Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Noelle
It’s Sunday evening—time for the weekly family calls. Mom already got hers in before dinner, and Val won’t be calling until later tonight since she’s on the other side of the country. Now, it’s time for Grandma Holly. I flop down on the couch, tuck my feet under me, and dial her number, adjusting my earbuds as it rings.
“How’s my favorite granddaughter doing today?” she asks, her voice warm and teasing.
“Don’t let Valentina hear you say that. She’ll never forgive you,” I laugh.
“Pfft, that girl always wants to be the favorite, which is why I call you that,” Grandma says, amused. “But you both know I don’t have favorites.”
“You better not,” I tease. “So how’s sunny Arizona treating you?”
“I’m enjoying it, but we’re thinking about heading to Costa Rica next year. One of the gals here says it’s not as hot down there as it is here.”
“Costa Rica?” I sit up a little, pondering who this we she’s speaking about might be. Dad mentioned last week that it seems like his mom is dating, which he’s not very happy about. Mom and I had to explain to him that it is okay if she falls in love again, but he doesn’t want to hear about it. I guess we’ll grill her later, much more later when her son is a little more open to the idea that his mom is finally moving on after all these years.
“Costa Rica sounds amazing. Please send me pictures.” I state excitedly.
“Oh, of course, dear. I’ll make sure to send you a postcard while you’re still freezing your butt off in New York,” she teases. “Or, you know, you could always come visit me.”
I snort. “Thanks for the reminder. The people in your building keep asking about you, by the way. I keep telling them you’ll be back, but I feel like they’ll kick me out by summer if you don’t appear soon.”
“They won’t even remember me by February,” she says with a chuckle. “You know how it goes. That’s how Edward, the guy from 3B, ended up living there. His grandmother retired to Florida and no one even asked where she went.”
“Yeah, well, 3B didn’t have a Jacob McCallister next door,” I mutter, glancing at the wall separating our apartments. The guy’s hot, but he’s got a stick so far up his ass I’m surprised he can walk. “If I bake one more thing, Jacob’s going to report me to the building for excessive cheeriness.”
Grandma Holly bursts out laughing. “Oh, honey, Jacob McCallister’s harmless. He’s a good boy—just a little bitter.”
“A little?” I roll my eyes, kicking my legs out on the couch. “He glares at me like I’m trying to poison him every time I bring food over. I don’t think he knows what to do with someone who’s nice to him.”
“He’s different,” she says, her voice soft but knowing, like she’s defending some misunderstood puppy.
“Oh I never thought about that. So maybe he’s got a horrible family or something,” I mutter, hugging a throw pillow to my chest, poor guy, I’m now wondering how I’m going to make everything better for him.
“No, I’ve met his parents. Lovely couple,” Grandma says, not missing a beat. “His sister, Audrey, is funny, and so is her husband, Ethan or is it Aiden. Probably Liam or . . . sorry, I can’t remember. I know he’s got a brother—Max, I think? He and his fiancée are lovely, and so is their baby, Emma. I knitted her a sweater a few months ago.” She pauses, like she’s ticking names off a mental list. “Oh, and I’ve met his friend Caleb and his wife Emmersyn. Also lovely. Noelle, it’s his job that stresses him out.”
“Well, his job and whatever else is happening in his life are stressing me out too,” I say, trying—and failing—to picture Jacob with a “lovely” family. It just doesn’t track. He’s too . . . surly. Too wound up. Too . . . grumpy.
“All work, no play. It’ll make anyone a little prickly,” Grandma muses. “He just needs someone to shake him up a little.”
“Shake him up?” I laugh, sinking deeper into the couch, squeezing the pillow tighter. “I’m not trying to shake anyone up, Grandma. I’m just trying to get through the week without him slamming his door in my face or banging on the wall to tell me to cut it out—whatever ‘it’ is that offends him.”
“He’ll come around, don’t you worry,” she insists, all confidence, like she’s talking about a grumpy old cat that just needs some coaxing. “He’s a good boy, deep down. Just a little rough around the edges.”
Rough around the edges? That’s an understatement. I glance at the wall, imagining Jacob on the other side, probably glaring at something. His coffee? His emails? Life in general?
Well, not right now, because he’s been gone all weekend. Not that I’m keeping track of him or anything. I just know because I overheard him on the phone saying he’d be in Boston until Monday morning. I wonder what’s in Boston. Girlfriend? Wife? Life partner?
I recall Valentina telling me once that every time Steve, her husband, goes without sex for too long, he gets irritable. I get it now. Between Jacob’s job and clearly no sex life, the man can’t be nice to anyone. That has to be it.
“I don’t know, Grandma. He’s pretty rough,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve never seen someone get so worked up over an apple pie candle or snickerdoodles.”
Grandma chuckles. “Oh, honey, you just wait. He’ll soften up. You’re too sweet to resist forever.”
It’s not that I need him to soften up, I think. I just want him to stop acting like the world’s against him. His energy is exhausting.
“I think he’s immune to sweetness,” I mutter. “Pretty sure he’s got a vaccine against it.”
“He just needs a little time. Men like him always do.”
I could argue, but what’s the point? Her generation tolerated toxic men like him walking all over them. Me? Not a chance. If he wants war, I’ll be strategizing every move. I’m not just winning battles—I’ll win the whole damn war. He’ll be kneeling in front of me begging for mercy and some holiday cheer.
But as I start plotting my game plan, something hits me. “Wait, men like him? What does that even mean?”
“Grumpy, overworked men with too much on their plate,” she says, like she’s got a PhD in assholery and knows how to convert said assholes into loyal golden retrievers. “But you give him a few more weeks of your charm—and maybe a batch of cookies—and he’ll crack.”
“Crack, huh?” I snort, shaking my head. “At this rate, I’m more likely to crack than he is.”
“Well, just keep being yourself. You’ll win him over eventually.”
I stretch my legs out, feeling the weight of Grandma’s confidence settle on my shoulders. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll just focus on surviving another week of passive-aggressive glares.”
Grandma’s laugh is light, but there’s a seriousness in her tone. “You’ll do more than survive, Noelle. Trust me, it’s only a matter of time.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I mutter, smirking. Still, I can’t help the little huff of amusement that escapes me. Grandma’s faith in Jacob is odd. Almost suspicious. But I’m fairly certain she’s wrong. That man would rather drown in his own grumpiness than share a meal with me or any other human.
“And how are you doing, sweetie?” Grandma asks, her voice softening. “How’s the neighborhood treating you? Other than Jacob, of course.”
“It’s been good. Different from Maple Ridge, obviously, but not as scary as when I spent four years here for college before heading to North Carolina for my master’s degree.” I glance toward the window, taking in the busy city below. “It’s big and loud, but it’s exciting. I found this great coffee shop just down the street, and guess what? They hired me part-time.”
“Oh, I know the place. It’s cozy, and the owners are lovely. But with your new job starting tomorrow, are you sure you won’t be overworking yourself?”
“I’ll manage,” I say, trying to sound confident. I juggled worse in college—how hard can this be now that I’m not drowning in homework and deadlines? “It’ll keep me busy, which is good, right? I’ll get to meet people, get to know the neighborhood better. And, honestly, it’s kind of fun.”
“Well, just make sure you’re not spreading yourself too thin. And don’t let Mr. Grumpy next door stress you out too much.”
I laugh. “I’ll be fine. It’s just . . . weird, you know? Everything feels new. I love the energy here, but sometimes I miss the quiet.” Back in college, Dad would pick me up, or I could hop on a train and be home in a few hours. I’d flee for a weekend when things got overwhelming.
Now? There’s no quick escape back to Maple Ridge. And honestly, I’m not planning on heading back for at least a year—if ever.
“I understand, sweetheart. New York can be overwhelming, but once you settle into your routine, it’ll feel more like home.” She pauses, then lowers her voice like she’s about to share state secrets. “And as for Jacob, remember—men like him are usually suckers for cookies.”
“Cookies?” I sit up, grinning. “Grandma, if I bake him one more thing, I think he might actually explode.”
She chuckles. “Maybe. But trust me, a well-timed cookie can do wonders. Just keep being your sweet self. He’ll come around.”
“Thanks for the advice, Grandma,” I say, resisting the urge to argue. Now it seems like she’s obsessed with the fact that I can convert him into a civilized person. “I just hope you’re right about Jacob. He’s as warm as a glacier.”
“Oh, I’ve seen it before. He just needs the right person to melt that ice,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “And I think that person is you.”
I snort. “I’m not interested in melting anyone, just in keeping him in check—and maybe teaching him some manners.” I pause, suspicious now about her advice. “Okay, I’ve gotta go. I’ll try and call you tomorrow to tell you how the first day goes and if not, we’ll connect next Sunday.”
“Good luck, darling. And if you need anything, just call. Oh, and don’t forget—chocolate chip cookies. Men like him can’t resist them.”
Her cookie obsession is getting weird. Suspicious, even. What’s with her and Jacob?
“Love you, Grandma,” I say, shaking my head, amused. “Talk soon.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I hang up, staring at the phone for a second before glancing at the wall again. Jacob McCallister. I can’t help but laugh to myself. Grandma’s so sure he’s just a tough nut to crack, but I’m not convinced. He’s like the human embodiment of Grumpy Cat—suspicious of everything and everyone, especially me.
Still, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that cookies can work wonders. And if I’m going to live next door to him, and somehow teach him who’s boss, I might just use what seems to be his one weakness.
But first, I’ve got a new job to focus on. And if I’m lucky, I won’t have to deal with any more passive-aggressive comments from the grump next door . . . at least for a day or two.