Chapter Eighteen Noelle #2
Hoxton takes a step closer, his gaze unwavering, and I’m struck by how easy it has become for him to disarm me.
‘Noelle,’ he says, voice low. ‘I’m not saying it because I think it’s just a nice thing to say.
I’m saying it because it’s true. From day one you’ve been amazing.
You understood what I was asking for from the very beginning.
I’ve never had to resend you my brief or rework any of your menus – you’ve always just got it down perfectly.
You have something that the best chefs in the world don’t have.
You make food that isn’t just about the ingredients, it’s about the feeling. And that’s what matters.’
I’m not sure how to respond to that.
‘And that’s just me talking about how good your food is,’ Hoxton continues.
‘I haven’t even started talking about the admin of it all.
How many other clients do you have? How many other briefs, menus, allergies, dietary requirements and more do you have to keep in your mind at any given point in time?
You’re good, Noelle. Brilliant, even. You can do it. You know you can.’
I look at him – really look at him – and there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s not just trying to get me to blush or feel good for a moment. This isn’t a game for him. He believes it. He really, truly believes what he’s saying.
My heart thuds a little harder in my chest, and I feel heat rising in my cheeks. ‘You really think that?’ I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I feel vulnerable and exposed, like I’ve let something important slip out of me and I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back.
Hoxton nods, slow but steady. ‘I do. Can I tell you something?’
I nod.
‘I didn’t even want to attend that meal at The Avalon a couple of years back.’
‘What a surprise,’ I snort. ‘Alexander Hoxton didn’t want to attend a Christmas meal.’
He glares at me half-heartedly before continuing.
‘I only went out of obligation – I’d been invited by a potential new investor and I needed to do some schmoozing.
The investment ultimately ended up falling through and I would’ve called the whole evening a colossal waste of time if it hadn’t been for you. ’
It feels like my heart stops and then restarts. ‘Me?’
Hoxton nods and offers me a soft, warm smile. ‘That was best meal I’d had in years. Going to that dinner was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my life because it led to you.’
A nervous laugh escapes me before I can stop it and I try my best to deflect. ‘You’re really laying it on thick now, aren’t you?’
He shrugs, but his smile doesn’t falter. ‘Maybe, but I don’t think you hear it enough. Definitely not enough from me, and you should. Because it’s true. You’re amazing at what you do, Noelle. You are amazing, Noelle.’
I shake my head. ‘You don’t even like me! I mean, well, you didn’t like me until very recently.’
Hoxton looks vaguely amused. ‘I’ve never not liked you, Noelle. I just… It’s just easier to keep people at a distance. People can’t disappoint you if you don’t give them the chance to know you.’
‘That’s sad,’ I mumble.
He shrugs. ‘I’ve made my peace with it. And this isn’t about me. It’s about you. And why you should follow the dream you’ve had for your entire life.’
There’s a lump in my throat I can’t swallow down, a strange mixture of gratitude and disbelief.
I want to argue, to point out every reason why I couldn’t do it, why I’ll never be able to pull off something as big as a restaurant.
But for some reason, it’s harder to keep pushing that back.
Something in me is starting to hope. To dare to think that maybe this dream I’ve had for so long isn’t as impossible as it seems.
I shake my head, trying to regain some composure. ‘I don’t know what to say to that.’
‘You don’t have to say anything,’ he replies easily, his gaze softening. ‘But you should listen. You’ve got something good here, Noelle. Don’t let it go.’
I feel something inside me stir, something that’s been dormant for years – something that was so scared of failure, it built a fortress around itself. Hoxton’s words are like a hammer to that wall, cracking through it, piece by piece.
For the first time in a long while, I let myself consider the possibility that I might actually have a chance. Maybe it’s not such a stupid pipe dream after all.
I finally manage a small, shaky smile. ‘Thanks, Hoxton. I… I’ll think about it.’
And when he smiles back at me, I realise just how much I needed to hear that.
I clear my throat. ‘Back to you, though.’
He shoots me a quizzical look. ‘Me?’
‘If I’m going to open Heart, you need to think about your mulled wine bar. And I’ve got the perfect name.’ I shoot him a devilish look. ‘How about The Grinch’s Lair?’
Hoxton’s scowl returns, but there’s no fire behind it this time. ‘When are you going to drop this whole Grinch thing?’
I shrug. ‘When you stop being one and drop your one-sided grudge against Christmas.’
He leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. ‘I don’t have a “grudge”. It’s just another day.’
‘And you spend it acting like you’re auditioning for a role in A Christmas Carol – and not as Tiny Tim.’
‘Tiny Tim?’
The look of confusion on his face is plain to see, and something dawns on me. ‘You’ve never watched A Christmas Carol, have you?’
‘Why would I?’
‘Have you watched any Christmas film?’
‘I vaguely remembering watching The Nightmare Before Christmas as a child.’
I let out a sigh of relief. ‘Okay, good. Not a complete lost cause then.’
‘But I stopped at around the halfway mark.’
I flick through the film in my mind, and then shoot Hoxton a deadpan glare. ‘Right as Jack decides to abandon Halloween and go all in on Christmas?’
Hoxton’s grin is smug. ‘Exactly. I thought he was a very reasonable character up until then.’
‘Of course you did,’ I mutter. I have to remember: this is the man who willingly sits and reads books entitled The Return of Krampus in his spare time. ‘I’m just saying, letting some Christmas joy into your life isn’t a bad thing.’
Hoxton heaves out a frustrated sigh. ‘Yes, you keep saying.’
‘Maybe you’ll finally take it to heart,’ I quip back, stubbornly.
‘I’m not a bad person because I don’t enjoy Christmas, Noelle.’
I pause. Is that what he thinks? That he’s a bad person because Christmas isn’t his favourite time of the year.
That I think he’s a bad person because of it? I look up and meet his gaze. His jaw is set tightly but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes that I don’t think I’ve seen before.
‘I don’t think you’re a bad person, Alex,’ I say softly. ‘I just think—’ I cut myself off. We’re veering dangerously into the same territory as last night, and that didn’t end well for anyone.
‘What?’ Hoxton pushes me. ‘Go on, say it.’
‘I just… I feel like you’re the kind of person who makes himself intentionally miserable sometimes.’
Hoxton’s eyes widen and he scoffs, but I keep on.
‘It’s like you don’t believe you’re allowed to enjoy yourself. Any spark of joy you get, you chase it away or lock it up as soon as it comes.’ His gym. His bathtub. The bath bombs. How long is he going to make excuses for deferring enjoyment?
I remember our kiss and how quickly he pushed me away, even though it was obvious he was enjoying himself just as much as I was.
And what he just revealed about purposely keeping people at a distance so they can’t disappoint him?
Despite all his riches, it’s clear Alexander Hoxton has no idea how to enjoy life.
‘And yes, that includes Christmas,’ I continue. ‘And other things too. The world doesn’t have to revolve around work, Alex. You can find happiness outside of spreadsheets and making a million pounds every other minute.’
I mean the last part as joke, but Hoxton doesn’t look particularly amused. He leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are rolled up to his elbows, and the tense muscles of his arm peek out. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve struck a nerve too deep.
‘That’s quite an analysis, Chef,’ he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘But you’re wrong. I’m perfectly capable of enjoying myself.’
‘Prove it, then,’ I counter. Those piercing dark eyes lock onto mine, but I don’t look away. I hope he sees the challenge in my own gaze, daring him to step out of his carefully constructed comfort zone.
I take a step forward. And then another.
And another. Then one last step until there’s barely an inch of space between us.
My heart is pounding but, with a rush of boldness, I close the gap between us and place a hand on his chest, feeling the solid, pounding rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my touch.
I wet my lips as I look up. A fire is smouldering in Hoxton’s eyes, and I’m sure he must see the same when he looks into mine.
‘How?’ Hoxton asks, his voice rough and slow. Not much louder than a whisper.
I swallow, and then push myself up onto my tiptoes until my lips graze against his. ‘Kiss me again.’
The words hang between us. For a second, it’s like we both stop breathing, and the only sounds I can hear are gentle hum of the refrigerator and the soft rumble from the storm outside. And then I see it – the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
‘What was that?’ Hoxton croaks out, even as he brings a hand to rest in the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.
‘Kiss me,’ I repeat.
‘Noelle,’ Hoxton groans, his grip on my lower back tightening. ‘You can’t just—’
‘Kiss. Me.’
His eyes widen, searching mine for something. A hint of hesitation or fear or regret, maybe. But if he’s looking for that, he’s not going to find it.
Not now.
Not ever.
I snake a hand up the back of his neck and thread my fingers through his hair. ‘Please don’t make me ask again.’
‘Okay,’ he murmurs. ‘I won’t.’