Chapter 5
HOPE
Ifelt like I was glowing brighter than the Christmas lights as I walked back into the party with Noel’s hand at the small of my back. For once, I didn’t mind being seen.
The HOA president’s sparkly Santa pin caught the light as she announced, “And the winner of our cookie contest is… Mollie Gregory.”
The crowd erupted.
“That’s my roommate,” I whispered to Noel, grinning as Mollie jumped up, shrieking. She grabbed her prize envelope—Evergreen Apps embossed in gold—and held it up to show it off.
“The Evergreen Room?” someone asked. “That place is impossible to book.”
“Grady Thorne runs it like a prison,” another said. “Good luck getting him to approve anything fun.”
Mollie grinned. “Challenge accepted.”
The laughter and Christmas music swelled—“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” I was still humming when I noticed Noel wasn’t watching Mollie or smiling. He was typing.
“Everything okay?”
“Logistics issue,” he said without looking up. “Jacksonville’s behind schedule.”
“Can it wait? The party’s almost over—”
“Christmas waits for no one.” He hit send. “If we don’t fix this, five thousand orders miss delivery.”
I knew his work mattered, but the way he said it—so detached—made something inside me wilt.
Avery appeared beside me, eyes shining. “We’re going to the Christmas market Saturday. You have to come—and bring…” Her gaze flicked to Noel. “A date, maybe?”
My heart fluttered. “Want to go?” I asked him softly. “There’s hot chocolate, ornaments, skating—”
“I don’t do Christmas markets.” He said it like I’d offered him poison. “Overpriced tchotchkes.”
Avery winced. “Oh. Okay then.” She vanished fast.
“Tchotchkes?” I repeated.
“What?”
“You called handmade ornaments tchotchkes.”
“They are. Sentiment for sale.”
“They’re made by local artists—”
“Who charge forty bucks for painted pine cones.”
My chest tightened. “Mine were thirty.”
He hesitated. “I’m sure yours are nice.”
“But still tchotchkes?”
“Hope, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” I lied.
The music shifted to “Jingle Bell Rock.” I started humming unconsciously, trying to recapture the warmth I’d felt earlier.
“God, I hear this song ten thousand times a season,” he said. “It loses its charm.”
“How can you hear it and not feel something?”
“Easy. It’s background noise for consumer spending.”
The warmth I’d felt in the greenhouse drained out of me. “That’s really how you see it?”
“That’s all it is, Hope.”
“No, Noel. That’s what you’ve made it.”
An older couple drifted over, smiling. “You two make such a lovely pair. How long have you been together?”
I opened my mouth, but Noel beat me to it. “We’re not. We just ran into each other tonight.”
The woman’s smile faltered. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Easy mistake,” I said, cheeks burning.
We just ran into each other. Like the greenhouse hadn’t happened. Like I hadn’t given him everything.
Before I could say anything, his phone rang. “Work,” he said, already walking away.
I listened to his voice harden across the room. “I don’t care if it’s after hours. Fix it. Tonight.” When he came back, I barely recognized him. “Sorry,” he said, pocketing his phone. “Where were we?”
“You were explaining how Christmas is just background noise.”
“Hope, you’re taking this too personally.”
“How else am I supposed to take it? You hate everything about the holiday.”
“I’m realistic.”
“No. You’re cynical.”
“Christmas doesn’t matter, Hope,” he said, tension coming through in his voice. “It’s a holiday. People get through it and move on.”
“Why do you hate it so much?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Of course, you don’t. That would mean feeling something.”
The silence between us buzzed. Then he said, almost to himself, “You want to know why I hate Christmas?”
I nodded.
“My mom loved it.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Every year, the house looked like Santa’s workshop.
Then one December, she got sick. Cancer.
She was gone by New Year’s.” His eyes were fixed somewhere far away.
“My dad couldn’t handle the reminders. So we stopped celebrating.
I learned early that Christmas doesn’t bring magic. It just reminds you what’s missing.”
My throat tightened. “Noel…”
“Don’t.” His tone was razor sharp. “It was a long time ago.”
But his voice told a different story—one that never healed.
“So yeah,” he said finally. “I see Christmas for what it is. A commercial holiday that makes people spend money to feel less alone.”
“Or,” I whispered, “it’s a reminder that even in the darkest time of year, there’s still light.”
For a second, his face softened. Then it was gone.
“I used to think that,” he said. “Before.”
“And now?”
“Now I profit from it. And I sleep just fine.”
He didn’t. I could see it.
“I should go,” I said. “Mollie and Avery are waiting.”
“Hope, wait—”
“I can’t do this. Not with someone who turns everything I love into data points.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I gave you something tonight I can never get back,” I said, voice shaking. “And I don’t regret it. But I need more than a man who sees the world in margins and shipments. I need someone who feels.”
He didn’t stop me when I turned. Didn’t follow.
Mollie and Avery were waiting by the elevator. They took one look at me and pulled me in close. I didn’t look back. Because if I did, I might see him standing there—still, silent, and not coming after me.
The doors slid shut, and the tears finally came. “I think,” I whispered, “I just fell for someone who can’t fall back.”