Page 98 of The Holiday Grump
I lingered inside the bookstore, watching through the window as she arranged pulla and thermoses of hot drinks on the red tablecloths flapping in the wind. The Christmas calendar admin, Miriam, carted in her oversized calendar, and soon people began arriving. Usually, these calendar events were hosted inside businesses, so they’d get extra sales. Noelle’s setup was nonsensical. She was serving free food on the sidewalk, all paid for out of her own pocket, to people who would grab it and then wander off.
I felt a flash of anger on her behalf. Didn’t they realize how hard she’d worked? How much she’d spent? They weren’t even looking at her and at the beautiful table she’d set up, their noses held up high.
It took me a moment to realize they weren’t ignoring the baking—they were looking at the sky. The storm had rolled in fast. A burst of hail pelted the tables.
I rushed outside, flinging the door open so hard it smacked an old man’s shoulder. “Noelle! Let’s move it all inside!”
Noelle’s eyes went wide, then she nodded, springing into action. Felicity and Miriam joined, and together we managed to save the baskets of pulla. The tablecloths took the worst hit, but they’d dry quickly.
Inside, we faced a new problem: there was no space.People kept coming anyway, piling in between the bookshelves like sardines.
Jackson stumbled in, brushing ice from his coat. “You could’ve moved some shelves to make room.”
“It was supposed to be outside!” Felicity snapped. “Did you not notice the weather change?”
He shrugged. “It was in the forecast, if you know where to look.”
We compromised by clearing my checkout counter and wedging another table beside it. Miriam set up her giant calendar by the armchairs, waiting to rip the page at ten o’clock. It was crowded as hell, but at least people weren’t being pummeled by ice bullets.
Noelle joined me behind the counter. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be here. You can go upstairs. This will be over soon.”
She wore an emerald-green dress under her fluffy peach jacket, her long braid unraveling as damp strands clung to her temples. She looked sweet and wild, the way she’d looked like in the sauna, and my heart swelled. I was in over my head.
“It’s okay.” I slipped a hand under her jacket, pulling her closer for a second. “Do what you need to do. I’ll stay out of the way.”
I retreated toward the back with Jackson, leaving the women to handle the counter. More people kept arriving. I heard a language that definitely wasn’t English. Probably the Finns she’d told me about, who always traveled from miles away for pulla. Noelle had worried about impressing them, but the blond ladies dropping harsh consonants wasn’t the main act.
“It’s Brody King,” someone hissed.
Sure enough, the Hollywood star himself stood in the middle of my bookstore, surrounded by eager fans. I knew he was from Hideaway and remembered him vaguely from my school days, but he hadn’t shown his face here in years. Why now?
Was he here for pulla, too?
Across the store, Noelle’s eyes locked on mine, shell-shocked. She mouthed something I couldn’t decipher. We all waited for Miriam to ceremoniously rip the calendar page for December 20th, declaring it was five days until Christmas.
The air grew thick with the smell of baking, layered with perfume and bad breath. Paper plates and cups piled up on my bookshelves even though Noelle hustled around with a trash bag. The crowd around Brody grew louder. Why had I ever balked at a few Christmas decorations? This was objectively far worse.
When Brody and his entourage finally left, I exhaled in relief. Little did I know that the true disaster was still walking toward my door.
A man in a tailored wool coat and leather gloves stepped in. My gaze snapped to his face, and my chest seized.
Spencer Alford. Same self-important air and glossy helmet hair I remembered from the article.
He scanned the room and brushed past me without a flicker of recognition.
Where was Noelle?
I spotted her crouched near the brown bookshelf, picking up another napkin someone had tossed like my store was a trash can.
Spencer zeroed in on her like a hunter on his target, and I surged forward. Whether on legs or pure adrenaline, I wasn’t sure, but I had to get there. I had to protect her.
Noelle jumped up to stand, grasping the bookshelf as she laid eyes on him. “Spence! What are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 32
Noelle
I’d imagined this moment a thousand times. First, I’d imagined him acting benevolently, waving off my apologies and saying he was happier now. That everything was fine. And then I’d read the article. After that, I hadn’t been able to imagine anything at all. Nothing past that first moment of recognition, and my overwhelming urge to run away.
