Page 2 of The Night Before Grumpmas
How’s the city treating you? Already found yourself a cute NYC man? (smile emoji)
I roll my eyes and type back quickly.
Mom, I’ve been here one day. Give me at least a week before I find my future husband. (eye-roll emoji)
You can’t take Maple Ridge out of Mom. She’s as tied to that town as the roots under its soil. Dad tried hard to convince her to stay in New York after they got married, but it was a losing battle. She’s a small-town girl through and through. Not that I’m complaining—I loved growing up there.
Her next text comes in almost immediately.
Fair enough. Don’t forget to call Grandma Jane. She worries about you.
I smile, despite myself. Unlike Grandma Holly, who’s probably sipping margaritas in Arizona without a care in the world, her mom, Grandma Jane, always worries. If she could, she’d knit me a scarf made entirely of concern and wrap me in it every day. Actually, scratch that—she’d knit an entire sweater.
Still smiling, I think back to college, when Grandma Jane’s idea of “keeping tabs” involved sending care packages stuffed with hand-knit socks and recipes for her famous pot roast—not that I could actually cook it. Now that I’m living in the city full-time, I’m sure she’s already plotting her next delivery. Honestly, it’s comforting knowing that even though I’ve left Maple Ridge, I’ve still got my family cheering me on one overly concerned text message at a time.
I set my phone down and glance around at the sea of boxes. Slowly but surely, the place is starting to feel like mine, even if most of it is still full with Grandma’s things. But that’s not a bad thing. Her love for kitschy knick-knacks and holiday decorations is legendary. I think she had four full bins of Christmas decorations just under the bed. I smile at the thought. I might not have much space here, but at least there’ll be room for my own seasonal touches.
Speaking of which . . . if I’m going to settle in properly, I might as well start with something festive. It’s early September, which means it’s time to officially begin prepping for fall. Not too early for a few pumpkins and maybe some cinnamon-scented candles, right? Just a light touch to ease into the season. Besides, if there’s one thing I love more than a fresh start, it’s a good seasonal celebration.
I practically bounce down the stairs and out onto the street, merging into the buzz of the city. The sidewalks are alive with people hustling in every direction, and for a second, I almost miss the quiet of Maple Ridge. But the nostalgia fades as I pass a shop window with a peek of fall décor—rust-colored wreaths, faux pumpkins, and a scarecrow among some Halloween decorations.
For a moment I wonder if I should just go all out and start with Halloween right now, but I abstain from doing so. I’ll wait until October first for that. We don’t want any premature decorations hanging around Grandma’s place.
“Perfect,” I mumble, stepping inside. The scent of cinnamon and clove hits me immediately, wrapping around me like a cozy sweater. This is exactly what I needed—a little slice of home in the middle of all this big-city energy. I grab a couple of mini pumpkins, a wreath for the door, and a candle that smells like freshly baked apple pie. Maybe it’s a touch early for some, but for me? The holidays start the minute the calendar flips to September.
Armed with my bag of goodies, I head back to the apartment, feeling lighter already. New York might be massive and intimidating, but I can bring a little piece of home with me by decorating my new space. And when fall rolls into winter? Oh, this place is going to be a Christmas wonderland. I live for it. I mean, how could I not? My name is literally Noelle Holiday and I’m Holly Faith Holiday’s granddaughter.
Back in the apartment, I waste no time setting things up. A pumpkin on the windowsill, a wreath on the door, the apple pie candle burning on the counter. It’s like I’m breathing life into the space, making it feel warm and familiar. By the time the sweet scent fills the air, the whole place feels different. Cozy, just how I like it.
I take a deep breath, soaking in the apple pie aroma, and smile. Tomorrow, I start my new job at the nonprofit. It’s going to be a lot—adjusting to the city, figuring out the subway without getting hopelessly lost, meeting new people—but at least I’ll come home to this little slice of holiday heaven.
Feeling festive, I grab my phone and scroll through my playlists. I settle on my Autumn Vibes mix—acoustic guitars, soft piano, and the occasional sound of rustling leaves—perfect to complement the apple pie fragrance now filling the room.
As a folksy version of “Harvest Moon” starts playing, I sway along with the music, admiring my handiwork. The warm orange glow from the candle flickers off the walls, and for a moment, I feel that familiar excitement that always comes with fall.
Until—bang, bang, bang—someone pounds on the wall so hard it almost knocks the pumpkins off the counter.
“Seriously what’s going on?” I mutter, pausing the music. Before I can fully process what’s happening, a deep voice rumbles through the wall. The kind of voice that could make reading a tax form sound sexy—if it weren’t dripping with irritation.
“Your music’s too loud. Could you cut it out? And what is that smell? Not everyone wants to live inside an apple pie or a pumpkin spice commercial.”
I blink. Did I just get scolded for playing acoustic music and lighting a candle?
“Wanna say that to my face?”
Indignation bubbles up inside me as I storm to the door, yank it open, and march into the hallway. And there he is—the source of all this grumpiness. Tall, mid-thirties maybe, with dark brown hair that looks like he’s just rolled out of bed. His eyes are so dark they practically swallow the light, and even though he’s clearly very annoyed, I can’t ignore that he’s ridiculously handsome—in that brooding,I’m-too-stuck-up-to-enjoy-lifesort of way.
“What’s your problem, buddy?” I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow. “The noise ordinance doesn’t kick in until ten. It’s only four. You do know how to tell time, right?”
He narrows his eyes, arms crossed, clearly not here for pleasantries. “I’m just trying to relax while someone blasts music like it’s a Halloween rave. And don’t even get me started on that smell. It’s like being punched in the face by cinnamon and whatever other fruity crap you’ve got burning in there.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. A Halloween rave? With acoustic music? This guy is too much.
“Really?” I say, trying to hold back a grin. “A rave? Aren’t we a little dramatic?”
His lips twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to smile, but he’s far too committed to his grumpiness to let it happen. “Look, all I’m saying is—could you just . . . not? It’s been a long day, and I’m about to jump on a call. I’m not in the mood for . . .” He waves a hand toward my apartment. “. . . whatever that is.”
“Well, that is my fall vibe,” I reply, keeping my tone playful. “And it’s not that loud, maybe invest in some earplugs. If you’re allergic to pumpkin spice season, cook something bitter if the cinnamon’s too much for you.”
