9. Noelle

NOELLE

“ I 'm starving,” I announce, padding into Sawyer's kitchen wearing nothing but his discarded Christmas sweater. It falls to mid-thigh on me, and I catch him watching the hem rise as I stretch to reach the water glasses. “Feed me?”

His lips twitch as he comes up behind me, arms wrapping around my waist. “Demanding little thing, aren't you?” His breath tickles my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “What would you like?”

“Surprise me.” I lean back against his bare chest, savoring his warmth. “I trust your culinary skills. Anyone who has the patience to cultivate rare orchids in the mountains must also be meticulous enough to know their way around a kitchen.”

“Those are two very different skill sets.” But he's already moving to the fridge, pulling out eggs and other ingredients. I hop up onto the counter to watch him work, legs swinging as he prepares what looks like omelets.

“So how does one become an exotic plant guy, anyway?” I ask, accepting the slice of cheese he hands me to nibble on. “Did little Sawyer dream of tropical flowers while other kids wanted to be astronauts?”

He chuckles, the sound perfection to me. “In a way. I was always into plants and nature, and ended up studying botany in college, specialized in rare species cultivation. The isolation up here is perfect for research and development. I have all the time and space I need to nurture my plants without distraction.” He cracks the eggs into a bowl, each one a little thud against ceramic, then starts whisking with enviable skill.

My heart tugs at the thought of young Sawyer, head buried in books about plants instead of playing with the other boys. “So you were a nerd?” I tease, taking a bite of the cheese and savoring its creaminess.

“Maybe,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder with a mock-serious expression. “But I prefer to think of it as being passionate about something that few people understand.” He drops a handful of onions and a little garlic into a pan and stirs them around before adding in some chopped-up ham.

“I like that,” I say, genuinely admiring his dedication. “It takes a certain courage to embrace what you love.”

“And what about you with the social media gig?” He raises an eyebrow as he pours the egg on top of the other ingredients. “Is that something you love?”

“It is, actually. I started as an intern at Wonder Toys right out of college. They needed someone to run their social accounts, and I just... got it, you know? The joy of making kids smile, spreading happiness.” I pop the last of my cheese into my mouth, remembering. “My parents used to say I could talk anyone into being happy. Mom jokes that's why they named me Noelle, because I came into the world spreading Christmas cheer.”

“Last week was your birthday, right?”

I nod, a rush of warmth flooding my cheeks because he remembered. “Yep, twenty-nine years of spreading cheer—and I still feel like a big kid myself.” I watch as he adds a handful of fresh vegetables and grated cheese on top of everything else. My stomach growls from wanting.

Sawyer’s lips twitch into a smile as he flips the omelets, the golden yellow filling blooming on the skillet. “You must have been quite the handful as a kid, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea!” I laugh, picturing myself at eight years old, running through the house in a flurry of tinsel and laughter, trying to hang every ornament on the tree at once. “My mom had to chase me down more than a few times to keep me from decorating the dog. Christmas was always a big deal in our house—like an Olympic sport of holiday spirit.”

Sawyer’s laughter joins mine. “I can imagine.” There’s a brief pause before he adds, “Tell me about them? Your family.” There's something careful in the way he asks, like he's both curious and guarded.

So I do. I tell him about Mom's special eggnog recipe that she refuses to share until we're ‘old enough’ (we still don't know what age that is). About Dad's terrible dad jokes and how he happily wears the outrageous musical Christmas sweaters I send him every year—much to my mother’s chagrin. “One year, I sent him a sweater that played ‘Deck the Halls’ every time he moved. It drove my mom crazy, but he wore it to every family gathering, and even to church.” I chuckle, the memories bringing a brightness to my eyes. “You can’t help but love a man who embraces his quirks like that.”

Sawyer listens intently as he plates our food, but I notice the tension in his shoulders growing with each story. When he sets my plate in front of me, his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Sounds like you love them very much,” he says softly. “And I’m sorry you’re missing Christmas with them.” Before I can respond, he clears his throat. “I should check on the greenhouse. The temperature should be stable now. You stay and eat.”

“OK.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me with a perfect omelet and an ache in my chest. There's something off about him. His energy just completely shifted like there’s something painful he's trying to hide. And maybe it's the lingering intimacy from our time together, or maybe it's just that I'm already falling harder than I should, but I can't let him retreat behind his walls.

Stuffing as much of the omelet as I can into my cheeks, I follow him into the greenhouse, finding him methodically removing the thermal blankets we'd draped over his precious plants. The humid air wraps around me as I enter, making the oversized sweater cling to my skin.

“Need help?” I ask softly, moving to the nearest orchid display.

“I’m fine. You should eat your food.”

“It'll keep.” I start carefully folding one of the blankets. “Talk to me, Sawyer.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Everything.” I move closer, resting my hand on his arm. “I want to know you. All of you.”

He stills under my touch, and for a moment, I think he might push me away. But then he covers my hand with his, thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. “Noelle…”

His mouth opens and closes, like he’s searching for the right words to say. But before he can find them, a tiny movement and flash of bright color catches my attention. “Sawyer...” I breathe, squeezing his hand. “Your orchid...”

We both watch in wonder as the Paphiopedilum's petals slowly unfurl, opening for the first time in three years. The bloom is extraordinary—exotic and complex and absolutely perfect. Like the flower had been waiting for precisely this moment to share its beauty.

“Would you look at that,” he murmurs. “After all this time trying to force it... controlling every variable, monitoring every condition...” He turns to me, and the emotion swimming in his eyes is my undoing. “Maybe some things just need the right moment.”

“Or the right person to help them open up and bloom,” I whisper, not just talking about the orchid anymore.

“I… Noelle…”

“Yes?”

“Can we just...” He brushes along my jawline with the backs of his knuckles. “Can we just have this? For now?”

Something in his voice has me nodding in understanding. I rise up on my tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “For now,” I whisper against his mouth. “But I'm not giving up on you, Mountain Man.”

His response is to lift me into his arms, kissing me with an intensity that has my body lighting up all over again. And as he carries me back toward his bedroom, I realize I'm already past the point of no return. Whatever secrets Sawyer's keeping, whatever pain he's trying to protect me from—my heart's already decided he's worth the risk.

I'm falling in love with my Christmas Grinch.

And I have a feeling that's going to be both the best and scariest gift of all.