Chapter 17 Noelle #2
The fairy-light strands that usually dangle from the ceiling have been torn down and gutted, bulbs smashed and wires frayed from where they’ve been pulled apart.
My custom wreaths, each one a labor of love, are shredded to bits, their ribbons fluttering in the slight breeze from outside like surrender flags.
I stand frozen in the doorway, breath fogging in the chill.
My hands shake so hard the keys jingle like sleigh bells.
Jared.
I know it’s him the way I know the scent of snow before it falls.
His greasy fingerprints are all over this even if it’s purely in a figurative sense.
This is revenge for the hardware-store fight, for getting him in trouble with his superiors even though I had no hand in any of it.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
I don’t know why the first number I call isn’t the police or my dad.
I don’t even know why when I put the phone up to my ear and Callum answers that the tears begin to fall down my cheeks. But the moment he hears the first sniffle, there’s a shuffle on the other end of the line.
“We’ll be right there. Where are you?”
I managed to get out, “at the shop,” before I completely dissolve into tears.
After that, I dial 911 with numb fingers.
My voice trembles as I give the dispatcher my name, my address, and what little I can piece together between ragged breaths.
The officer who arrives—Officer Jennifer Ramirez, a woman I actually went to high school with back in the day—arrives at the same time the guys do. She takes one look at my face, the crime scene, and her expression softens.
“Oh, Noelle, I’m sorry.”
“Jesus,” Dean breathes out behind me. “What the hell happened?”
Someone’s arm comes around my waist to pull me back from the doorway, Grant’s I realize after a minute, just as another cruiser pulls up. “Someone broke in.”
Ramirez steps over a pile of smashed ornaments, her boots crunching loudly, making my entire body wince at the sound. “We’ll dust for prints, check for footage from the street cam, but…”
She doesn’t finish, though she doesn’t need to.
We both know the street cam on my side has been broken since last winter.
And we also both know that unfortunately Jared’s smart enough to wear gloves.
The next hour unfolds in a haze.
They take photos, measurements, statements from me as I recount trying to open the door and finding everything.
I print my name where they tell me to, sign my signature with a shaky scrawl at the end to affirm it, but my chest feels hollow.
“We’re going to do what we can. But without physical evidence linking him, we can’t make any arrests. We’ll increase patrols around the area. Make sure whoever did this doesn’t come back for round two,” Ramirez says gently.
Patrols… As if that’s somehow going to glue together everything that’s been ruined.
By the time the cruisers pull away, the sun is high in the sky, mocking me with its cheer.
I move through the shop slowly, Grant’s hand in mine as he guides me.
With every footstep of glass that crunches under my shoes, my heart sinks a little further.
Christmas is three weeks away.
This was supposed to be my peak season, when I can make the most money to help me float through the summer months.
Tourists, locals, the upcoming tree lighting ceremony…that’s all completely gone.
I had pre-orders for my wreaths stacked to the ceiling, gift orders already pre-paid and waiting for me to simply pack them and send them off…
Now all I have is insurance deductibles and a broken heart.
I can’t stop thinking about how much time, how much heart, I poured into all of it.
The hours spent arranging ornaments by hand, tying ribbon until my fingers ached, carefully arranging every display so the shop would feel like magic every time someone walked in.
What am I supposed to do now?
From somewhere off to my left, Dean’s voice answers softly, “Don’t worry, Noelle. We’ll get this place cleaned up for you.”
Normally, I’d appreciate his optimism.
That easy charm, the way he always finds something bright to say, even when things are falling apart. But right now, it just feels cruel.
Like a dagger to the chest.
“What’s the point?” I choke out. “It’s not like anything can be salvaged in time for the holidays. I’ve lost everything.”
Grant squeezes my hand, grounding me again. “Not everything’s broken. We’ll salvage what we can. Maybe there are items that can still be sold, even at a discount. Partial profit’s better than nothing. It’ll help until your insurance claim comes through.”
It’s a reasonable solution.
A smart one.
Exactly what I should want to hear in a situation where I feel completely out of control.
But I don’t because no amount of logic or planning can make up for this…this violation, this helplessness that I feel, this hollow ache in my chest that no insurance payout could ever fill.
My hand slips from his, and I move toward the counter.
My stool is on its side, lying among the shattered remains that were my front counter and the white spray paint that covers it.
Ugly designs mar the once pristinely kept case. I bend to pick it up, my hands trembling, and right as I go to set it upright, my knees give out.
I collapse onto it, the legs wobbling under my weight and the pieces of broken glass under it.
I press my palms over my face, trying to hold myself together, but it’s no use.
The tears come again.
“I’m sorry,” Grant says softly, rubbing my shoulder gently.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
When I pull it out, the screen is blurry, forcing me to wipe my tears to see it properly.
Dad.
The screen lights up with his text: Eli wants cocoa after skating. Want some? We’ll stop by the shop and drop it off.
I stare at the message, my throat tightening. There’s no way I can answer. Not when I’m more lost than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
“I don’t understand,” my voice cracks as I speak. “Why is he so obsessed with me? Eli isn’t even his. We only dated for a year. There’s no reason for him to still be this mad at me.”
I don’t realize what I’ve said until Grant’s hand freezes on my shoulder. “What did you just say?”
Shit.
Six years of careful lies, of dodging questions back at the hotel, of letting them believe Jared’s claim over Eli to buy myself some breathing room…all of that gone in one heartbroken sentence.
I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking as another sob wracks my body.
A hand settles on my back, warm and steady as it rubs gentle circles there. I feel someone else squat next to me, a palm cupping my thigh in a tender squeeze.
Their presence is a balm on my anxiety even as guilt gnaws at me from the bomb I just dropped.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Dean says quietly. “But…you’re going to have to tell us everything, Noelle. Later, though. When you can breathe again. Okay?”
I suck in a quiet breath and nod. “I will. I promise.”