Page 1 of Christmas Criminal

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NOELLE

Friday, November 29th

“I’m here for community service.”

I sound as crabby as I feel. There's nothing worse than having to walk into high school almost a decade after finally leaving andthinkingyou'll never have to go back.

Especially when you were the weird kid.

The guy sitting at the front desk peels his eyes away from the book he's reading to look at me, eyebrows high, and nods. "You must be Noelle."

I give him my best awkward smile and shrug.

I take it back: there isonething worse.

Walking back into a high school almost a decade after you thought you'd never have to see it again,with a reputation.

His feet drop from the desk in front of him, and when he stands to his full height in front of me, I realize the man in front of me is built like a tank. All muscle underneath dark jeans and a Snow Falls High SchoolT-shirt that makes my stomach churn. A light smattering of stubble lines his face. When he presseshis glasses up onto his head, his chestnut hair flies out in every direction.

He holds his hand out to me to shake, smiling politely."I'm Nick.”

"Noelle," I say, doing my best to shake his hand harder than he shakes mine becausegoddamnit,I refuse to let this community service arrangement take me down.

He raises his eyebrows again, and for a second I think I impressed him with my strong handshake.

Then I realize it's because he alreadyknowsmy name.

High school, one. Noelle, zero.

He gestures for me to follow him. "So today we're uncovering the Christmas float. See what we're dealing with and maybe clean it up a bit. We don't have a plan for the theme of this year's float yet, but we can get it all set up for when the kids want to work on it."

I nod, following him down a long corridor that leads to the garage. As we walk, I'm hit with a slew of memories from these halls. The door to the library, where I snuck in to eat my lunch every day because I never seemed to have the same lunch period as my few friends. The hallway where I used to wait for my high school boyfriend, who lasted all of two months, to make out for three minutes between classes. The quiet cove between banks of lockers where he broke up with me after implying to the whole school that I had an STD before promptly getting with Stacy Mann.

Stacy Mann–who didn't even know he existed before then–was more enticing than me, the girl who hung on his every word.

Because I was born with skin that reacts poorly to anything except air, apparently.

The hall is filled with that high school scent that’s mostly stale with the hint of mildew.

And something… sweet. And a little smoky. Like a s’more fresh from the fire.

My mouth waters as I take another sniff, the realization dawning on me that it must behimthat smells so delectable.

I inhale quickly again, like I might be able to put that scent in a little box in my brain and come back later for a midnight snack.

"Can't wait to get cleaning," I say, because I feel like I should saysomethingbefore my inner obsession with the way he smells becomes outwardly obvious.

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. "Are you one of those people?"

"One of what people?"

"Who enjoy cleaning?"

I shrug. "I don't know. There was a lot of silence so I figured I should say words."

He nods. "Ah. You're one ofthosepeople."

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