Page 135 of Mistletoe All the Way

“I don’t know. Where’s it going to lead? A weekend here or there? A phone call every few nights? Hardly seeing each other?”

Henry clears his throat. He’s seated next to my grandmother on a small sofa across from us. “Or maybe to the best thing that ever happened to you,” he says, then drops a kiss to her cheek. Her eyes float closed for a moment, and neither one of them is sassy or naughty. They just look like two people who’ve fallen in love. I know that look.

But I’m afraid of being hurt.

I’m afraid Noah would fall out of love with me.

I’m afraid of being alone.

Except maybe I won’t be alone. I look around at all the people I love, and who love me too.

Not just on the holidays but all through the year. They’re worthy of all the ornaments and all the time.

When I’m home that night, padding around my quiet home, the town falling asleep as it waits for a fictional man to climb down the chimney, I take a chance. I send Noah a text.

ELOISE

The animals are so lucky to have you. Call me when you get a chance tonight!

As I slide into bed, the cat prowling up the covers, I swear I hear the distant sound of sleigh bells.

47 SILVER BELLS

Noah

I can’t believe I’m hauling a Santa sack over my shoulder, but then again, I also can.

Rusty and I rush up the steps in Eloise’s building—I know the code from when I stayed here—then reach her door.

I’ve still got “Silver Bells” playing on my phone, and I hope I’m not waking her neighbors here in the building.

But that’s a chance I’ll have to take. Fact is, it’s just one of many chances I’m hoping to take tonight.

I rap my knuckles on the door, but Rusty has no patience. He yaps happily.

“Buddy, it’s late, and it’s Christmas Eve,” I say quietly.

He wags his tail. He just doesn’t care about waking anyone up. He does care about the dog-size Santa hat on his head though. He lifts a paw to try to swipe it off again.

“Just leave it on for one more minute,” I urge as I listen closely for the sound of footsteps, hoping she hears me. Hoping she’ll be happy when she peers through the peephole.

I imagine her padding across the hardwood in fuzzy socks with gingerbread men on them, and for some reason, this image makes me incandescently happy.

And nervous too, when I hear her. I hope I haven’t messed things up. I hope she’ll forgive me for not realizing my feelings sooner.

I hope—

The door creaks open.

Eloise squints in the dim light of her home, pinks and blues and purples from Betty glittering in the corner.

“Noah?” There’s sleep in her voice.

God, she looks incredible. Like the future and all my dreams.

My heart hammers mercilessly in my chest. “I brought you your gifts,” I say, waggling the bag, but Rusty’s beating me to the greeting, hopping up on his back legs, begging for kisses, and whimpering like all the world’s problems have been solved.

Maybe they have. She’s here, after all, and we’re not miles and miles away.