Page 46 of Joy to Noel
Madison snaps to attention and motions to move the dresser as far down the wall as possible. Her room has an old-fashioned twin bed with a trundle underneath along one of the walls, and the dresser is across from the bed. “I moved the random dining chair and side table that were here to the living room so the dresser could move over. It’s on those slidey-thingies, but I still can’t get it to budge. If you push from this side and I try to lift it up a little on the other side, maybe it will move. Or maybe it has grown roots into the floor.”
Huffing a laugh at her statement, I motion her aside. “I got it.” Bending my knees, I place one hand on the bottom of the dresser and the other near the top of the side. Giving a forceful shove with my shoulder, I walk forward as the dresser slowly slides toward the opposite wall where Madison wants it to go.
“Good?” I ask after standing to my full height.
Madison huffs and rolls her eyes. “Showoff. You can carry the tree in here if that’s how you want to be.”
I have a mile-long list of things I should work on tonight. Employees I want to shift around on the production line. Standard operating procedures to update based on recent outcomes. Research on the potential new freeze-dried production line equipment.
Instead, I change into shorts and a T-shirt and spend the next hour helping Madison “floof” the tree branches, hang strands of twinkle lights all over her room, and hand her ornaments like a surgeon’s assistant. Her pop Christmas hits playlist continues on loop, and Ipretend to be a lot more reluctant about the whole thing than I actually am.
For his part, Hamlet is a curious spectator from the doorway, obediently staying out of the room.
When we finish, Madison heats up leftover pasta, which we eat while she fills me in on the list of independent authors she emailed today.
“I decided an email with my résumé and client testimonials attached would be more professional than sliding into someone’s DMs on social media. We’ll see what comes of it,” she explains. “But I put myself out there for twenty authors writing the type of material I’d dream of proofreading, so even if I get completely ghosted, I think you still owe me flowers.”
Swallowing a bite of chicken, I rise from my chair. “Actually, I have something I think you’ll like better than flowers.” She raises a confused eyebrow as I cross the room to where my satchel is sitting on a barstool. Her eyes widen when I cross back to her holding out my reMarkable tablet.
“What are you doing?” she asks, holding up her hands as though I’m pointing a gun at her.
“My company is sending me the new upgraded version that has more storage capacity. I cleared this old one off today, so you may as well have it,” I say.
“You can’t just give me this,” Madison tries to protest. “Is this ethical? Legal? Is your company going to come after me for this?” She asks the questions in earnest, but I see the desire sparkling in her eyes.
“I told you—I’m getting an upgrade. I get new office and tech supplies all the time without returning the old stuff. And I recently turned down the upgraded laptop they offered because I didn’t need it. They won’t ask for this one back. Just take it,” I insist, practically shoving it into her hands.
Her slim fingers wrap around the thin edges of the tablet, and she caresses the fingertips of one hand across the smooth screen. She looks up at me through squinted eyes. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing here. But it just so happens that my covetousness over this particular item is going to win out over my pride.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just passing along my leftovers instead of throwing them away,” I insist.
Madison’s lips turn up in a real, genuine smile without any hint of smirk or sarcasm or satire. And as much as I enjoy all of Madison’s sassy expressions, this smile sucks the oxygen out of my lungs.
“Will you show me the basics of how it works?” she asks.
I help Madison transfer the manuscript she’s editing over to the tablet, then give her a guided tour of the capabilities. She grins like a kid at Disney World the entire time, and she promptly curls up on the sofa to dive right into proofreading.
Rather than retreating to my room, I pull out my laptop and sit at the dining table to work on the operating procedures handbook. Hamlet jumps onto my lap and curls into a ball of lightly purring fur.
I try to focus on my computer screen, but my eyes can’t help but bounce up every few minutes to glance at Madison across the room. She’s lounging back against the side of the couch, one ankle propped over her bent knee. I watch as she fidgets, flipping the reMarkable stylus over the back of her hand in between making marks on the page.
The sight of her so happily using the “gift” I gave her melts something in my chest.
After tonight, I need to go back to maintaining some distance and boundaries—stay late at the office or work in my room instead of the shared living spaces.
Because I can’t afford to soften to someone. Not when we’re both leaving.
Our stars may have crossed temporarily, but they’re not fated to stay that way.
Facts are facts.
Chapter twenty-one
Madison
“Ithink I’m going to need to cut back to just working two shifts a week, if that doesn’t put you in a bind,” I tell Becky. I’m at the Deer River Bar with “The Marrieds,” as I’ve come to call the collective group. I’ve become a semi-regular ninth wheel to their weekly dinners, and they allseemunbothered by my presence, at the very least.
Becky nods as she chews a bite of her chicken sandwich. “I’ll move some shifts around and figure it out. I hope that means you’ve been taking on lots of new clients!”
