be.
I want Christmas to be nothing. For everyone to stop acting like the world stops spinning and nothing else matters for this one insignificant day of the year. But I’m clearly in the minority there. And I usually wouldn’t care. But for Noelle.
Christmas means something to Noelle and I’m feeling increasingly guilty knowing her favourite day of the year is going to be spent here.
And so here I am, torturing myself with tiny pieces of foil, cardboard and some ridiculous tutorial I found online. I take a shaky breath and try to smooth the wrinkles out of the foil. My thumb presses into it too hard and tears right through. I hiss out another groan of frustration.
I glance back at the video again. The woman’s hands are moving in fluid motions, as if she’s been crafting foil stars since birth. Her smile is as fake as the twinkling lights in the background. It’s not even like I want a star. Not really. What I want is… What I want is to see Noelle’s smile again, that smile of hers that lights up the room. She’d probably laugh at my pathetic attempts with this foil, and maybe that’s what I need. A little perspective. A little Noelle to remind me that it’s not about getting everything perfect.
The thought of her smile, of how much I’ve missed it just over the last few hours, is enough to make my chest tighten. I lean forward, staring at the crumpled mess of foil in my hand. It’s not a star. It’s a wad of failure, a representation of how I’ve been trying – and failing – to make this whole holiday thing right.
I still don’t get it. The frantic shopping, the forced cheer, the expectations. Noelle, though? She gets it. She feels it. And, damn it all, I want to help her feel it. Just a little bit.
The sound of footsteps shuffling down the hall jolts me out of my thoughts. I pause the video and listen out, half-heartedly hoping that she’ll stop in front of my office door. She doesn’t.
She passes by without breaking her stride and, from the sound of it, enters the guest room. I frown. Surely she’s not thinking about sleeping in there, is she? Did I really make todaythatuncomfortable and awkward that freezing to death is a better alternative than rooming with me again?
Yes.
Yes, I most definitely did.
I groan again. I want to rewind time and bring us back to that delicious moment in the kitchen when I had Noelle in my arms and everything felt easy. Holding Noelle, feeling her,kissingher, it felt right. It felt easy.
But then she said my name –moanedmy name – and the reality of the situation pulled me into the present like abucket of icy water. Our relationship has been nothing but stony professionalism for the entire time we’ve known each other. Surely she couldn’t want anything more than that.
Could she?
I shake my head and push away from my desk, slamming my laptop shut as I go. I’m a mess. I’vebeena mess for too long, focusing on work and control, shutting off everything that could possibly complicate my life and distract me from my goals. But Noelle? She complicates everything in the best way possible.
I yank open the bottom drawer of my desk, intending on shoving the failed foil stars in and forgetting about them forever, but something makes me pause.
The drawer is already half full of Post-it notes in various colours. I pluck one from the top of the pile and immediately smile.
Mr H
I have yet to meet another soul who doesn’t LOVE my lasagne. Let me know what you think.
Noelle
I remember that lasagne. It was delicious.Beyonddelicious. She made enough for me to eat leftovers for about a week afterwards, and I missed it as soon as it was finished. I don’t think I ever told her that.
