Chapter 10

Noelle

“Hey, Noelle!” a familiar voice calls out, and I freeze for a second. It’s Annabelle. Of all the people to run into right now, it had to be her. I turn, and sure enough, there she is. Her long blonde hair catches the light as her eyes widen when she spots me. Or more specifically, when she spots York and me, our hands joined between us.

Her gaze lingers on our entwined fingers. “So, it’s true. You’re really dating?”

Before I can think, I drop York’s hand like it’s on fire. My heart skips a beat, and I feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. “Annabelle, what are you doing here?”

She steps forward with a grin, pulling me into one of her signature tight hugs, the kind that makes me feel like I’m being smothered in perfume and cheer. “Shopping, obviously,” she says brightly, her arms still around me. “Had to get a few last-minute Christmas presents for the kids.”

I nod, trying to act casual even though my brain is scrambling. I turn toward York, swallowing hard. “This is York Steele. My, um… boyfriend.”

Annabelle’s perfectly arched eyebrow shoots up in disbelief. “Your what?” The single word hangs in the air like a challenge, and I can practically feel her skepticism radiating off her.

I glance at York, silently begging him to play along. He shrugs nonchalantly, his expression giving nothing away, but inside, I’m cringing. There’s no use lying to Annabelle. She knows me better than anyone, all my little secrets, including the fact that I’ve had a ridiculous crush on York for years. She’d teased me about it endlessly. I let out an exasperated sigh, brushing a hand through my hair. “It’s a whole thing,” I mumble, trying to sound indifferent even though I’m anything but.

York, ever the charmer, steps up beside me, flashing that infuriatingly perfect smile of his. “Annabelle, nice to officially meet you,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with confidence. “I’ve heard so many nice things.”

He’s totally lying, and we both know it. I can barely hold back a laugh, but instead, I force a smile at Annabelle, trying to hide how awkward this whole situation feels. My stomach’s in knots, and I just want to get out of here before she digs deeper. “Well, it was nice running into you,” I say, my voice too bright, too eager as I try to nudge York away, but he’s not moving. Why isn’t he moving?

Annabelle crosses her arms, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

“So, you’re the best friend?” York asks, like he’s just solved some complicated puzzle.

“I am,” Annabelle replies with pride, her eyes darting between us, clearly enjoying this way too much.

I glance at York, silently pleading with him to stop talking, but he’s too busy being charming, and I’m too busy trying to survive this painfully awkward encounter. Annabelle knows me too well, every flustered glance, every tiny stumble in my words, she’s picking it all apart like a hawk.

And she knows. Of course she knows.

I feel like the whole world knows. Why would York Steele pick me?

After a few more awkward moments filled with forced smiles and the inevitable promise to call Annabelle later and give her the scoop, the whole scoop, and nothing but the scoop , York and I finally escape. We head toward the truck in the parking lot, the cold air nipping at my face as I breathe in deeply, relieved to be moving on from that encounter.

I’m ready to go home. Tonight’s been… something else. If I’m being honest, the whole day has been something else. A whirlwind of playing pretend, dodging suspicious looks, and keeping up this charade that feels more real with every passing hour. I try to think back to when York and I weren’t pretending, but it’s a blur now—the airport, my parents’ house, the sleigh ride through the park.

We climb into my father’s truck, and as we drive, the hum of the engine fills the silence. The windshield wipers swish rhythmically, brushing away the snowflakes as York navigates the windy roads back to my parents' house. I can’t shake the tension coiled in my chest, my thoughts bouncing around like stray snowflakes caught in the wind.

“Is this how it always is?” I finally ask, my voice cutting through the quiet.

York glances over at me, raising an eyebrow. “How what is?”

“Being famous,” I clarify, scrolling through my phone mindlessly until I land on yet another post. This time, it’s a picture of us from earlier, holding hands on the sidewalk downtown. The caption reads something like, ‘New couple alert?’ I roll my eyes. “Like this,” I say, holding up my phone for him to see.

He glances at the screen for a second before refocusing on the road, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s like that most of the time. Eventually, you start to ignore it. It all fades into the background.”

I let his words sink in, staring at the photo on my screen for another beat before shutting off my phone and slipping it into my coat pocket. I can’t imagine living like this. With every step scrutinized, every moment dissected. My stomach twists with unease. “I don’t know how you do it,” I murmur, shaking my head as the reality of his world starts to hit me.

He’s silent for a second, the only sound is the low hum of the truck’s tires on the snowy road. Then, in a voice softer than I expected, he says, “It’s lonely.”

That one word hangs heavy in the air between us, and I glance over at him, seeing York in a new light. The charm, the confidence—it all suddenly seems like armor he wears to keep people at a distance. To protect himself from the isolation fame brings. I want to say something comforting, something that will make him feel less alone, but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I just sit here, watching the snow fall outside, feeling the weight of it all.

Maybe pretending isn’t so far from the truth after all.