Chapter 3
COREY
The bad news was that my kitchen looked like a Christmas bomb had dropped on it.
Flour dusted every surface like fresh snow, and cookie cutters were scattered across the counter. I'd been up since five tackling the mountain of holiday orders that kept coming in, and I was starting to consider shutting down my order site for a few days so I could catch up.
When the doorbell rang with yet another supply delivery, I barely had time to wipe my hands on my apron before rushing to answer it.
"Package for Corey Abrams?" The delivery guy looked as tired as I felt, probably on his fiftieth drop-off before noon.
"That's me." I tried to sound cheerful, but I was close to hitting a wall of exhaustion. "Thanks so much."
He dropped a large box on the floor and scooted it inside my entryway before he headed back to the stairs as I shouted, "Happy holidays!"
It had to be the cookie tins I'd ordered for my special Christmas cookie gift sets. I needed to get those packaged and shipped over the next few days or I’d be paying rush fees that would completely gobble up my humble profits.
Then my timer went off and I had to rescue the gingerbread men from becoming gingerbread charcoal.
Three batches of sugar cookies, two POV videos, and approximately five million sprinkles later, I remembered the box. Now I needed a tin for the cookies I’d just finished. They were my best yet. Shaped like reindeer, they had little red-hot candy noses with an intricate frosting and icing design.
My followers were going to lose their minds over these. And my customers were going to love that the adorable tins could be reused.
I glanced toward the forgotten box and gasped. Right! The tins! I needed to get those packed, boxed, and labeled. Pronto.
After wiping my sticky hands on a kitchen towel, I grabbed the box opener and sliced through the tape. The cardboard flaps opened to reveal...not cookie tins.
"What the..." Twelve empty Christmas stockings stared back at me. Not the metal cookie containers I'd ordered, but a dozen felt stockings in various colors and designs. They were cute, but they were absolutely not what I needed to fulfill my orders.
"No, no, no!" I dug through the box, looking for a packing slip. After a quick panic, I found it tucked at the bottom. Corey Abrams, correct. My address, correct. But the item description clearly stated "12-Pack Christmas Stockings" instead of "24-Pack Holiday Cookie Tins."
I flopped dramatically onto my couch, still clutching one of the stockings.
This was a disaster. I needed those tins for tomorrow's orders, and now I was going to have to scramble to find alternatives.
Maybe the dollar store would have something I could elevate?
Or I could wrap them in a tea cloth with ribbon and try that whole “eco” and “green” theory my landlord used?
While I mentally recalculated my packaging options, my fingers absently stroked the fuzzy trim of a stocking.
It was actually really nice quality. The kind of stocking that would look perfect hanging from a fireplace in one of those Hallmark movies where everyone had perfect hair and somehow found true love while ice skating.
Not that my apartment had a fireplace.
My brain, easily distracted by the man next door, imagined what his apartment looked like.
Probably the same layout as mine, but what was his aesthetic?
Did he have leather or fabric sofas? Wood or glass tables?
The list of things I wanted to know about the mysterious man next door was getting longer by the day.
And then an idea hit me. A mischievous, possibly stupid, definitely adorable idea.
Noah Richmond in Apartment 4B. The neighbor I'd been crushing on since the day I moved in six months ago needed some holiday cheer. He didn’t seem to like people much, but that didn’t mean he should be alone and cranky all month.
December was the month to be happy and loving and generous and caring and…nice.
And I was gonna help him get there.
I still didn’t know a lot about the man. He kept his distance even though he wasn’t glaring at me quite so hard when I passed by him. It had only been a few days since we talked, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
When I was falling asleep at night, I dreamed that Noah was a Daddy Dom looking for a boy who knew how to bake cookies. It would take more than a Christmas miracle to pull that off, but I was willing to try.
I looked down at the stocking in my hands and grinned. If Noah had a Christmas stocking, he’d definitely be in a better mood. And if he were in a better mood, maybe he’d want to hang out with me. It was worth a shot.
My heart fluttered at the thought of breaking through Noah’s rough exterior and getting to know him for real. And maybe even letting him get to know me for real too.
But I had to get moving if I wanted this to work.
After a quick scan of the kitchen to make sure nothing was left on and all the ingredients out were fine for a while, I grabbed my wallet and headed to the department store. I didn’t need fancy gifts. It was about bringing a smile to his face. And that would bring one to mine.
Ten minutes later, I was wandering through aisles decked with holly and blinking lights with a shopping basket over my arm. I'd found some decent cookie tins in the housewares department, so that was one crisis averted. And now I was on the hunt for perfect Noah gifts.
I walked through every section and filled my basket with everything from silly socks to seasoned popcorn to candy and small games. I had enough items for all twelve stockings, and if the first one was delivered tonight, I could give him all the stockings by Christmas.
I was a genius!
As I was walking along the back wall to check out their selection of brain teasers, I heard a noise. A familiar noise. The same noise coming from Noah’s apartment. Yes! I knew I’d figure it out.
The door was marked Mother’s Room, so I dawdled around the area until a woman walked out with a large tote bag at her hip.
She went straight to another woman who was looking at hats.
“I’m so sorry to make you wait, but if I didn’t pump now, I’d be leaking in a few hours.
And the baby needs every drop I can give her. ”
Pump? That woman was referring to pumping breast milk for her baby. Why would Noah have something like that? And more importantly, how would he use it?
I checked out and headed home with my haul of stocking stuffers, but I was more confused than ever about what was really going on behind the wall in my apartment.
The image flashed in my mind of Noah's broad chest and the drop of milk that I saw teetering on the tip. Was that from a pump?
My cheeks flushed at the thought of Noah lactating for a partner. Imagining him as a Daddy who could literally nurture his boy immediately made a shiver run through me.
Maybe I was completely wrong. Maybe it was a totally different sound I was hearing. Maybe he just had a really weird ice maker.
But what if I wasn't wrong?
Either way, he was getting a stocking tonight.
Maybe nothing would come of it. Maybe he'd leave it in the hall or throw it away. I wouldn’t know until I tried.
And if he happened to decide that a silly stocking was what helped him figure out the boy next door was the boy he’d been waiting his whole life for, well, that was just icing on the cookie.
Either way, those stockings had arrived for a reason. And I wasn't one to ignore the universe when it practically dropped hints in cardboard boxes on my doorstep.
Back at my apartment, I set aside enough time to finish my orders, then I carefully put together the first stocking.
After looking at my options, I decided to start with the socks.
Just in case he hated them and didn’t want any others, I wanted him to have these socks.
One pair had a teacher theme with an apple, a chalk board, and sharpened pencils floating up the leg and the words World’s Okayest Professor on the bottom of the feet.
The other pair had Ask me about my syllabus printed around the calves.
And then I stuffed it with tissue paper to fill it out.
I didn’t include a note or anything to identify me.
Chances were good he’d figure out it was me because who else would leave him a stocking just a few days after meeting him?
Whether he did or didn’t wasn’t the point.
I just wanted to surprise my neighbor with little treasures to hopefully bring a smile to his face. Where was the harm in that?
At 10:30, when the hallway had been quiet for at least an hour, I tiptoed to Noah's door and carefully hung the stocking on his doorknob. Once it was secure, I darted back to my apartment like a Christmas ninja.
Once safely inside, I leaned against my door, breathless with excitement and nerves. Day one of Operation Sneaky Stocking was a success.
As I got ready for bed, that sound started up from Noah's apartment again. It was definitely the same rhythm I heard in the store. Maybe I was right. Maybe Noah was a man who lactated. If so, was that something he’d ever consider sharing with me?
Feeling a bit vulnerable and a lot Little, I pulled one of the pacifiers with my name on it from my nightstand and popped it in my mouth. Sucking my binkie was my favorite way to fall asleep.
If Noah really was who I thought he might be—a Daddy who could nurture in ways I'd only dreamed of—then these stockings might be the best shipping error that ever happened to me.
I fell asleep with visions of stockings dancing in my head and dreams of being held close against a broad chest with milk hidden inside…all wrapped up in one perfectly grumpy package.