Chapter 17
Noelle
When the bell above the door stopped jingling and Fredrik’s dark shape disappeared through the window, I turned the lights back on. I had a feeling this would be the last time I saw the bookstore in its holiday glory, so I let myself enjoy it, even with my heart in tatters.
The room, once dark and dreary, now looked happy and inviting, as if it held treasures waiting to be discovered, rather than asthma attacks and tripping hazards. It was perfect. And all wrong.
I’d overstepped again, steamrolling past his boundaries without thinking.
I could have just hung a few ornaments instead of tackling everything I thought was lacking.
He had his reasons for keeping the store as it was.
If he’d wanted a new doorbell, he would have installed one.
If he’d wanted to sell more books, he would have ordered bestselling titles.
I’d assumed too much, like the idiot I was.
If I hadn’t been living here, maybe I would’ve realized it sooner. But I’d already begun thinking of the bookstore as “home,” and that made me want to tweak things. On the ship, I’d arranged postcards around the mirror in a desperate attempt to personalize my space and make it a home.
But this isn’t your home. It’s his workplace.
I wondered how Fredrik lived. Did he own some dusty castle with servants carrying silver trays?
His fondness for hideous shelves clearly wasn’t about money.
If he could keep this store open without selling books, there had to be something else.
Investments? Inheritance? Whatever the truth, he was the world’s most annoying puzzle, one I couldn’t stop trying to solve.
A knock rattled the glass, giving me a start. I peeked out the window and spotted one of my Christmas shop customers, wearing a red beret and a brisk smile, with an oversized tote on her shoulder. I cracked the door.
“Hi! I’m here to see the lights!”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “We closed early. The store’s not open for business.”
“Can I still peek?”
I hesitated, then gave in. “Alright. Just for a minute.”
She perused the shop, eyes wide. “This is something! Can I take photos? I’m Selah Brent, with The Almanac. This could be front-page news.”
Before I could react, she had pulled out a camera and was clicking away.
“Oh no! You’ll need Fredrik’s permission,” I stammered.
She waved me off. “That’s fine. I’ll get his sign-off later.”
Perfect. I’d let Fredrik disappoint her. He was so good at it.
After she left, I locked the door and stared at the glowing room. The decision settled heavy in my chest. I had to take it all down. It didn’t matter how much I loved it. Fredrik didn’t, and this was his space.
Maybe I’d ask Selah for a photo, just for myself.
I took a deep breath, then took one last look before dismantling everything.
I re-shelved the green books, wrestled the ugly brown bookshelf back into place, blocking the window, and dragged out the ladder to strip down the ceiling lights.
My arms ached, and my mood sank. It felt like January. Like Christmas was over.
To console myself, I carried the string lights upstairs and strung them above my bed. When I switched them on, the room glowed soft and warm, and for a second, joy returned. Then the light caught on croissant flakes scattered across the floor. I sighed. I’d deal with that later.
First, I needed air.
I buttoned my coat and crossed the snowy town square to the pink door of Love at First Sip. Eileen poured me a dark roast called The Heathcliff and gave me a sharp look.
“You chose the tortured hero,” she said. “Do you need to talk?”
“I’m fine.” I forced a smile, holding my watery eyes wide so they wouldn’t spill.
I couldn’t badmouth Fredrik in his own town, no matter how hurt I felt. I’d brought this on myself anyway.
Sensing she’d come over to check on me, I left quickly and climbed Cellular Hill.
The climb made my thighs burn and the cold air stung my lungs, but at the top, I was rewarded with a panorama of the inland bay.
I counted three ships in the distance, plowing through the freezing water in brilliant sunshine.
A young couple had taken over the gazebo, kissing with more passion than I thought was possible in full winter gear, so I sat on the top step, taking out my phone. The teens paused their make-out session, but stayed, scrolling their phones. Maybe they didn’t have anywhere else to go either.
Signal bars lit up on my phone, and I typed a message to Grace.
Hi Grace! I think I messed things up with my neighbor, the grumpy bookstore owner. I tried to be helpful, but I totally overstepped, and now I feel like the biggest idiot. Wish you were here. Wish we were back at sea, going somewhere warm. —Noelle
I hadn’t told Grace I was sleeping above the store. She’d been thrilled to find me a job with accommodations, and I didn’t want to sound ungrateful. If it weren’t for her, I would have had nowhere to go. Nowhere but back home, back to Spencer. I shuddered.
When our last cruise had ended early, Grace had scored a job in Portland, working at an Asian restaurant.
She’d always been better at spotting opportunities and creating them.
She would cold call or drop in with her résumé and can-do attitude and find work.
I desperately wanted to be like her, but the idea of dropping in unannounced to sell myself to an employer scared me shitless.
Hang in there! We’ll be in the Caribbean soon. Working on it xxx —Grace
Relief pricked my eyes.
I texted quick reassurances to my mom and Holly, telling them I was fine on the “ship” and sorry to miss Christmas. The lie sat heavy, but I rinsed it down with the last of my coffee and wandered into town.
The Christmas market buzzed on Lobstah Lane. I browsed the handmade soaps, laser-cut town mementos, and knitted scarves, enjoying the atmosphere, then bought some yarn and a hot buttered rum before ducking into the library.
It was quiet there, away from the market.
I picked up The Illustrated History of Hideaway Harbor and read about the town’s Puritan roots.
Of course, they were obsessed with Christmas.
The more you’re told not to celebrate, the harder you go when you can.
Maybe that was why I couldn’t resist redecorating Fredrik’s store.
I shared my defiant spirit with the founders of this town.
A white-haired man spotted me lingering over the page about the Locke Reserve. “You should go up there,” he urged. “Toss a coin over the Wishing Bridge, see what good it does you.”
“Don’t badmouth the bridge, Barry!” the young librarian scolded, pushing her cart by with a grin. “I wished for my dream job, and here I am!”
Intrigued, I followed their directions to Locke Reserve. The ornate iron bridge arched over a babbling stream, heavy with snow and hung with dozens of padlocks. I crouched down, browsing the names carved on some of the locks. All these couples who’d been so in love…
Elora & Fredrik.
My breath caught. Fredrik wasn’t exactly a common name. Could it be him? Was Elora the wife Felicity had alluded to? How had she died? The questions burned in my mind, but I had to be patient.
The coins at the bottom of the stream glinted in the sun. I threw in one more, fumbling for the right wish. What did I need? Forgiveness? Answers? A new brain?
The coin floated down and hit the pebbled riverbed.
I wish for a place I can decorate to my liking. A place that I can call home.
The words flooded my mind without warning, and I nearly choked on the sudden emotion.
When I returned to the town square, I was met by another holiday event in progress. Fire trucks sporting Christmas decorations. Dogs and their owners in matching Santa outfits and carols blasting from the main stage by the giant Christmas tree. It looked like a parade of sorts.
I weaved through the bustling crowd, smiling at the excited faces.
When I got to the bookstore, I found Felicity in an armchair, typing on her laptop. She looked up. “There you are!”
“Were you… looking for me?”
“Eileen said you might need a friend. I don’t have your phone number!”
“I don’t know if it’ll help. I only had a signal briefly this morning when I climbed the hill.”
“Well, just in case.” She thrust her phone at me until I typed it in.
The gesture made my throat tight. I was a visitor in this town. Her brother barely tolerated me. She had no reason to care.
“You put it all back,” she said softly, glancing around.
I nodded. “Fredrik was so upset.”
“You shouldn’t have. He’ll get over it. What did he say?”
“Not much. Just… looked like he was in pain.”
“He is. But that’s no excuse.”
I almost asked about Elora but bit my tongue.
“Do you think it’s okay if I still sleep upstairs? At least tonight?” My voice wobbled.
Her eyes widened. “Did he tell you to leave?”
“No. But if he’s uncomfortable—”
“He’s fine! I’ll talk to him. Don’t you dare go anywhere, okay? Fredrik’s not the smoothest guy, but he’s hardwired to do the right thing. You need to let him do that. Otherwise, he’ll die of shame and self-loathing.”
I almost laughed. “Guess we can’t let that happen.”
“Exactly!” She packed up her laptop. “I have to run. But I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?”
“Crochet club. Everyone’s expecting you.”
The wish from the bridge echoed in my chest. Maybe home wasn’t a place you decorated. Perhaps it was this feeling. Being known. Being expected.
I spent the evening curled in the armchair, devouring the book club’s romance novel.
I also devoured an eggplant sub I’d bought on the way.
It was from Little Italy, the cutest deli I’d discovered hidden in the basement next to the Sip.
Fredrik might have been sour, but everything else in this town was delicious.
My mood gradually improved, and I didn’t even notice when it got dark outside.
At some point, fireworks began popping outside the window, casting a festive glow across Fredrik’s dark floor.
It must have been the grand finale of the parade.
When my head started lolling on my shoulders, I got up and fetched the vacuum cleaner, making sure I left no crumbs behind. While I was still in cleaning mode, I decided to vacuum the bedroom as well.
I dragged the bulky appliance upstairs, plugged it in, and turned it on.
And then everything went dark.
The vacuum cleaner powered down with a sad whistle.
Shit.
I must have blown a fuse. The radiator let out a low hiss and a faint tick-tick-tick sound. The heat was evaporating.
Panic clawed my ribs. What now?
After a long and aimless search, I found the fuse box at the end of the hall. It had ancient ceramic fuses and a strip of masking tape with DO NOT TOUCH scrawled on it. My fingers hovered uselessly. Which fuse was which? What if I shocked myself?
Maybe it wasn’t worth the risk.
I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed, piling all the blankets I had over myself.
Sometime later, I woke up shivering. My arm had snuck out from under the covers and felt like a refrigerated carrot.
I wrapped myself in blankets, waiting for the warmth to return.
The room felt like a chest freezer, and the tip of my nose was so cold I had to burrow entirely under the covers.
Still, the chill pushed its way through, like an invisible snowman was hugging me.
Bracing myself, I got out of bed and pulled on my winter jacket, woolly hat, and mittens. I’d have to sleep in the Christmas store. It was the only way to survive. But when I went downstairs, I saw that the street outside the window was dark.
Was my fuse box connected to everything around me?
It made no sense, but my tired brain was busy connecting dots like a conspiracy theorist. Either way, I had nowhere to go.
If the power was out, the Christmas store would be equally cold.
Fear gripped my chest as I returned to my bed and crawled under the covers in my winter clothes.
It was going to be a long night.