Page 47 of Noel I Won’t
Freaking adorable, really.
I could put him in my pocket. Pick him up and toss him over my shoulder. Break him in half.
But I didn’t want to do any of those things, and he didn’t want that either.
We were a perfect match that way.
I rolled over and nuzzled his throat. “Best Christmas memory ever.”
He chuckled. “We’re just getting started.”
I sighed and closed my eyes, hiding my expression in the crook of his shoulder.
What he said was true. We were just getting started. Noel had been here only nine days.
We had approximately twenty-one until Christmas.
Twenty-one days toget started.
And also get finished.
I already knew it wouldn’t be enough for me. I was falling too hard for him. But it was far too late to resist, and even if I could, I didn’t want to.
I’d just have to treasure Noel as a gift I’d never seen coming, and try to look back on these days like Noel and his mother had looked back on all those childhood holidays.
With fondness, nostalgia, and love.
But no regrets.
CHAPTER 17
NOEL
The room Hopperand I had spent hours cleaning looked like a group of Christmas elves had thrown up all over it by the time I neared the end of the wreath-making workshop.
Leafy boughs, holly berries, silk flowers, little brass bells, strands of battery-powered fairy lights, three colors of ribbon, pine cones, and miniature ornaments covered the table.
Glue had left a sticky trail all around one of our crafters, too. Thankfully, I’d put a plastic tablecloth over the table my great-great-grandfather crafted by hand. I could just imagine him rolling in his grave as I ruined his work with Christmas crafting.
Iola Fletcher wrestled with a bow that wouldn’t cooperate with her, remaining stubbornly lopsided. Beside her, Lula Miller gleefully wrapped a strand of blinking Christmas lights around a wreath exploding with color.
“No, Lula! It’s too much,” Iola insisted, looking appalled. “You’re not supposed to puteverythingin the wreath. It’s aselectionof items to choose from.”
Lula shrugged. “Well, I like it! What’s the point of Christmas decorations unless you’re going all out, right?”
Gertie, the seven-year-old who’d come in with her dad, giggled in agreement. But then she’d also gone all out on herwreath, adding so many fake poinsettias and carnations that it was nearly a solid flower wreath.
We’d supplied fresh greenery for the wreath base, along with a variety of decorations to add on to the project. Iola had chosen a ribbon and some holly—and Lula had taken a bit of everything else.
She’d included plastic snowflakes and cardinals, miniature drummer boys and angels, shiny Christmas bulbs, tiny brass bells, candy canes, and now the lights.
It was an explosion of several Christmas aesthetics combined into one loud wreath.
I laughed. “Lula, I like your spirit.”
She beamed at me. “Why, thank you, Noel.” She sniffed. “At leastsomeoneis not a stick in the mud.”
“I’ll show you a stick…” Iola muttered, the last of her sentence getting lost. The sentiment was not, though. She shook her head, exasperated.
