Page 11 of The Holiday Grump
I’d made it around the corner when I realized she’d evaded my question. I still didn’t know what she’d been doing at the bar.
CHAPTER 5
Noelle
Icouldn’t sleep. The bed was so short I had to curl my legs, which would’ve been fine if the springs didn’t squeak every time I moved. And I was a very mobile sleeper. I knew this from all the times Spencer complained about being kicked. After a few fitful hours, I sat up, staring at the dark room. A glance at my phone told me it was 3 a.m. I was exhausted yet too wired to fall asleep.
I pulled on my jacket. Everything in this tiny storage room was depressing, but outside was a winter wonderland. Maybe I could take a stroll, admire the lights, and get some fresh air. Then I’d come back and try sleeping on the hardwood floor. At least that didn’t squeak.
Bundled in a wool beret, scarf, and mittens, I braced against the freezing air. Snow had kept falling all night, covering the ground like a diamond blanket. I headedtoward the bookstore, fingers fumbling for the key Fredrik had given me. I didn’t even need to use the bathroom, but I wanted to take a look around.
I was curious about Fredrik. He dressed and talked like an old professor or a hermit buried in books, but he was too young for that. Like he’d put on a Halloween costume and never taken it off. He was the hottest mad professor I’d ever seen, though, with dark lashes and a sculpted jaw. And maybe, just maybe, I had a little thing for elbow patches.
I worked the key into the lock with half-frozen fingers. The bookstore, dusty and crowded as it was, instantly calmed me. It had to be the smell of books, steady and loyal, faithfully holding all the thoughts even the writers had long ago forgotten. Books were keepers, and I felt adrift, like nothing was keeping me.
My eyes fell on the Russian classics shelf. Had Fredrik really read them all? He probably had. I loved reading, but I’d never picked up anything without a fun, colorful cover. Why choose an author you couldn’t stalk online or buy merch from?
I grabbed Dostoevsky’sCrime and Punishment. Maybe if I read one of Fredrik’s favorites, I could figure him out. What else did I have to do in this town, with no friends and a squeaky bed?
Carrying the leather-bound brick, I wandered to a corner where two wingback chairs had been squeezed next to a shelf of category romance. He hadn’t lied. This was the entire romance section, featuring endless medical-themed titles: doctors, surgeons, and nurses finding love in small towns, many of them with secret babies. I wondered if the ladies from the crochet club placed special orders.
The green velvet chair was dangerously comfortable. More comfortable than my bed. But instead of putting me to sleep, the book pulled me in. Sonya was no spunky romance heroine. She was an oppressed doormat, which bothered me enough to keep turning the pages.
Eventually, exhaustion crept up. I’d never really thought about what those “wings” on a wingback chair were for, but when my head lolled to the side and was caught in one, I sighed in relief, and sleep claimed me.
I woketo the alarming sound of the door buzzer and shot upright. The five-pound book slid from my lap and hit the floor with a thud.
Shit.
I scrambled up, smoothing my hair and brushing at my clothes. The morning light seeped through the window. If Fredrik caught me here, I’d pretend I’d come in to use the bathroom. I’d even buy this stupid book.
But it wasn’t Fredrik. A tall woman in a bright blue overcoat rounded a shelf, took one look at me, and screamed.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurted, hands in the air like I was under arrest. “Fredrik gave me the key to use the bathroom. I just moved next door to run the Christmas pop-up shop, and there are no facilities, so I’m trying to figure it out.” The words tumbled out in a frantic rush.
She steadied herself against a shelf, eyes wide. “Fredrik gave you a key? Holy mackerel.”
Only then did I notice the bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand.
“Are you his cleaner?” I asked.
She plopped the bucket onto the counter. “Yep. But I’m also his sister, which is the main reason I’m here.”
I tucked the Russian brick under my arm and stuck out my hand. “I’m Noelle. Nice to meet you.”
She tugged off a glove and shook my hand. “Felicity. Owner of Sparkle & Shine. And your new admirer.” Mirth danced at her lips.
“My what?”
“My brother hasn’t been in a good place for… a while. The fact he gave you a key is a big step.” She peered over my shoulder, eyebrow raised. “And I see you’ve made yourself very comfortable?”
I turned and stifled a yelp. My pockets had spilled their contents across the velvet armchair: phone, packet of mints, three scrunchies, and a menstrual cup. A grotesque still life of disorganization.
I lunged, scooping everything up. “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep reading.” My lip wobbled. “The bed in my place squeaks, and I couldn’t sleep, so I came here. Please don’t tell Fredrik. Please.”
Felicity laughed kindly. “I won’t.”
I eyed the cleaning bucket. “Can I help?”
