Chapter Five Noelle #2
Hoxton opens his mouth, looks like he wants to argue, then clamps it shut and shrugs. He pushes himself off the counter without another word and leaves me blissfully alone once again.
I won’t lie though; the increasing intensity of the snowstorm has got me a tiny bit rattled.
The last thing I want is to get stuck on the side of the motorway or, even worse, stuck here with Hoxton.
Just the thought of it sends a shudder wracking through me.
With that thought motivating me, I get the rest of the kitchen done in record time – eighteen minutes to be exact – and try very hard to ignore the increasing howling of the wind outside.
Once I’m officially finished, I heft my bag onto my shoulder, grab the bin bags to toss on my way out, and frown.
Typically, once I’m done, I’ll let Roland know and he’ll lead me to the front door and that’s it.
Even on the rare occasions that Hoxton is home while I’m busy working my magic in his kitchen, he’s never come to see me off himself and I’ve certainly never had any desire – or chance, with Roland around – to pop my head into his office and say goodbye.
But it feels weird leaving without a word tonight.
Rude, almost. Which is just laughable considering how Hoxton pretty much owns the trademark on rudeness.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t give a damn about being rude to the man who glowers at me as if I’m responsible for every wrong in his life, who doesn’t bother to even wave a hand in greeting when I enter his home.
But I do.
Hoxton may have been raised in a cave, but I most definitely wasn’t.
I stride over to the kitchen door and tug it open, stepping over the threshold before I can talk myself out of it.
I don’t get very far.
Mostly because I immediately hit a wall. It’s somehow equal parts hard and soft, and there’s a warmth emanating from it that floods my senses. And it’s moving. Something that feels oddly like an arm wraps itself around my waist and steadies me as I stumble backwards.
I glance up.
Not a wall.
A Hoxton.
A Hoxton with one arm wrapped loosely around my waist to steady me, his chest pressed up against mine, and a look on his face I don’t recognise. It’s not his standard scowl, but it’s not anything I could describe as being even remotely close to a smile either.
His brows are furrowed, his cheeks slightly red, and his lips are parted in what I think is surprise. I watch as his dark eyes drop a fraction, roving over my body before flitting up to meet mine again. His lips twitch into an almost smile.
‘Oh, shit, sorry,’ I mutter, dropping my gaze as I leap out of his touch and back at least five steps. ‘I didn’t realise… didn’t hear you coming.’
Hoxton clears his throat, and his cheeks darken a little more. ‘I was coming to…’ He trails off and clears his throat again. ‘To check how things were going.’
I raise a brow – we haven’t even got close to the thirty minutes we agreed on – and gesture around his now-pristine kitchen. The urge to respond with a snarky ‘Yeah? Well, clean-up takes a while’ is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down because I know what he’s getting at.
Hoxton clearly wants me out of here.
Me and him both.
Though I doubt his reasoning has anything to do with the intensifying storm. Still, no sense in delaying what we both want.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, clinging on tighter to my bag. ‘I was just about to leave.’
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but he just shakes his head and steps aside for me to pass him. ‘Right.’
The walk from the kitchen to the front door is a painfully awkward and silent one.
I find myself desperately missing Roland and the easy way conversation just seems to roll off him.
Every so often, Hoxton clears his throat and I stiffen at the thought of him trying to make small talk with me, but nothing ever comes.
Thankfully. When we reach the door, he pulls it open for me and an icy wall of cold air hits us immediately.
Hoxton glares up at the sky and I dip my head to hide my eye-roll. Of course the sight of snow would piss him off. Could he be any more of a stereotypical Grinch?
‘Looks like we’re in for a white Christmas,’ I mutter, reaching out to let a few cold snowflakes land on my hand. They settle against my skin for a brief moment and then melt. ‘Isn’t that lucky?’
Hoxton scoffs. ‘What’s lucky about it?’
I shrug. ‘You know – snow on Christmas? There’s just something magical about it.’
Another scoff. ‘Temperatures have dropped below freezing and it’s relatively humid. Nothing magical about it. Just basic thermodynamics.’
An irrational twinge of anger shoots through me. What is his problem? Would it really be so hard to just smile and nod and marvel at the beautiful snowflakes falling silently down on us? If he wants to be a miserable asshole, that’s fine, but there’s no need to drag the rest of us down with him.
‘To each his own.’ I clear my throat and shift my bag higher onto my shoulder. I take a step off the porch and, without glancing back, say coolly, ‘Have a lovely Christmas.’
I don’t get any kind of response. Just the sound of the front door closing before I even reach my car.
NOELLE
Never in my life have I met such a Grinch.
EVE
LOL
What’s SC done now?
NOELLE
SC?
EVE
Sexy Client
NOELLE
Nothing in particular. Just seems determined to sap all of my Christmas joy.
But it’s whatever. Finished now. Omw home.
EVE
WOOO!!
Drive safe xoxo
I would love to drive safe.
I would love to drive at all, actually.
But I can’t.
Because my car splutters to life, the engine roaring, heat blasting at maximum to try to inject some warmth into my rapidly freezing bones, and then just as I’m about to pull away and leave Hoxton’s miserable home in the dust, my car goes ahead and dies.
Dies.
The pathetic sound it makes as it shuts down is drowned out by my shriek of frustration.
This cannot be happening.
I try again, praying to any deity that so happens to be listening – even Santa gets a shoutout – but to no avail.
My car gives me one last feeble groan and then shuts down completely.
I stare, unblinking, out the window as the snow quickly piles up on my windscreen.
Within a few minutes, I’m left shivering as I stare out at a white expanse.
The air in my car is icy, so cold I can see my breath frosting out in front of me with each frustrated whimper.
I can’t stay in here, that much is clear.
I’ll freeze to death within the hour and my hands, stuffed deep into the pockets of my jacket, are already well on their way to becoming numb.
Just the thought of freeing them from the relative warmth inside my pockets to grab my phone and book an Uber is enough to make me want to weep.
The solution is obvious. If I’m being honest, it’s been obvious for the last five minutes but I’ve been stubbornly avoiding that particular reality, hoping that perhaps my incessant pleading will somehow cajole my car into pulling itself together.
No such luck.
‘This,’ I grit out as I slide out of my car, slam the door, and start stomping back across Hoxton’s drive, ‘is the worst Christmas ever.’
In the back of my mind, I hear Eve’s smug cackle. You said it was December 21st.
In the five minutes I’ve been sat in my car, desperately willing it to gain sentience and a sense of empathy, the snow has picked up more than I could have imagined.
It flurries around me in mini cyclones, the icy wind whipping against my cheeks painfully as I make my way back up the snow-covered pathway to Hoxton’s dark home.
I peer around as I trudge through the blizzard.
Hoxton’s neighbours, the homes I’d admired as I crawled up the street hours ago, somehow seem much further away than before.
They’re nothing more than tiny blips on the horizon, houses covered in a sheet of untouched white snow.
Apparently, I’m the only one stupid enough to be out in the blizzard right now and I can just about make out tiny white and gold lights twinkling in the distance, the only sign that there is in fact any life beyond Hoxton’s iron gates.
I ring the bell and then pound three times, as hard as I can, against his door. To his credit, Hoxton doesn’t make me wait long and I have to wonder if he’s been peering out of a window watching and snickering because this is exactly what he was warning me against.
Hoxton opens the door a few seconds after my last knock, a quizzical, almost wary, look on his face.
‘My car won’t start,’ I manage to get out, teeth chattering. ‘Can I—’
He doesn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. Just steps aside and quickly ushers me in, taking care to close the door firmly behind me once my feet are planted on his mat. A rare feeling of gratitude towards him washes over me.
‘I see the Christmas magic is working,’ Hoxton says, with what I’m pretty sure is a hint of amusement.
Any sense of gratitude melts along with the snow I’m currently stomping off my shoes.
Asshole.
I glare up at him. ‘If the whole tech giant thing doesn’t work out, I don’t think I’d recommend a career in comedy for you.’
His eyes widen and – shit. Probably not the smartest choice of words.
I’m usually good at holding my tongue around Hoxton, but the combination of being freezing cold and desperate for my warm bed to drop into isn’t a good one and I can’t bring myself to care that I’ve just insulted my best paying client.
I’m not entirely sure he cares either. He doesn’t look angry or like he’s two seconds away from opening the door and flinging me out into the cold again. He looks almost chagrined.
‘Sorry.’ The word comes out gruffly, almost too quiet for me to hear, and he dips his gaze. ‘I wasn’t trying to make a joke.’
‘Could’ve fooled me.’
He opens his mouth like he wants to respond but then snaps it shut again, and I can literally see his jaw working overtime as he grits his teeth.