Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
It had nothing to do with the fact he was about to spend the morning working with Noah Carter, human sunshine, clipboard enthusiast, and—apparently—the older boy he’d once sketched obsessively at age fifteen.
He absolutely did not blame that.
He pushed open the community center doors—and froze.
Chaos was an understatement.
The center looked as if Santa’s workshop had gotten into a bar fight with a craft store.
Garlands lay in heaps, plastic storage bins were open, vomiting ornaments across the floor, and volunteers milled around in various stages of confusion and caffeine.
Christmas music blasted from a Bluetooth speaker that had seen better days.
The big hall looked as if a tinsel bomb had gone off.
And if there was a patron saint of Tangled Christmas Lights, Eli was pretty sure they haunted the Community Center.
“Wow,” he muttered. “Christmas threw up. Or else this is a festive crime scene.”
“Right?” came a voice.
Noah stood by the stage, clipboard in hand.
He wore dark jeans and a soft-looking faded green hoodie that made his eyes look more storm-cloud blue than usual.
Across the front was printed MAPLEFORD LIGHTS UP DECEMBER.
He looked as though he’d been up for hours and somehow still managed to radiate “human golden retriever who can lift heavy things.” More dangerously, he looked exactly like the memory of a seventeen-year-old leaning against the bleachers with a grin that Eli had once tried to capture on paper.
Eli’s pulse did a quiet little uptick, and he willed his own face not to do anything suspicious.
Noah crossed the room to meet him. “You came. I wasn’t sure if— I mean, I hoped you would—”
“You told my sister there’d be cinnamon rolls,” Eli said.
“I lied,” Noah said cheerfully. “But there is hot cocoa.”
Eli’s lips twitched. “Good to know your moral compass is flexible.” He raised his eyebrows. “You thought I’d bail?”
“No,” Noah said quickly. “Yes. Maybe. It’s Monday. People bail on Mondays.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t do anything embarrassing. “Reporting for wreath duty. Or manual labor. Or emotional support. I’m very versatile.”
Noah grinned. “You’re already my favorite volunteer.”
“You say that to everyone,” Eli said.
“No,” Noah replied, his tone mock-serious. “Some people show up late and drink cocoa in the corner. You came on time and made a joke. That puts you at the top of the list.”
“High standards.”
“Always,” Noah said. The little flicker of earnestness across his face made Eli’s chest feel weirdly tight.
Just for the season. Because if Eli didn’t keep reminding himself, who would?
“Come on. Let me introduce you to the madness.” He led Eli into the chaos, gesturing with his clipboard.
“This,” Noah said, pointing to three older women untangling a mountain of garland with the focus of bomb defusal experts, “is the Garland Task Force. Do not mess with their system.”
One of the women, a compact lady with steel-gray hair and a cardigan that could stop a bullet, looked up and pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at Eli.
He nodded solemnly. “Understood.” One of the women glared at a strand of lights as if that would make it untangle itself.
“They take their job very seriously.”
“I can see that,” Eli murmured.
“Over there,” Noah went on, “we’ve got the Tree Committee, arguing about whether the big spruce in the square needs colored lights or warm white. I try to stay out of it unless there’s blood.”
“Is there usually blood?” And what have I gotten myself into?
“Only metaphorically.” Noah pointed toward the stage. “And that’s the Set Crew—building the photo backdrop. This year’s theme is ‘Cozy Winter Magic.’”
“What was last year’s theme?” Eli asked.
“We don’t talk about last year’s theme,” Noah said. “It involved live geese.”
Eli winced. “Enough said.” He snapped his fingers together. “Because… beaks.”
Noah turned back to him. “I’m putting you on lights and window dressing.”
“Is that a promotion or a punishment?”
“Promotion.” Noah’s eyes were warm. “You have an eye for this. I saw your sister’s bakery window.”
“I didn’t do much,” Eli said.
“You did enough to impress me.” He said it casually, but it landed somewhere tender.
Eli felt a ridiculous bloom of pride.
Every time Noah smiled at him, something in Eli’s chest tightened, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to recognition, memory, longing, or maybe a mix of all three, tangled up in ways he didn’t want to examine yet.
Noah handed him a coil of lights. “We’ll start with the entrance. Make it welcoming, not blinding. Unless you have strong opinions about blinding.”
“I’m anti-blinding. Pro-twinkly though.”
“Excellent. You’ll fit right in.”
Eli took the lights and their fingers brushed, just a brief touch, but it shot straight up his arm.
Noah didn’t show any sign of noticing.
Eli was feeling everything.
It’s fine. You’re a grown adult. You can stand next to your old teenage fantasy without combusting.
He hoped.
“Morning, heathens!” A woman hurried into the hall, wearing jeans and a paint-spattered sweater, a tote bag full of construction paper slung over her shoulder. In one hand she held a travel mug.
Noah glanced across at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching children right now?”
“In twenty minutes,” she said breezily. “I’m dropping off the lantern wire and also checking to make sure you haven’t electrocuted yourself yet.
” Her eyes landed immediately on Eli. “Ohhh. The bakery brother. You’re cuter than I remember.
Mind you, the last time I saw you, I think you were about fifteen, sixteen. ”
Eli blinked. “Do I know you?”
She grinned. “I’m Elsie Moran. I was in your sister Aileen’s class in high school. Not that I’d expect you to remember me.” She glanced at Noah. “You have good taste.”
“Elsie,” Noah groaned.
Elsie smirked. “I’d love to stay and tease you both for the full legally allotted time, but kindergarten finger painting waits for no one.
” She pressed a roll of wire into Noah’s hands.
“Don’t burn the place down.” Then she returned her attention to Eli.
“If he trips over an extension cord, pretend it looked intentional.”
And then she breezed out before either of them could get a word in.
Noah stared after her. “And on that note…” He pointed to the front entrance. “Work time. Keep your jacket on. It’s cold out there.”
They worked side by side, looping warm lights along the doorway, thankfully out of the wind. Noah talked while they worked, an easy chatter filled with small-town gossip and infused with festival anecdotes that sounded like war stories.
“Last year’s light controller exploded,” Noah told him. “Right in the middle of Santa’s entrance.”
“Exploded?” Eli echoed.
“Popped. Smoked. Burped fire. Kids screamed. It was all very festive.”
“Were you this unfazed about it at the time?” Eli asked.
“I’ve accepted chaos as my co-worker,” Noah said with a shrug.
Their elbows brushed and their shoulders bumped as they passed hooks back and forth. Each contact was tiny, barely there, but Eli felt all of them. It wasn’t just attraction.
It was recognition now, too.
This was the older boy he’d drawn several times, capturing shadows and smiles he’d never actually seen up close. Now he was right here, close enough to touch, acting as though Eli was someone worth talking to.
Noah stepped back to assess the lights. “Higher?”
“An inch, maybe.”
Noah adjusted the strand. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Eli said. “Now it looks as if it’s floating.”
“That’s the goal.” Noah smiled. “I knew you’d get it.”
Eli ignored the warm flush up his neck.
“So…” Noah passed Eli another hook. “How long have you been back in town?”
“Since Thanksgiving.” Eli stretched to secure a strand. “I came up for the holiday. My sister lured me into indentured seasonal service. For a month.”
“Aileen’s been doing that to people for years,” Noah said. “She once convinced me to deliver muffins to every business on Main Street in a snowstorm as a ‘marketing strategy.’”
“That sounds like her,” Eli said with a fond huff. “She’s weaponized hospitality.”
“I respect that.” He paused. “You left Mapleford for college, right?” When Eli blinked again, he smiled. “Elsie wasn’t the only one who went to school with your sister.”
Yeah, I remember.
Eli struggled to keep his voice even. “Yep. Boston. I never really looked back. I went there for school, then stayed for work.”
“You didn’t want to live here?”
“I didn’t fit,” Eli said simply. “I was the quiet art kid. Everyone else was into sports and bonfires and talking about the best way to chop down a Christmas tree. I wanted to draw and watch foreign films and not go to church.”
Noah made a thoughtful noise. “I was the theater kid who cried at choir concerts. Mapleford’s not big on subtlety, but it’s gotten better.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “We’ve got a Pride picnic now. And a drag brunch once a year that nearly killed Mayor Johnson, but she survived.”
“That actually sounds sort of impressive,” Eli admitted.
“It’s a good town. Messy and noisy and loud, but good.”
“You sound like their PR department.”
“I might be.” Noah’s eyes gleamed. “They pay me in cocoa and moral support.” He inclined his head. “So what’s your line of work?”
“Freelance graphic design. Logos, branding, whatever people will pay me to put color on.”
Noah passed him another hook. Their fingers brushed again, Noah’s warm and calloused, and another quick little spark lit Eli up.
He spent the next thirty seconds trying not to think about that.
“You like it?” Noah asked.
It took Eli a moment to join the dots. “Design? Yeah.” He hesitated. “Freelance… is rough right now. AI is cheaper than I am. Clients love that.”
Noah made a face. “AI can’t make things that feel as if people made them.”
“Tell that to my inbox.”
“I will,” Noah said. “Give me their email addresses.”