Page 122 of Mistletoe All the Way

Noah grips the arm of his chair like he wants to rip it off, but he stays silent.

My father stares icily at me. “Hardly. This is a real job. With good pay. And the thing is, if you take this job, we’ll pay off your student loans.”

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. They’ve only ever offered to pay my loans if I returned to law school. Now they’re offering it if I take a job at the country club? “You would?” I ask, trying to process this twist.

“We will,” my father says, firm and clear.

Noah turns to me, his eyes searching mine, like he wants to know if this is what I want.

For a second, I weigh the unasked question. Do I want this?

But the answer is clear. I didn’t branch out on my own to pay my loans off faster. I did it because this is what I love. “Thank you so much,” I say, in a grateful tone, trying to convey how deeply I appreciate the gesture, flawed though it is. “But I don’t want a full-time job. I’d be happy to talk to them about a contract assignment since I want to keep working for my other clients.”

My father snaps to his feet from the couch. “That’s not what the offer is. And the other work is so silly,” he says derisively, then flaps a hand at Noah. “The contest is beneath you.”

“I like it,” I say, my voice wobbly—and I swear I hear Noah growl, low in his throat.

“It’s a hobby,” my mother says, rising too. I follow them to the foyer, and so does Noah. “You know it won’t last. This is not responsible.”

“It’s what I want to do though,” I say, half pleading, half trying so hard to stay strong, even though it’s not easy. They’re my parents, and they don’t think I’m good enough. They don’t think I’m respectable. They don’t value what I do.

“It’s so ridiculous,” my mother says.

My lower lip quivers, but I try to pull it together to say something.

“Enough,” Noah cuts in, deep and commanding. “This is not silly. Your daughter is not a joke. I don’t care if you think I look like a stripper Santa. That doesn’t make Mr. Holiday unimportant. I’ve seen the crowds. I’ve seen them grow. I’ve seen how goddamn happy people are at the events.”

“Oh, please,” my father says, rolling his eyes. “Spare me.”

“I will not spare you,” Noah says, brooking no argument. “You barged in, told her what you think. Now it’s my turn.” He reaches for me, draping an arm possessively around my waist. “Eloise is clever and talented, and she’s great at her job. She makes people happy.” He waves his free arm toward the window. “Look around. The world is a dark place. We hurt each other. Disasters happen. Animals are abandoned. And people die far too young and far too soon,” he says, his voice trembling for a second—but even as it breaks, there’s raw strength and real resilience there. “What’s so wrong with someone wanting to bring a little cheer to others, especially during the holidays?”

My father huffs. My mother adjusts her silk scarf. Neither one of the lawyers in the room has anything to say for a long beat.

“Exactly. Now, if you don’t have something supportive to say to the most incredible woman I know, then get the hell out.”

Rusty seconds Noah with a Hear! Hear! bark.

They both turn on their heels and leave. And holy shit.

I’ve never had someone defend me like that. I’ve never known how uplifting it could be—and how exciting. I’ve become so accustomed to going it alone, forging my own path, relying only on myself. I had no idea how it could feel when someone stands up for you. Supports you. Defends you.

And it feels incredible.

Seconds after they leave, I turn to him, grab his face, and kiss the hell out of him. Hard. Desperate. Full of so many emotions—gratitude, desire, and something that feels a lot like falling in love.

When I wrench away, I whisper a heartfelt “Thank you.”

He brushes strands of hair from my face, tucking them behind my ears. “You make people happy, Eloise. You make me happy.”

My heart bursts. “Yeah?”

He holds my gaze, then nods before he drops his forehead to mine. “You do.”

“You make me feel… not so alone,” I say, my voice catching.

I can feel him smile. I can tell that smiling is still a new thing for him. Like a pair of shoes he’s becoming accustomed to. We’re quiet for several held-breath seconds. Where everything feels possible. Where late-night promises that are hard to keep come true. I think… I think I would do long-distance for him. Even though it scares me. Even though it’s hurt me terribly in the past. But if it’s some or nothing with Noah, I’d take some.

There will be time to talk about that later though. We have tonight and Christmas Eve and the next day.