Chapter 2
NOEL
Ihad no idea what possessed me to head to the Sky Lounge on a Tuesday night.
It was a work night. I rarely did social things on work nights. Weeknights were for leftovers, spreadsheets, and pretending I’d go to bed early. But somehow, there I was, walking straight into a building social event like I hadn’t spent the past year actively avoiding them.
Normally, I limited neighborly interaction to a polite elevator nod. Easier than enduring small talk and less likely to attract questions about my takeout habit.
But as soon as I stepped into the lounge, I remembered another reason to stay away from these things. It was aggressively Christmas.
Michael Bublé crooned about Santa coming to town from the ceiling speakers, and someone had apparently gone feral with the garland.
The place looked like a snow globe exploded—twinkle lights, tinsel, and a twelve-foot tree by the windows that usually offered a peaceful skyline view for my after-work email scrolls.
“Noel,” a guy who lived a few doors down called out. We’d done some business a couple of years ago, so he was one of the few people I actually recognized.
I pasted on a friendly smile and headed over, snagging a sparkling drink off a passing tray like it was my emotional support prop for the evening.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Grady shook my hand. “You usually avoid these things like the plague.”
“Felt like being social.” The lie came easily.
“Right.” He smirked like he didn’t believe me. “How’s the logistics business? Still cornering the market on Christmas fulfillment?”
“Someone has to make sure all those last-minute gifts arrive on time.”
We fell into easy conversation about Q4 projections and shipping nightmares, but I wasn’t really paying attention. My eyes kept scanning the room, looking for…
There she was.
Hope Haynes stood near the dessert table, holding a platter of snowman-shaped treats. She was laughing at something a woman with dark hair said. She wore a long skirt and a green sweater that had a Christmas tree made of sequins on the front.
Normal people didn’t wear things like that. But on her, it somehow worked.
“Earth to Noel.”
I blinked. Grady was staring at me with raised eyebrows.
“Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you’re planning to expand into international markets next year.”
“We’re considering it.” I took a sip of my drink, forcing myself to focus. “The infrastructure costs are—”
Hope moved through the crowd, offering baked goods to a small group near the windows. One of them said something that made her throw her head back and laugh, and I lost my train of thought entirely.
Grady followed my gaze and grinned. “Ah. Now it makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“Why you’re here.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Good luck, man. She’s cute.”
I didn’t bother denying it.
Hope was making her way around the room now, her platter half-empty. She stopped to chat with an elderly couple, then moved toward Cruz Kemper, the building’s owner and an occasional acquaintance of mine. He took two cookies and said something that made her smile politely and nod.
I waited. Finally, she turned in my direction. Our eyes met across the room, and she froze mid-step. I raised my glass slightly in acknowledgment.
She recovered quickly, straightening her shoulders and heading toward me with that platter like she was on a mission. As she approached, she asked, “Cookie?”
She held out the tray, her voice determinedly cheerful. I looked down at the snowmen. They were actually well-decorated. Almost too cute to eat.
“Did you make these?” I picked one up, examining it.
“My roommate Mollie did. I just helped with quality control.” She paused. “Which mostly meant eating the ones that didn’t turn out perfect.”
“Tough job.”
“Someone had to do it.”
I bit into the cookie. It was good—buttery, with a hint of vanilla. I made a point of looking impressed. “Your roommate has skills.”
“I’ll tell her you said so.” She shifted the platter to her other hand. “I’m surprised to see you here. You don’t really strike me as the cookie exchange type.”
“I’m not.” I took another bite. “But I heard there’d be food.”
She laughed, and the sound did something strange to my chest. “Well, you’re in luck. There are about fifteen different kinds of cookies in here. Fair warning, though—Mrs. Soleo on the eighteenth floor made fruitcake cookies, and they’re…an acquired taste.”
“Noted.” I finished mine and reached for another. “These are addictive.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “You don’t have to take two just to be polite.”
“I’m not being polite. I don’t do polite.” I held up my wrist, showing off the watch she’d accidentally opened. “See? Good as new. No permanent damage from my mail thief.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, you’re wearing it.”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a perfectly good watch.”
“I just thought…after I opened it—” She bit her lip, looking genuinely worried. “There really wasn’t any damage, was there? Because I swear—”
“Relax, Hope. I was joking.” I lowered my voice. “Though opening someone’s mail is still a federal offense.”
“You said you weren’t going to report me.”
“I’m not. I’m just keeping it in my back pocket. You know, in case I need a favor someday.”
She narrowed her eyes, but she was fighting a smile. “That’s blackmail.”
“That’s insurance.”
“You’re terrible.”
“So I’ve been told.” I took a sip of my drink, studying her. “How’s the building treating you? Any more package mix-ups?”
“Not yet. I’ve been very careful to read labels.” She glanced around the room, then back at me. “Although I have to say, opening your mail early isn’t that bad. At least you get to enjoy your gifts before Christmas.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously trying to spin mail theft as a public service?”
“I’m just saying, anticipation is overrated. Why wait for Christmas morning when you could have your presents now?”
“That’s the most un-Christmas thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Says the man named Noel who clearly doesn’t enjoy the holidays.”
Fair point.
“I enjoy Christmas,” I said. “Professionally.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s tragic.” She shook her head, her ponytail swishing. “Christmas isn’t about making money. It’s about magic and wonder and—”
“Let me guess. Hope?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Hope. Your name. That’s what Christmas is about, right?”
Her cheeks went even pinker. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No.” And I wasn’t. If anything, I was jealous of how much she seemed to believe in all of it. “I think it’s…refreshing.”
She looked at me for a long moment, like she was trying to figure out if I was serious. “Want to step outside?” She gestured toward the terrace doors. “It’s quieter out there.”
I glanced at the glass doors leading to the rooftop terrace. It was early December. Cold. Probably below forty degrees.
“Isn’t it freezing?”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “What, the great Noel Frost is afraid of a little chilly weather?”
The challenge in her voice was unmistakable. I set my glass down on a nearby table.
“Lead the way,” I said.
She handed her empty platter to one of her roommates—a blonde in a sequined sweater who immediately shot me a very obvious “I’m watching you” look—and headed for the doors. I followed.
The terrace was empty, lit only by string lights wrapped around the railings and the glow of the city below. The cold hit immediately, sharp and biting, but Hope didn’t seem to mind. She walked to the edge and leaned against the railing, looking out at the cityscape in front of us.
I came to stand beside her. “Better?” I asked.
She turned to face me, her breath visible in the cold air. “Much. I love parties, but sometimes you need a break from all the noise.”
“Agreed.”
We stood there for a moment in comfortable silence. The sounds of the party were muffled behind the glass doors—laughter, music, the clink of glasses.
“So,” she said finally, turning to look at me. “Why did you really come tonight?”
“I told you. Free food.”
“Liar.”
I met her eyes. She was watching me with that same open, curious expression she’d had when she showed up at my door. Like she actually wanted to know the answer.
I could lie. Make up something about networking or building community. But I didn’t.
“I wanted to see you again.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Oh.”
“Is that okay?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s…yeah.”
The air between us shifted, charged with something I couldn’t quite name. She was close enough that I could smell her perfume—something light and sweet, like vanilla and cinnamon.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up. “Noel—”
“Hope—”
We both spoke at the same time, then laughed.
“You first,” I said.
She hesitated, then smiled. “I was just going to say I’m glad you came tonight.”
“Me too.”
The terrace door opened behind us, letting out a burst of warm air and Christmas music, and we both turned. One of the servers stepped out, glanced at us, then quickly retreated back inside.
When I looked back at Hope, she was shivering slightly. “Cold?” I asked.
“A little.”
“Want to go back in?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
Neither did I.