Page 3 of Snowed in with a Grinch

Her eyes dart around everywhere, taking in my living room with curiosity, and I see my space through her gaze. The stark walls, the minimal furniture, the complete absence of anything that might suggest someone actually lives here rather than just exists. I glance at the empty mantle where normal people would display family photos or Christmas cards. But I packed those away years ago, along with everything else that reminded me of December promises broken.

“Gosh, it’s so warm in here.”

Snowflakes melt on her shoulders, darkening spots on her coat, and she winces in her struggle to get the offending article off her body. The sight stirs something protective in me, something I thought I'd buried years ago, along with everything else that made me human.

Get it together, Hawkins.

“Here.” I step behind her, helping her slide the coat off before I can think better of it. She smells like vanilla and cinnamon, and when my fingers brush her shoulders as I ease the wet coat away, I swear I feel her lean into the touch. “Better?”

“Thanks. It’s really warm in here.” She turns to face me, offering a bright smile that makes me want things I shouldn’t. This close, I can see the pretty segmented patterns in her brown eyes, the slight flush on her cheeks, and her deep pink lips that are just begging for me to... “I'm Noelle, by the way,” she says, interrupting my thoughts before they turn into actions. “Noelle Winters.”

Of course she is.Because the universe clearly has a sense of humor, sending me a Christmas angel named Noelle to crash into my life on a holiday I don’t even like. “Noelle?”

She lets out a tiny laugh. “I was born the week before Christmas. My due date was actually Christmas day. So my mom had the name all picked out. But she says it was still fitting since I make every Christmas brighter with my over-the-top holiday spirit.” She twirls slightly from side to side, showcasing the dress that seems designed for festivities, the skirt flaring out like a joyful banner. “I guess that’s my superpower in life.”

I can’t help but chuckle, but the sound comes out all gruff and wrong. More like a derisive grunt. She frowns and quickly runs a hand down her front to still her dress. I feel like shit and move on.

“Sawyer Hawkins.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hawkins.” She holds out her hand and I take it, trying to ignore how perfectly it fits in mine. “Thank you for not leaving me out there to freeze. I promise to get out of your hair as soon as possible. Oh, and to somehow pay for the repairs on your fence.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, releasing her hand before I can do something stupid like pull her closer. “I’m just glad you didn’t break your neck out there. And about the fence… it’s nothing a few nails and some lumber won’t fix.” I wave dismissively, but my heart races at the thought of her leaving. “Coffee?”

“That would be great,” she replies, her smile widening in a way that seems to light up every corner of my dark cabin. It's as if even my walls are craving her nearness.

With a grunt, I tear myself away from her and head for the kitchen. The familiar ritual of making coffee should calm my nerves, but her presence makes even this simple task feel different. I hunt through my cabinets, painfully aware of how unprepared I am for guests. Most of my mugs are chipped or stained from years of solitary use, and I can't remember the last time I bothered with anything beyond basic black coffee.

“Not a fan of company?” She glances around while I dig through the cabinet, probably noting the sparse furnishings and complete lack of personal touches.

“It's not that I'm not a fan,” I say over my shoulder, trying to sound casual as I finally locate a decent mug buried in the dark recesses of the cupboard. “Just prefer it quiet.”

I measure the coffee grounds carefully, hyper-aware of her watching me. The rich aroma fills the kitchen as I work, and I catch her closing her eyes, inhaling deeply. Something about the way she appreciates even this simple pleasure makes my chest tight.

“Ah, the hermit life,” she teases gently, leaning against the other side of the counter. Her fingers tap a rhythm againstthe granite, and I find myself mesmerized by the movement. “Although, with it being Christmas Eve with no tree, no lights—not even a candy cane in sight—I'm wondering if you're secretly the Grinch?”

I scoff, pouring hot water over the grounds with practiced precision. “The Grinch at least had a dog.”

Noelle laughs, a bright sound that makes my heart feel lighter than it has in years. “All right then, what’s your excuse? No dog, no tree—are you just pretending it’snotthe most magical night of the year?”

“There’s no pretending here.” I glance up at her as I pour the steaming coffee into two mismatched mugs. “I just don’t do Christmas.”

“You don’tdoChristmas?” She sounds genuinely distressed by this, like the idea of someone not wanting to celebrate during the holidays is completely foreign to her. “That sounds so…”

“Peaceful?” I offer, sliding her coffee across the counter to her.

She shakes her head. “Lonely.”

“Don't waste your sympathy,” I say as I lift my mug to my mouth. “I chose this.”

“Nobody chooses to be alone on Christmas,” she breathes. “They just convince themselves it's easier that way.”

I take a long sip of my coffee, fighting the feeling her words have created in my gut, until my attention is pulled to the emergency alert lighting up my phone. “It’s a shelter in place warning. Storm's not letting up anytime soon. You'll have to stay here tonight.”

“What? No!” She puts her coffee down so hard it sloshes slightly over the side of it. “Shit. I’m sorry. But I can't! My family's expecting me. My mom will worry, and my aunt Pearl will have an absolute meltdown if I miss Christmas Eve dinner,and…” I watch as she pulls out her own phone, reads over the same emergency message, and her panic sets in.

“Noelle—”

“You don’t understand. It’s not just dinner, it's tradition! We wear matching pajamas, we exchange gifts, and we play board games until everyone is too tired to make it through another round,” she explains, her voice rising with each detail. “And my mom's secret eggnog recipe—it’s legendary! If I don't make it, they’ll think something awful happened to me!”

---