3. Rora

3

RORA

DECEMBER 5

S omeone’s in my house. I rub my face and open my eyes, squinting at the daylight and groaning at the soft sounds of banging and jingling coming from downstairs.

That better be Noelle . I refuse to be murdered in Wintermore at Christmas.

Forcing myself out of bed, I pull a blanket around my shoulders and shove my feet in slippers before trudging downstairs.

Technically, this is my parents’ house, but I’m not in Wintermore enough to get my own place. Hell, my parents aren’t in Wintermore enough to hang on to such a big house, but apartments in town hardly ever come up. Noelle and Felix still live at home because it’s easier than fighting for one of the few apartments. And this house is just across the street, so they can get away if they ever need a little space.

I yawn as I walk into the living room. Sure enough, my best friend is standing in the center of the room, with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. It’s a medium-warm brown these days, as close to her natural color as I’ve seen in a while, but the ends are still slightly blue-tinged from her last color experiment.

She’s holding something behind her back with a guilty expression, as if I can’t see the boxes of Christmas decorations dotted around the room.

“It’s too early for this.”

“It’s December fifth,” she protests, brandishing a silver moon ornament from behind her back. “We’ve had our tree up for weeks.”

“I meant too early in the morning.”

“Ah. I can help with that.” Noelle spins around, and she has a takeout coffee cup in hand when she turns back.

I can smell the caffeine from across the room. Heavenly. “Gimme.” I grab the cup and fall ungracefully onto the couch, breathing in the sweet vanilla syrup and coconut milk—my favorite. “This is good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, my parents want you to come over for brunch when we’re finished decorating, by the way.”

“That sounds perfect.” The brunch, not the decorating. “Why are you decorating my living room before dawn?” I ask once I’ve had a few sips of the latte.

Monday is the only day the store is closed; you’d think she’d want to sleep in.

“It’s 10:30. You must have been having some pretty sweet dreams to sleep this long. Anything good?”

“Oh, I don’t remember.” I do, but it’s probably best not to mention who I was dreaming about. I clear my throat. “The ‘why are you decorating’ part still stands.”

“You know the rules,” she says, turning her attention back to the boxes and pulling out an artificial Christmas tree .

Great.

“You mean the rule that all houses in Wintermore need to be decorated outside ? I already have lights outside. You put them up years ago, and they’re on a timer.” I’m pretty sure the town couldn’t actually do anything if I didn’t have the lights up, but I’m never usually here for Christmas, so it doesn’t affect me either way. Most houses here leave lights up year-round.

“Felix put them up, actually. That’s why they’re crooked,” Noelle says, and I think it’s safe to assume I’m not getting an answer to why she’s decorating inside .

She loves decorating, so if it makes her happy, she can turn this place into the North Pole. I grew up with the Whittens; I’m used to blocking out Christmas decorations.

I jump as Noelle tosses a crinkly paper bag at me. “That’s for you.”

Green velvet greets me as I peek inside, and I pull out a new skirt for my elf costume. It looks at least a couple of inches longer, and it has pockets.

“For your candy,” Noelle says when I excitedly point them out. “There’s some in the bag.”

I’m already tearing into the bag before she’s finished talking, tossing a blue raspberry-flavored sour candy into my tongue and sighing happily. Better than caffeine. “You want one?”

“No, thanks. I value my tastebuds too much.”

My obsession with sour candy started when I was nine. I had the worst case of strep I’d ever had and almost completely lost my taste. The only things I enjoyed were sour: candy, pickles, straight lemons, and limes. Have I fucked up my tastebuds over the years so I find most foods bland now? Maybe, but I travel enough that I can always find something extra flavorful.

“So,” Noelle begins, sounding entirely too nonchalant for my liking. “You going to tell me yet why you got fired?”

“There’s really not much to tell. I had a press pass for a political gala in London, but they took it back last minute. Apparently, the politician who was the guest of honor disagrees with the concept of female journalists. I snuck in, and I got caught. That’s it.”

I made it in and out without an issue, so sure I’d gotten away with it. My boss loved the pictures and was happy to print them anonymously, but it turned out her boss was friendly with the politician and didn’t want to risk burning bridges by printing them. Or by keeping me on staff, apparently.

“Assholes,” Noelle growls. “You worked there for six years, and they fired you for one mistake? After all the incredible work you did for them? It’s their loss. ”

“I was tired of working on soulless assignments, anyway. There was no art in it anymore. I’ve been thinking about leaving and going freelance for a while. This is just the push I needed.” I grab another blanket from the back of the couch and toss it over myself as I tell Noelle about my plans to take a month or so off before picking up freelance work.

Getting fired isn’t great for my reputation, but I have enough friends in the industry to vouch for me. And thanks to them, I had multiple freelance agencies in my email inbox within days of losing my job. It’s going to take time to build up a maintainable freelance career, but it’s doable. I just need a break first.

“What about you? Any further along with the bakery plans?”

“No,” Noelle replies, sounding more dejected than she looks, angrily stringing lights on the tree branches. “Hard to make plans to leave the store when I can’t trust Felix to do his job. And now that everyone in town is obsessed with Shay Harland’s place, there’s probably no point in me opening a bakery.”

Noelle has dreamed of owning a year-round Christmas-themed bakery since the Whittens moved to Wintermore. There’s only one other bakery in town, a fancy patisserie-style café run by Shay Harland—Noelle’s mortal enemy, even though she doesn’t know it. I like Shay—not that I’d ever admit it—and she’s an incredible baker, but Noelle makes magic in the kitchen, and I know a Christmas-themed bakery would go down a treat in Wintermore.

“ épices et Sucré . What does that even mean?” she scoffs.

“It means Spicy and Sweet,” I reply automatically, and Noelle glares at me. “There’s space for two bakeries in a town that likes treats so much. And everyone here loves you. They’ll support you. Do you want me to talk to Felix about getting his shit together?”

Noelle shakes her head, grabbing ornaments from a box and hanging them on the tree. “There’s no point.” She adds a silver star to the top of the tree and crouches down to plug the lights in before stepping back to admire her work. “What do you think?”

It is a Christmas tree, so it’s never going to be my dream decor, but Noelle has done a beautiful job. The lights are a pretty gradient of aurora colors, and there are just a few stars and moons dangling from the tree. By Whitten tree standards, it’s practically bare, but I appreciate her not going overboard.

“It’s gorgeous, as always.”

Noelle drops onto the couch beside me with a satisfied smile. “Thanks for letting me put it up. I owe you—more than I already owed you for saving my ass with the Santa pictures, anyway.”

“You don’t owe me,” I reply, rolling my eyes and nudging her with my shoulder.

She yawns and turns to face me, purple smudges below her gray-blue eyes. We’re only a few days into December, and the hoards of holiday tourists are already taking their toll. I know Noelle wouldn’t change it, though; she lives for this time of year.

“What do you want for Christmas? You’re getting an extra special present for coming home this year.”

I open my mouth to protest but close it before anything spills out. There’s only one want on my list right now, and asking Noelle would be wholly inappropriate.

But she did say she owes me. What’s the harm in asking?

“I’d like permission to seduce your uncle, please.”

Noelle blinks three times in quick succession. “My uncle Henry?”

“Do you have another uncle I’ve never heard of?”

She raises a brow. “Why? Do you want to weigh up your options? Wait, sorry. That was bitchy. I’ve been watching a lot of Real Housewives lately. Okay. To be clear, for Christmas, you want my permission to have sex with my uncle Henry?”

When you put it like that … I’ve already put it out there. Might as well keep going.

“Yes, please. ”

Noelle purses her lips, her eyebrows drawing together in thought. I almost tell her to forget I said anything, but she finally sighs and says, “I can’t wrap that. But you should. You getting knocked up by my uncle would make Christmas pretty awkward.”

“Is that a yes?”

Her phone vibrates, and she glances at it. “Brunch is ready.” She stands up, but I give her an expectant look. “Fine. It’s a yes, but you still need to give me a Christmas list so I can actually buy you something.”

I jump up and pull her into a hug. “You’re the best best friend ever.”

I have no idea why she brought so many boxes of decor for such a minimal tree, but I throw on some warm clothes and help her carry them across the street.

“I don’t understand why you want him,” Noelle says, wrinkling her nose.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, considering you’re related to him.”

“True, but he’s old.”

“He’s only forty-seven.”

“Right. Old.” The Whitten’s porch steps creak under our snow boots. “Do you have a plan to, you know, seduce him ?” She waggles her eyebrows.

“I haven’t really thought about it yet. I didn’t think it was an option ten minutes ago.”

Of course, there’s more than Noelle to think about, but she sees us every day at work, and she’s uncannily observant. She’d probably notice if we tried to keep it from her. The rest of the Whittens never need to know.

“I might have an idea,” Noelle says, pushing open the door with her shoulder and walking straight into her mom.

“An idea for what, honey?”

We exchange a wide-eyed look. “Um, we were just talking about organizing the back room at the store a little better,” I say .

Kate doesn’t question the flimsy answer. “That’s a great idea!”

Later , Noelle mouths at me as we close the door behind us.

We drop the boxes at the bottom of the stairs, and I give Kate, Charlie, and Felix good morning hugs before taking my usual seat at the dining table.

“Where’s Uncle Henry?” Noelle asks through a mouthful of pancake.

“At the gym,” Charlie says, piling breakfast potatoes onto his plate.

Visions of Henry working out fill my head, and I have to force myself to focus on the conversation as Charlie asks me how my parents are.

“I texted your dad a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t heard back. I’m guessing he’s somewhere remote taking pictures?”

“They’re in the Amazon for six weeks,” I explain, not remotely surprised that my parents forgot to tell Charlie and Kate, aka their best friends, that they were planning to drop off the face of the planet for almost two months. We talk all the time when we all have phone service, and sometimes they still forget to tell me where they’re going.

My parents and Charlie and Kate were best friends as fast as Noelle and I were, more like family than anything else. The Whittens moved to Wintermore when I was seven, at the height of the Christmas movie popularity, right as things started to fall apart in my family. It would’ve been easy for my parents to resent them, to brush them off as part of the festive problem, but it really was love at first sight between the Stanleys and the Whittens. Within a couple of months, it was like we’d known each other forever, and suddenly, I had not one but two sets of incredible parents in my life.

I love my mom and dad, but they never wanted to be tied down here, and our relationship only got better when the Whittens were happy to look after me so they could travel for work. Their relationship, on the other hand, not so much.

“They’re planning to come back to the US after Brazil,” I continue. “I’m sure they’ll stop here for a while.”

“Wait, they’re in the Amazon together ?” Kate asks, exchanging a surprised look with Charlie.

“Mm-hmm. They still think it’s a secret that they’re together again.”

“They have to tell us eventually. It’s been years,” Felix says, and we all agree.

We’ve long suspected my parents have been seeing each other again, and I don’t know why they’re being so cagey about it, but they’ll tell us when they’re ready.

“I hope we can all get together sometime next year. It’s been too long. Maybe a weekend at the cabin,” Charlie suggests.

I hardly hear a word he says because the front door opens, and Henry walks in, wearing nothing but a gray skin-tight t-shirt and workout shorts. In this weather. Fuck .

His cheeks are red, his hair slicked back, and it’s far too early in the morning for me to be thinking about licking the sweat from?—

“ Ow .”

“Stop drooling,” Noelle hisses out of the corner of her mouth, elbowing me once more for good measure.

Henry says hello but pauses at my chair, smiling down. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” I reply, trying not to stare at the outline of his pecs through his t-shirt. “Good workout?”

“Tiring. There was a group of old ladies who were definitely outrunning me on the treadmills, and I stupidly tried to keep up.”

“That’ll be Agnes Lemon and her knitting group,” Kate tells him, and I breathe a small sigh of relief when he turns his bright blue eyes to her. “Go get cleaned up and come grab some food. There’s plenty to go around. ”

Henry stretches before heading toward the stairs. “Sounds good. I’m starving.”

He gives me one last passing smile, and I pick up my coffee just to give my hands something to do.

This man.