Page 82 of The Holiday Ex-Files

“I’m just lamenting about this renovation. Thanks again for talking me into it.” I laced my words with so much sarcasm, they were dripping in it.

Without missing a beat, Noah replied, “You’re welcome. You’re lucky we caught the mold when we did. Besides, you need a good shake-up in your life.”

“Says the person who isn’t washing his dishes in his bathtub.” I had no sink or running water at the moment in my kitchen.

Noah chuckled. “You’re welcome to wash your dishes at my house anytime.”

Huh. Noah had never invited me to his house before. I knew he’d bought a place a couple of years ago. But he never said much about it.

“Do you like your new place?” He used to live in a dive. His excuse for living there was that as long as he had space for a big TV and bed, what more did he need.

“Yeah, it’s great. Four bedrooms, three baths, big backyard with a pool.”

My eyes widened. “Wow. Why so much space?”

“Just thinking about the future.”

He meant Annika and all the beautiful babies they would have together.

I kissed Luna’s head, trying not to be bummed out.

“You should come over sometime,” he added, nonchalantly.

I wasn’t sure I could do that. I wasn’t sure why. It’s not like I couldn’t keep my hands off him if I went to his place. I hadn’t accosted him yet at my own. But my tiny condo screamed that I was living the single life for eternity. If that didn’t do it, my pink couch cemented my intentions.

We could buy a new couch, someone reminded me.

Noah would still be in love with Annika, so the couch was staying.

“I don’t know, do you still use beer crates for furniture?”

His laughter filled the cab of his truck. “I’ve matured now. I only use them for my nightstands.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m kidding. I think you might be surprised by my bedroom furniture,” he said with an air of allurement.

I gripped my seat, doing my best not to think about going into his bedroom. “If you say so.” I cleared my throat.

“I do.” He left it at that.

I was grateful for the reprieve, except now I was curious about his bedroom, how soft his bed was. Bad, bad thoughts. So bad, I jumped out of the cab of his truck as soon as he pulled into a spot at his favorite hardware store in Carson City. He was like a VIP there. He even had special contractor privileges and could use the exclusive checkout lines, where every woman cashier would check him out. I could hardly blame them. He looked like a freaking rock star.

Luna followed me out. I had become her favorite. I was pretty smitten with her too. I held on to her leash and waited for Noah to join us. He was in his signature “Look at my tatted arms” shirt and hug-me-right jeans. Meanwhile, I was already layering with a long-sleeved shirt and a hoodie and was still cold.

Today we were picking out paint. I think Noah thought I needed a renovation pick-me-up even though we were nowhere near being ready to paint. But paint offered me some hope this renovation might end on a good note.

The three of us walked in together like Noah owned the place. Everyone waved at him, a few women swooned. Noah took it all in stride like he was used to the attention. It was one of Noah’s many finer points: he was beautiful, and he totally knew it, but he didn’t care if other people knew it. He treated everyone as if they were his best friend. Even me.

As we walked toward the center of the store where the paint was, I had this odd feeling someone was following us. But every time I turned around, there was no one obvious. Why would anyone follow us anyway? I was sure I was just being paranoid. I was a little twitchy from the holly jolly decorations they were selling and the music being played over the PA system. Why did a hardware store need to jump on that bandwagon? Even when I was crazy for the C-word, I never once thought, “Let’s hit up the hardware store for all my holiday needs.”

I refrained from scratching my neck. It was the time of year; I would be itching all over anytime I went anywhere. Which was why I had mostly hibernated the last few years. Noah was changing all the rules for me though. He wouldn’t allow me to wallow at home. My mother was using this to her advantage too. I had been roped into the Jenkins Thanksgiving feast next week. She’d put me in charge of the green bean casserole knowing I would have to come through or else my brothers would storm my condo. It was weird, but my family had a long-standing obsession with green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and fried onions. Every family had their quirk, and this was ours.

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