Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Noelle
“Hey, Val, happy holidays” I say, still smiling as I weave through the crowd. “Are you ready for the best party of the year? You’re coming, right?”
“How’s the gala coming along?” Val asks, her voice crackling through the phone and I don’t love that she’s not acknowledging the party. She’s probably going to ditch me making some excuse about work and plane tickets being too expensive.
Which will be fine, I’ll just act like it’s no big deal and hope she at least sends me a donation or two. So, I respond, “Good. We’re so close to hitting our fundraising target. Just need a few more big donors to lock in and sell some tables, would you like one or just a couple of tickets?” I ask half-jokingly but I continue so she doesn’t feel like I’m putting her on the spot, at least not yet, “If not, any donations are welcome. I’ve got a meeting later this week with a couple of potential sponsors, so fingers crossed.”
“I swear, you’re going to pull it off,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You always do, remember that time you raised money for the library to add more books and remodel?”
That was a piece of cake in comparison, but I don’t tell her that. I only say, “Let’s hope so.” Dodging a guy in a suit who’s too busy scrolling through his phone to watch where he’s going. “If I can get it all squared away, we’ll have the best news to share on Christmas Day. Everyone’s going to love it.”
“You’re doing a good thing,” Val says. “I mean, you’re basically Santa wearing cozy hats and fun boots. Plus you know how to handle spreadsheets like a badass.”
I snort, adjusting the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “Thanks. Not sure if I’ll be like him, but I’ll take it.”
As I cross the street, I can already see a few early signs of holiday cheer—window displays with hints of red and green, wreaths hung on brownstone doors. There’s something magical about New York during the holidays. It’s busy, sure, but it feels like the whole city is in on the same secret: that for a couple of months, the world gets a little softer, a little brighter.
“You know, Grandma Holly must be so proud of you,” Val adds after a beat, her tone softening. “You’ve made ‘Hollyvember’ something more and in the city.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll still make it cozy, festive, and packed with all the goodness of winter and chocolate,” I say, glancing around at the city, “Manhattan’s not exactly Maple Ridge, but I’ll make it work.”
“Glad to hear that, now to what really matters. Your message was very cryptic,” Val says, breaking through my festive thoughts. “What exactly do you need me to do?”
“Mom called earlier to let me know that Chad and Eleanor got engaged,” I say, trying to sound casual, even though my stomach does a tiny flip. “Something about wanting me to hear it from her and to remind me that the entire family is still supporting me. The point is that I need you to check their social media. Did he give her . . . my ring?”
There’s a pause before Val bursts into laughter. “I love you, Noelle, but you could just check yourself, you know?”
I’m a little appalled that she’s laughing at me, but I need to stay focused on what really matters. “And look like a total stalker? No, thank you,” I say, sidestepping a couple holding hands as they pass by, their matching scarves almost too cute for words. “That’s why I have a big sister—to do all the fun undercover work for me. It’s just curiosity, you know. I really don’t care about their lives.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, the skepticism practically dripping through the phone.
I keep walking, pretending like I’m not holding my breath for her response. I tell myself I don’t care, that I’ve moved on. But part of me wonders if seeing that ring—the one I wore for a few years—on someone else’s finger will sting more than I’m ready to admit.
This twenty-eight-year-old small-town girl is still nursing a bruised ego after her high school sweetheart not only cheated on her but did it with her younger cousin, of all people. It’s the kind of betrayal that doesn’t just hurt—it digs in deep, making you question everything. Every choice, every moment.
Why wasn’t I enough? Why weren’t we enough?
Sure, all those self-help books keep telling me it’s not about me, that it’s him, but that doesn’t stop the little voice in the back of my head from whispering, “Maybe if you’d been prettier, smarter, or funnier, things would’ve been different.” It’s stupid, I know. But heartbreak has a funny way of making you doubt yourself in all the ways you never thought you would.
And here I am, walking down the busiest street in Manhattan, trying to distract myself with twinkling lights and holiday shop windows, but all I can think about is how the man I thought I’d marry didn’t just move on—he moved on with my own cousin. Ouch.
“Earth to Noelle,” Val says, snapping her fingers in front of my face, pulling me back to reality as I step off the subway and head toward my apartment building. The familiar brownstone looms ahead, a comforting but slightly worn facade. “Look, if it is your ring, he’s a cheap bastard. Either way, after what he did it is definitely his loss. You don’t need to compare yourself to Eleanor. You’re better off without him, trust me.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh, my heels clicking on the pavement as I approach the front steps. “Yeah, I know. But still . . . it’s not exactly a confidence booster when your ex upgrades to your nineteen-year-old cousin.”
Val snorts through the phone. “Upgrade? More like downgrade. Please. Eleanor’s barely out of college—because they kicked her out—and she still thinks ‘adulting’ means remembering to put gas in her car. She’s still a child.”
I can’t help but crack a smile as I fumble with the key to the building’s front door. Val’s got a point. Eleanor is definitely a kid who’s not mature enough for . . . well, anything, not even marriage. My aunt should be looking into this bizarre relationship and me . . . well, I have to remember that I dodged a bullet.
Still, that little voice in my head—the one that’s really good at keeping me up at night—won’t stop whispering what-ifs. What if I hadn’t moved to New York for college? Would things have been different if I’d stayed local, closer to him? Could I have kept him interested? But I don’t even know how.
I push through the door and head toward my mailbox, my thoughts spiraling even deeper into the abyss of self-doubt. And then my brain pulls up that stupid podcast about how cheaters never change. What if he’d been cheating all along while I was at school? What’s wrong with me?
Val’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. “It’s not like you were planning on marrying him anytime soon. You wanted a long engagement, remember? Live, travel, enjoy life before settling down. Did you guys even go anywhere during that ‘long engagement’?”
I shrug, pulling out a stack of mail and sorting through it as I head toward the stairs. “He was always working,” I mutter, mimicking Chad’s lifeless tone whenever I suggested we do something fun.
“The family business needed more attention than usual,” I say, rolling my eyes at my own words.
Val huffs. “You always bought his excuses.”
Most of the mail is junk—flyers, bills, and more flyers—which I quickly toss into the recycle bin as I reach the staircase. Out of habit, I glance over my shoulder and, surprise, surprise—there he is. Grumpy McScowlyFace, lurking a few steps behind me, his expression as sour as ever.
Of course, he’s here. Why wouldn’t he be? Probably waiting for an excuse to complain about the hallway lights being too bright or how someone’s door wreath is “a fire hazard.” I resist the urge to groan and roll my eyes instead as I start my climb. It’s like he has a sixth sense for showing up at the exact moment my patience is running on fumes.
I pick up the pace, feeling his glare burning into the back of my head, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around. Nope, not today, Scrooge. I shake my head, focusing back on the phone call, realizing Val’s still waiting for me to say something coherent.
“They weren’t . . . okay, fine. Maybe they were excuses,” I admit, my voice softer now.
“When was the last time you went on an adventure, a vacation . . . anything?” Val asks.
“Iceland, with you,” I respond, pausing for a second as I remember the trip. I smile briefly before the memory sours. “Yeah, that was fun. Until I came back and found him screwing Eleanor.”
“Not your fault,” Val says firmly. “At least you weren’t living together.”
I keep climbing the stairs, but my pace slows. “He wanted his space,” I say, then suddenly, it hits me. “Oh my God, do you think it was so he could cheat? Ugh. Now there are so many things I’m grateful for.”
“Like what?” Val asks, curious.
I finally reach my floor and grin as I spot my Christmas wreath hanging on the door—bright red ribbons, glittery ornaments, and all. I glance around the hall, thinking about how I could make wreaths for the other three neighbors on my floor.After all, I agreed with the board to make this place a winter wonderland.
Mr. Grump Next Door will probably bitch about it, but I bet he’ll keep it in place. Deep down, I know he enjoys the holidays. I just need to figure out how to coax the holiday spirit out from wherever he locked it up.
“Did I lose you again?” Val’s voice snaps me back to reality, reminding me she’s still on the phone.
“Nope.” I shake my head, searching for my keys. “For starters, we never stopped using condoms. No STDs, thank God. And we never did oral—again, thank fuck, or I’d probably need antibiotics right now. I mean, it sucked because I really wanted him to, y’know, go down there, but . . . what can you do, right?”
Val bursts out laughing on the other end of the line, and for the first time in a while, I feel a little lighter. “Leave it to you to find the silver lining.”
“Hey, that’s me—the silver lining queen,” I say, rummaging through my purse for the apartment keys. I swear I had them just seconds ago. “I just won’t be sharing what I’m thankful for during Thanksgiving.”
“Can you imagine? ‘What are you thankful for, Noelle,’” she imitates Dad’s voice. “‘My cheating ex-fiancée didn’t give me syphilis, Daddy.’”
I burst into laughter, not sure if it’s her nonsense because it’s been years since I’ve called Dad Daddy, or the fact that . . . “Mom and Dad would lose their minds. Grandma Jane will probably disown me,” I say out loud.
“Dad would have a heart attack for sure. He still thinks I’m a virgin—even though I’m married,” Val laughs. Then, with a sudden shift in tone, she asks, “But seriously, is it true? He never went down on you?”
“Yep, he never did. He said oral was ‘icky.’”
Val gasps. “Was he at least a good kisser?”
“Not sure . . .” I reply, wondering about that part. “I mean, he’s the only guy I went out with since high school. I have nothing to compare him with.”
“You should start dating again,” Val suggests. “Go kiss guys, learn new things . . . find someone who knows how to make you happy with his tongue.”
“Oh yeah, why didn’t I think of that sooner?” I laugh, still hunting for my keys, my fingers disappearing into the black hole that is my purse. “I’ll just start asking random guys if I can kiss them, you know, for research purposes. I’ll add that to my dating profile: looking for a good tongue, only respond if you know how to use it.”
“Stop it, I’m going to pee my pants and leaving a stain on the chair is not a good look.”
“I’m serious here, I’ll even bring a journal to rate their technique, maybe hand out grades.” I drop to my knees, practically emptying my purse onto the floor in frustration. “And hey, while I’m at it, I’ll ask them to eat my pussy on the first date. Will it be too forward to ask them to fuck my mouth—since I’ve never done that either? All in the name of the full experience, right? Scientific method and all that.”
Val can’t stop laughing, but once she sobers up she says, “Obviously this is what you have to do. I’m a firm believer in the scientific method.”
Suddenly, a shadow falls over me. “What’s all that noise?” Val asks, her voice slightly muffled as I hear a low, amused growl from above—smooth yet gruff in a way that makes my breath hitch, like someone just turned the volume down on reality.
“I’m trying to find my—” I start, but before I can finish, a deep, gravelly voice interrupts, so annoyingly sexy it almost makes me want to roll my eyes in defeat. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
I freeze mid-key-search, slowly lifting my gaze to meet the infuriatingly smug face of my grumpy neighbor. He’s holding my keys, dangling them from his fingers like a prize. His voice is rough, deep—borderline growly—and as usual, he’s standing there looking unfairly hot. Like, seriously, why-do-you-have-to-be-this-sexy-while-I’m-humiliating-myself hot.
And then it hits me—he probably heard the whole conversation.
Great. Why can’t the ground ever open up and swallow me when I really need it?