Chapter 1 #2
“Oh,” she answers. “Nick.”
“See?” Even over the walkie-talkie he somehow manages to sound triumphant. “Told you.”
“Hmm.” I make my voice skeptical but amused. “Maybe you are telling the truth.”
“Want to hear something even crazier?” he asks, and before I can answer, he’s shouting again. “What’s your name?”
There’s a pause, then the woman groans. “Who on earth are you talking to? It’s ten p.m.!”
“Just answer the question,” he says, clearly exasperated.
“Noel,” she snaps. “My name is Noel.”
He comes back on, practically giddy. “Noel! Can you believe that? Nick and Noel!”
“Wow.” I let out a small laugh. “That’s wild. What are you, twins?”
“Five years apart,” he says.
“Born in December?”
“In June and September.” He sounds almost proud of the absurdity. “Now you see how deranged my parents are. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, but really?”
I shake my head, then pause and tilt it to the side. “I knew a girl in high school named Noel. Noel Bambridge.”
“That’s my sister!” he exclaims.
“No! Really?”
We’re both laughing.
“Small world,” I say. “Noel was super-popular. A cheerleader, I think.”
“Yeah, well, I’m her older, less-popular brother. Not a cheerleader.”
I giggle and say, “I wasn’t a cheerleader either.”
“Hmm,” he muses. “Let me guess…Student Council.”
I gasp. “Treasurer. All four years. How’d you know?”
A low chuckle. “Just figured you probably had that grit, even before you became a mom. Besides, you have a go-getter vibe to you.”
My heart pangs at that, because I used to think about myself that way—ambitious, organized, going somewhere. I haven’t felt like that in a while now.
Silence grows between us, stretches out. I eye the shattered glass on the ground. It twinkles, reflecting the lights on the Christmas tree in a way that’s almost pretty. “Um, I better go. I’ve got this glass to clean up and a bike to assemble,” I say, realizing that this is probably weird.
Me. Talking to a stranger on a kid’s toy.
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Nick says, his voice softer now. “I’ll let you go before your husband starts to wonder who you’re talking to.”
“Oh, I—I don’t have one,” I stutter. I still feel awkward about saying it out loud. Like I’m admitting a failure. My failure. “A husband. That’s what I mean,” I babble, drowning in my own words. “I used to have one, but now I don’t.”
“Well. That’s good,” he blurts out, then quickly backpedals. “I mean, no, that’s bad, but not bad, it’s, I think…ah, hell. I’m messing this all up.”
His fumbling somehow makes me feel better about my own.
I laugh. “It’s fine. Okay, well…” I hesitate, not quite ready to end it. “Merry Christmas, Nick.” I add a teasing, “Saint Nick, that is.”
He laughs, “Merry Christmas to you too, Vixen.”
The green light flickers once, then turns solid red.
I stare at it for a second too long, warmth still blooming in my chest, before I sigh and go get the broom.
Nick
I stare down at the now-quiet walkie-talkie in my hand, my heart still beating fast, my mind buzzing.
An hour ago, I’d been exhausted. Worn out from wrestling with my niece and nephew all afternoon, from sugar highs and wrapping paper fights, and from trying to make everything perfect for them. Also worn out from worrying about my sister.
Her husband’s in the army, deployed to the Middle East. This is the first Christmas she and the kids have spent without him, and Noel’s been taking it hard. Missing him. Trying to stay strong for the kids. Which meant I spent the whole day working my butt off just to make her laugh.
Ever since our parents died two years ago, I’ve felt like I had to take up the slack they left behind.
To be the perfect big brother. Someone solid Noel can lean on.
That’s why she and the kids are staying at my house for a couple of days.
To celebrate Christmas and also give her a break from single parenting.
I glance at the walkie-talkie again, half expecting it to crackle back to life, but it doesn’t. Just sits there, silent and innocent, like it didn’t just knock my night off kilter and introduce me to a woman with a voice that makes me forget how to breathe.
Vixen.
The name makes me grin, even though I’m alone in my living room. Thing is, her real name’s not Vixen. At least, I don’t think it is.
I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that woman is Amber, my neighbor, three doors down.
The one who pushes her little boy in a jogging stroller every morning, ponytail swinging, earbuds in. The one who always waves when she runs past, even though I’m usually half-asleep with a mug of coffee in my hand while I grab the newspaper off my driveway.
I heard her voice once months ago when her kid dropped his toy in the street and she called out a quick, “Thank you!” after I picked it up and tossed it back to her. Just two words, but her voice stuck with me. Soft. Warm. The kind that makes you want to hear it again.
She’s beautiful. Not in a flashy way, but in that quiet, natural way that sneaks up on you. Light brown hair. Blue eyes so bright I can tell the color from across the street.
Every time I see her, I have to remind myself to look away. To not be that guy who stops in the middle of the sidewalk just to stare.
What if I’m wrong, though? Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, and it’s not really her.
An idea hits me.
I head for the kitchen, where Noel leans against the counter with a mug of spiked eggnog, scrolling through her phone, teary-eyed as she stares at old pictures of her husband.
“Stop looking at those,” I half-growl, dragging the recycling bin out from under the sink. “You know it just makes you miss him more.”
Paper and cardboard go flying as I dig through the debris of Christmas.
“Hey,” Noel protests. “We just cleaned all that up.” She plants a hand on her hip. “What are you looking for?”
I hold up the walkie-talkie, which I still haven’t put down since I hung up with Vixen, maybe Amber. “Have you seen the box for this?”
Noel moves closer, shoving a few black curls out of her face. We’ve got the same dark hair, but hers is curly and mine’s straight, which is a lifelong injustice she never lets me forget. Same light brown eyes too, almost amber-colored, but she insists hers are prettier.
Those eyes narrow on me now. “Why do you need the box?” she asks suspiciously.
I’m practically upside down, elbow-deep in the bin. My voice comes out muffled. “I want to see the range on them. What distance the signal travels.”
That way I can figure out how far my mystery caller lives.
Noel sighs like I’ve just confessed to something ridiculous but crouches beside me anyway and shuffles through the trash. After a minute, she lets out a triumphant, “Found it!”
I reach for it, but she jerks it away, giggling. We scuffle, both of us laughing, because even though I’m thirty-one and she’s twenty-six, being together always brings the kid out in us. Finally, with a quick grab and a grunt, I rip it from her hands.
“Got it,” I taunt, shaking the box in front of her like a trophy while she rolls her eyes and pretends not to care.
I check the box. “Range: up to two miles.” I snort. “Yeah, maybe if you’re standing on a mountain in a lightning storm.”
Noel arches a brow. “So what’s the verdict, Inspector Gadget?”
I study the specs a little closer. “In perfect conditions? Two miles. In real life? Maybe a couple hundred yards.”
“Why do you care?”
I hesitate. My brain scrambles for something that doesn’t sound like I might be mildly obsessed with my mystery walkie-talkie woman.
“Just curious,” I say finally. “The guy at the store said these things were decent, but I figured I’d test them for the kids.”
Noel gives me that look, the one that says she’s not buying whatever nonsense I’m selling. “This have anything to do with whoever you were talking to earlier? Pretty sure I heard a woman’s voice. You get a part-time gig doing phone sex or something?”
I shoot her a glare. “You’re hilarious.”
She grins. “You’re blushing.”
I ignore her and glance back at the box.
A couple hundred yards.
Three houses down.
My chest tightens as the thought lands hard and certain.
It’s possible.
Hell, it’s more than possible.
I picture her again, Amber with the jogging stroller, messy ponytail, that easy laugh, and feel something stir low in my chest.
I glance over at Noel, who’s still on her phone, pretending not to watch me. “Hey,” I say casually, leaning against the counter like this is no big deal. “You remember a girl from high school named Amber?”
Noel looks up immediately, suspicious. “Amber who?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she got married? I think she’s got a kid now.”
“Do you have any idea how many Ambers went to my high school?” she asks, scrunching her nose. “Half the cheerleading squad, at least three in marching band, one who sold essential oils before it was cool.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not helping.”
Noel smirks. “You mean pretty Amber with the kid three houses down? The one you’ve been pretending not to stare at for the past six months?”
I freeze. “What? No. I—”
She bursts out laughing. “Oh my God. It is her. You’re so transparent.”
I groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “Forget it.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, grinning as she heads for the hallway. “Sure, Nick.” She pitches her voice high and mocking. “Just testing the toys for the kids.”
I mutter something under my breath, but I can’t help the smile that creeps up as she disappears into her room because she’s right. I’m crossing my fingers it’s Amber on the other end of that walkie-talkie.