Chapter Five Noelle
‘Please tell me your sexy boss had a sudden change of heart, sent you home about four hours ago, and you’re currently in the process of making your way to Gran’s a day early to surprise everyone. Please.’
‘Client,’ I murmur, almost on autopilot at this point. ‘And stop calling him that.’ I pause my loading of Hoxton’s fancy dishwasher and glance over at my phone propped up on the countertop. For the second time today, Eve’s pouting face fills my screen. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I swear to God, Noelle,’ Eve whimpers, a slightly frantic expression flitting across her face. ‘I’m genuinely on the brink. We had maybe half an hour of peace after Aunt Valerie arrived – I think the snow distracted everyone for a bit – but it’s been non-stop since then.’
I slam the dishwasher door shut and turn to give my sister both my full attention and a sympathetic grin. I can hear the faint sound of reggae and loud voices in the background. ‘Then I’ve got some bad news for you there.’
Eve lets out a loud and overly dramatic groan.
‘There’s only so much I can take, and I’ve already temporarily tapped out for the evening.
Poor Nathan’s down there all by himself trying to stop them from verbally abusing each other every five minutes.
I don’t know how much longer he’ll last before he realises he’s in over his head and takes back the ring. ’
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. ‘Stop being dramatic.’
‘I’m not!’ She squints at me and then points a perfectly manicured finger at her phone screen. ‘Do you see what you’ve done? My wedding is on the line, Noelle. I need you to hurry up.’
This time I do roll my eyes. It’s not like I’m not trying to hurry – like I particularly want to spend any more time in Hoxton’s home than I already have to – but clean-up is just as important as the meal itself.
And the last thing I want to do is give Hoxton even more of a reason to turn that icy glare in my direction.
‘I’ve got a couple more things to finish off here and then I’m heading home.’
Eve blinks at me with wide, hopeful eyes. ‘Or – and hear me out. You could drive through the night and get here by…’ She glances briefly at, I assume, the clock in the top corner of her screen. ‘3am.’
My only response is a derisive snort.
‘Fine,’ Eve huffs, finally accepting that she’s beaten. ‘I guess I’ll just suffer then.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
She glares at me for a long second and then shrugs, any trace of frustration wiped from her face.
Despite all her dramatics, Eve never really means it.
I’ve long since known that my twin is the kind of person who just always needs a healthy injection of drama in their life.
‘How’s your night been, anyway?’ she asks.
‘Did Sexy Boss – sorry, Sexy Client – burst into flames at the sight of your apron?’
‘Almost,’ I laugh as I make my way around the kitchen, wiping down the countertops as I go. ‘But it was fine. Bit weird at the start, but everyone got into the spirit by the end.’
Well. Mostly everyone.
When I returned to the dining room at the end of the night to start collecting their dishes, Hoxton was still proudly wearing his signature scowl, still apparently reeling from the unfortunate Grinch cookie – which I ended up eating myself, and it was phenomenal.
It didn’t matter that someone – Luca, I suspect – had taken out their phone and was blaring Christmas music from it, and that everyone else was singing along to the familiar tunes with a grin on their face and rosy cheeks.
Hoxton didn’t so much as twitch in his seat, a faraway look in his eyes as his lips turned even further downwards into a frown.
‘At least you survived,’ Eve says with a smirk. ‘And maybe Sexy Client will thaw out a bit by the new year. Who knows, maybe he’ll even crack a smile next time you see him.’
‘You’ve really got to stop with the name.’
Eve shrugs. ‘I’ll stop when he stops looking like that.’
It really is quite unfair.
Even the perpetual grimace plastered across his face does irritatingly little to distract from the fact that Hoxton is stupidly, unfairly, attractive.
Thankfully, his personality is enough of a deterrent and stops me from losing myself in wildly inappropriate daydreams involving Hoxton, myself, and the wooden farm table I’m leaning against right now.
For the most part.
I clear my throat. ‘I do need to go, though. I’ve got to finish up here so I can head home before the snow gets any heavier.’
At the mention of snow, Eve perks up a little more. ‘Oh yeah. How is it down there for you? It’s coming down pretty hard up here. Uncle Morris was talking about heading outside later and building a snowman with the kids.’
I peer out of the nearest window. A thick white layer covers my car and the rest of Hoxton’s drive.
I squint into the distance. I can just about make out the shape of Hoxton’s neighbours’ homes through the flurry of snow that’s rapidly falling from the dark night sky.
‘It’s definitely coming down pretty steadily,’ I say, watching as a few more icy flakes float past the window.
‘But nothing too crazy yet. I don’t think it’ll slow me down too much on the drive home. ’
Eve nods. ‘Just make sure you drive safely, okay? Let me know when you get home and when you head out tomorrow morning.’
‘Got it,’ I say, giving her a mock salute. ‘No driving into ditches.’
‘Ha ha,’ Eve deadpans, giving me an uncharacteristically serious look. ‘I need you here. Christmas isn’t Christmas without you.’
For a second, she’s almost got me, and I briefly consider throwing caution to the wind and making the four-hour drive to Gran’s in the dead of night.
But then I hear the slightly muffled sound of familiar arguing coming from somewhere in the distance behind Eve.
‘You just want me to deal with Mum and Aunt Valerie for you.’
Eve breaks out into a sheepish grin. ‘That too. But, also, the Christmas thing. Mostly the Christmas thing.’
I know exactly what she means. The tiny amount of Christmas cheer I’ve managed to sneak into Hoxton’s home tonight hasn’t been enough to change the gloomy atmosphere that hangs over this place like an everlasting rain cloud.
Definitely not the Christmas vibe.
I can’t wait to drop down onto Gran’s soft, squishy sofa, and inhale the warm scent of freshly baked cookies and cake wafting in from the kitchen as I watch my little cousins add their latest monstrosities to the tree.
Even the threat of Mum and Aunt Valerie being at each other’s throats isn’t enough to sour the image in my mind.
In fact, their arguing is practically part of the fabric of Christmas at this point.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I cut the call, drop my phone into my bag, and survey the rest of the kitchen. There are still pots and pans piled high in the sink, empty wrappers, boxes and containers strewn across the island, and a bag of food scraps I’ll need to take out to the bins before I go.
Thirty minutes. I’ll give myself thirty minutes and then…
And then what?
I’m suddenly acutely aware that Hoxton is in the house with me.
That we’re the only two people in the house right now.
And this has never happened before.
In the two years I’ve been working for Hoxton, I’d say we’ve both been in the house at the same time a grand total of maybe five times.
And never alone. Roland is always here with me, pottering around in the background and acting as a helpful buffer between me and Hoxton.
He’s the one who leads me through the house, forcing me to stick to the pre-approved route that doesn’t allow for any detours or good-natured snooping.
Two years in, and I only vaguely know the layout of the downstairs.
The upper floor of Hoxton’s home remains a mystery – one that I doubt I’ll ever solve.
I jump as the kitchen door suddenly creaks open and Hoxton’s head pokes through the gap. I watch as he scans the room before his gaze settles on me and his brows furrow.
‘You’re still here?’ His frown deepens as he steps fully into the kitchen.
A flash of irritation shoots through me and I gesture silently to the pots still in the sink and other bits and pieces I need to finish off.
I turn back to the sink to resume washing up, assuming he’ll leave and head back to whatever dark and joyless corner of his home he came from, but instead of the door slamming shut behind him, I hear his footsteps shuffling closer.
I hear the creak of wood as he leans against the island and then clears his throat. ‘What I mean to say is – you can go.’
I drop the pot I’m holding into the soapy water and glance over my shoulder. Why do I feel like I’m about to walk into a trap? ‘I need to finish cleaning. It’s part of the job.’
‘You’re mostly done,’ he says gruffly, avoiding any eye contact with me. ‘I can finish up here.’
I swallow down a scoff. For some reason, I just can’t imagine Hoxton with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, standing over the sink and scrubbing away at these dishes.
Surely he’s the type of guy to let it sit and soak until his cleaning staff turn up, and I’m not going to give them any extra work if I can help it.
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘It’ll only take me another half hour or so, and then I’ll be out of your hair.’
Thank God.
Hoxton’s gaze flickers towards the window.
I follow his line of sight and feel a slight twinge of alarm when I notice how frosted the glass has become in the time since I last glanced out of it.
The twinkling lights from his neighbours’ homes are blurry now, and I can barely see the outline of my car in the drive.
‘Are you sure? It’s getting pretty—’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say again, a little firmer this time. How much worse could it really get in another half hour? And besides, Hoxton is already in a sour mood thanks to the Christmas-ness of this evening; I don’t need to give him another reason to criticise me and my work.