Page 57 of Holiday Interference
“Come for me, Noelle. Right here with me.”
She lets go, squeezing me tight enough I can’t do anything but follow her over the edge, her name a vow on my lips as I fall.
Noelle’s curled up on the couch under one of the throw blankets she pulled from the basket in the corner. Legs tucked to one side, hair still messy, skin still flushed from the way I fucked her breathless just thirty minutes ago.
And she lookscontent.
It does something to my chest I’m not ready to name.
The TV flickers soft across her face as I hand her the mug of peppermint hot chocolate she didn’t ask for, but I made anyway.
She takes it with a smile so gentle, it punches the air from my lungs.
“This looks criminally good,” she says, blowing on the steam before taking a careful sip. “Where the hell did you even get marshmallows shaped like snowflakes?”
I sink down beside her, bumping her knee with mine. “I have a cousin who makes themed gift baskets. I think this one was‘Single Guys Who Forget to Decorate.’Came with lights and cocoa and a pine-scented candle I haven’t opened yet.”
She laughs, warm and unfiltered. “You really don’t like Christmas, huh?”
I shrug, sipping mine slower. “Didn’t used to.”
She hums like she wants to press, but doesn’t.
We sit in silence for a while asThe Holidayplays in the background. She makes little comments here and there—how Jude Law’s glasses are the real MVP, how Kate Winslet deserves better, how Cameron Diaz clearly has unresolved trauma she should work out in therapy.
I listen more than I speak.
She’s funny when she’s relaxed. Sharp and a little chaotic and totally unfiltered in a way that feels earned, not careless. Like I’m getting pieces of her no one else sees.
I want more of those pieces.
“I meant to ask you something earlier,” I say when the next scene fades to black. “What’s the deal with mistletoe?”
She glances at me, amused. “What do you mean?”
“Why do people kiss under it? Like, what makes that weed so damn romantic?”
She grins over the rim of her mug. “You want the Hallmark version or the history teacher version?”
“Hit me with the facts, Teach.”
She scoots closer, blanket draped across her lap like a throne.
“Mistletoe’s been used for centuries. Ancient Celts thought it had healing powers. Norse mythology says it symbolizes peace and love; there’s this whole legend about Frigg, the goddess of love, crying tears that turned mistletoe white after her son died.”
“Jesus,” I murmur. “That took a turn.”
“Yeah, well, most holidays do when you look close enough.” She nudges me with her elbow. “But eventually, the story shifted. Mistletoe became a symbol of protection and renewal. So people started hanging it in doorways. If two people stood beneath it, it meant they were safe there. Together.”
The quiet stretches again. This time, it feels like it’s holding something sacred.
“That’s kind of beautiful,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t answer right away.
Then, softly—“It is.”
I glance up to find her watching me over the edge of her mug.
