Page 25 of Holiday Interference
She presses the elevator button, and for a second I catch her profile reflected in the polished metal doors—eyes bright, cheeks flushed with anticipation.
She looks alive again.
All I can think is that the world out there doesn’t deserve her warmth.
And if I stay behind, I’ll start thinking about what it means that I don’t want her to leave.
We don’t go far.
The snow’s slushy now—half-melted on the sidewalks, shoveled in uneven patches that force us to walk single file, then side by side, then single file again.
Atlanta doesn’t do snow. It tolerates it.
We hit the coffeehouse across from the Lofts. The guy behind the counter gives Noelle a once-over, but then he clocks me behind her and gives a nod.
Her eyes skim the handwritten signs, with the Christmas lights strung behind them.
“What’s good here?” she asks me.
I shrug. “I’m just plain coffee, cream and sugar kind of guy.”
Her lips twitch, eyes twinkling up at me. “Reid, I would expect nothing less from you.”
She smiles at the barista. “Two plain coffees please. One black, one cream and sugar.”
He mumbles the order back, clearly not pleased to be manning the cafe today.
Can’t say I blame him.
But Noelle smiles at him and compliments his music taste when she hears the low hum of Al Green playing through the speakers.
I watch her charm the grumpy dude into a smile without even trying.
And I hate how easy it is to imagine her fitting into my world.
She pays before I can argue. “You saved me from freezing to death. Let me at least buy you a cup of coffee.”
I grumble something noncommittal and hold the door open for her.
Outside, she exhales like the cold clears her thoughts. “God, I missed this air. The kind that punches your lungs a little.”
“You know you sound deranged, right?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it too.”
I don’t answer. But yeah—I do.
Full-blown winters in Michigan, I don’t miss. But I do miss snow every so often and that biting cold you can only get from Mother Nature.
We walk in silence for a few steps, then she speaks again, voice softer now. “So… Venom Lofts. Hockey player central.”
I glance sideways. “Yeah, a few of us live here. Riley, a couple of rookies, me. Coach likes to keep us rookies close to The Pit.”
“And you like that?”
I shrug. “Why not? I can walk to work, and that beats driving in Atlanta any day. It’s why I moved over here.”
She hums like she’s filing that away.
