Chapter 9 #2
Eli could hear the smile in Noah’s voice. He wanted to fling himself off the tree. Instead, he focused on the lights, hooking them carefully, trying to ignore the way his cheeks burned both from the cold air and a hefty dose of embarrassment.
Finally, he descended, his heart pounding.
Noah stood at the bottom, his hands gripping the ladder, his cheeks rosy, smiling as though Eli hadn’t just humiliated himself.
“You did great,” Noah said with sincerity.
“You’re a liar.”
“A little.” Noah’s eyes twinkled. “But only in the nice ways.”
Eli snorted despite himself.
They took a break near one of the outdoor heaters. Volunteers swarmed past, dragging garlands, carrying thermoses, shouting about cable ties and wreath sizes. Eli sipped hot cocoa from a paper cup, holding his hands close to the heater’s glow.
When they’d finished their cocoa, he glanced at Noah. “Is it back-up-the-tree time?”
Noah shook his head. He pointed to Main Street. “Now we climb ladders and hang strings of lights across the street. By the time we’re done, the whole of Main Street will have a ceiling of white lights.”
Eli smiled. “That poster wasn’t kidding. You really do light up Mapleford.” Then he sighed. “More ladders, though?”
“Hey, you coped with the Tree of Doom, didn’t you? This’ll be a walk in the park compared to that.”
Eli prayed for the wind to subside.
They spent a couple of hours crisscrossing the air above the street with countless strings of lights, and Eli had to admit he was dying to see how it would look at night. His enthusiasm dampened every time the wind picked up a little, and his ladder swayed.
Eli peered down at Noah. “You’ve got my back, right?”
Noah smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.
” He glanced at the clock on top of the town hall.
“Okay, we’ve earned another break, guys,” Noah yelled.
A chorus of “Great!” erupted from the team of about ten volunteers, and everyone headed to the heaters, where Eli spied a plastic box filled with Christmas cookies.
He followed Noah, who poured them both a cup of cocoa.
Noah tugged off his gloves and flexed his fingers. “So. You survived Ladder Day.”
“Barely,” Eli said.
“You’ll toughen up.”
“I don’t want to toughen up,” Eli said. “I want to live a long life without heights.”
“You’re doing great, though. Seriously.”
Eli looked at the swirling steam rising from his cocoa. “This feels weird.”
“What does?”
“Being here,” Eli said quietly. “Doing this. Being part of it.”
Noah nudged him with his shoulder. “You fit better than you think.”
Eli’s chest tightened. His mind kept flashing to the sketchbook tucked in his duffel at Aileen’s. That pencil portrait he’d drawn as a teenager. What it had felt like to want someone in secret and silence.
And Noah was standing right next to him, real and warm and impossibly close.
“Hey.” Noah studied him. “You okay?”
Eli pulled himself back into the moment. “Yeah. Yeah, just thinking, that’s all.”
“That can be a dangerous habit.”
“Tell me about it,” Eli said.
For a moment their eyes held, and the gaze felt too long, too warm, too…
Something.
Noah looked away first, smiling faintly. “Come on. Now it’s back-to-the-tree time. The top crew is ready for the next handoff.”
“Do I have to climb again?”
“No,” Noah said. “This time we’re on ornament duty. Strictly low risk, except for the rogue toddlers.”
“I can handle toddlers.”
He snorted. “No one can handle toddlers.”
They spent the next hour decorating the lower half of the tree. Noah had surprisingly strong opinions about ornament distribution (“I’ve seen things, Eli. Trust me.”), and Eli found himself laughing more than he’d expected.
At one point, a little girl in pink snow pants toddled over with a glitter-covered ornament twice the size of her head.
“For the tree,” she said solemnly. “My mom said I could bring it.”
“That’s a very important job,” Noah told her.
She nodded and handed it to Eli, then wandered off.
Eli hung it on a low branch. “See? I can handle toddlers.”
“That one was gentle,” Noah said. “There’s a feral pack somewhere near the gazebo.”
“I refuse to believe—”
A shout pierced the air, and a snowball whizzed past Noah’s head.
Noah didn’t even flinch. “See? Feral pack.”
Eli nearly choked.
By late afternoon, the tree was covered in lights. The volunteers clapped, someone yelled “We survived!” and someone else immediately fell into a snowbank.
“Don’t we turn them on now?” Eli asked.
Noah shook his head. “The big switch-on happens at the end of the Lantern Walk. That’s next week on Friday. And you’re done for today.”
Eli wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.
“I’ll walk with you to the bakery.” Noah grinned. “I deserve a delicious reward for not letting you fall.” Snowflakes caught on his beanie and Eli wondered whether Noah had been this mesmerizing at seventeen too, and he just hadn’t let himself see it clearly.
“Yeah, thanks for getting me to the end of the day unmaimed.”
“You were good today,” Noah said.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep being good,” Noah said with a shrug. “I give credit where it’s due.”
“I remember there being a festival when I was a kid. Has it changed much?”
Noah smiled. “Not really. Every December, Mapleford still becomes a constellation of light. You saw the lanterns yesterday?”
Eli nodded. The stacks of jars wrapped in tissue and twine were still in the Community Center.
“Well, tomorrow’s task is to line Main Street with them, ready for the first night of the festival.
The whole town turns out to walk to the tree for the switch-on.
Then a week later, there’ll be the parade.
Santa comes to town, followed by floats made by local groups.
” Noah grinned. “Newsflash—the volunteer fire department always wins.”
“Are they that good?”
He snorted. “Maybe. Or maybe their bribes are better. Then the last switch-on is the Lighting of the Pines, the night before Christmas Eve, when every tree around the square glows with tiny white bulbs.”
“Let me guess. We get to cover the trees too?”
Noah’s eyes sparkled. “Now you’re getting it. But there’s also the Mapleford Market to prepare for. Visitors come from neighboring towns. We’re talking handmade gifts, hot cider, and music from the high school band.”
Eli stilled. “Oh dear Lord.”
“What?”
“I remember the high school band.”
Noah laughed. “You can breathe easy. Mr. Michaelson runs a tight ship. They’re actually really good.” He pointed toward the river. “When that freezes solid, everyone comes out to skate under strings of lanterns while snow drifts through the pines.” He peered at Eli. “You can skate, right?”
Eli swallowed. “I’m good at falling on my ass. Does that count?”
Noah chuckled. “Don’t worry. We can practice a bit before then. I won’t let you make a spectacle of yourself, I promise.”
For some reason, Eli believed him.
They reached the door of the bakery, but instead of going inside, Noah paused.
“Thanks again for helping. I know this isn’t exactly your usual scene.”
“You mean ladders and emotional turmoil?” Eli said.
“Mapleford,” Noah corrected with a smile. “Being in the middle of it.”
Eli swallowed once more. “Yeah. I guess.”
“So we will see you tomorrow?” Noah asked.
His tone was light, but the question was not.
Eli heard everything under it, the layers of hope, uncertainty, and something warm and careful.
The answer was surprisingly easy.
“Yeah,” Eli said. “I’ll be here.”
Noah’s smile broke across his face like sunrise. “Good.”
They stood in the cold for one beat too long, then Noah reached out and brushed a bit of stray pine needle from Eli’s shoulder.
It was nothing.
It was everything.
Eli froze, as did Noah. The touch lasted less than a second, but Eli felt it long after Noah’s hand had dropped.
Noah cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Eli echoed, his voice low.
Noah turned away, walking back across the square, his hands shoved in his pockets, head ducked against the snow.
Eli watched him go. Something tugged deep inside him, the echo of a seventeen-year-old sketch and the pull of a grown man’s smile.
Just for the season, he reminded himself.
But the season wasn’t the problem.
The problem was Noah walking away with snow in his hair, looking back once with a smile that made Eli feel as though the ground had shifted under his feet.
The problem was that it didn’t feel temporary.
Not even a little.
Noah felt every muscle he owned, and a few he was pretty sure belonged to someone else. The last of the volunteers drifted off with goodbyes and promises to bring muffins tomorrow.
Dammit. He’d totally forgotten to buy himself something delicious. There was no way he was going back to the bakery, however. The chances of saying something unintended grew with every minute he spent with Eli.
“Get a grip,” Noah muttered to himself.
The day’s chaos settled around him in the quiet way early evening always did in Mapleford, with soft blue shadows, snow drifting, the tree now towering above the square, waiting for its lighting ceremony.
And speaking of the tree, a strand of lights had worked its way lose.
Noah went over to the lower branch, secured the lights—and a sting shot up his thumb.
Fuck. A splinter.
He examined his palm. Sure enough, a long, thin, very annoying piece of pine had planted itself deep in his skin.
“Perfect.” He let out a sigh. “Just what I needed.”
He headed toward the small first-aid station they kept near the festival supply shed. Only one person was still there, bent over a crate, sorting through medical kits with surgical precision.
Noah recognized Dr. Simon Hale, Mapleford’s newish physician, not that he knew the doctor all that well. Dr. Hale glanced up at the sound of Noah’s boots crunching on snow, his expression unreadable as always, calm, composed, and lightly exhausted.
“Noah.” His voice was low and neutral. “You’re bleeding.”