Christmas Cancellation

3. NOELLE

Chapter three

K ol’s big red four-by-four Bronco roared to life, a deep rumble vibrating beneath me. I situated my tote and wiggled out of my coat, tossing it in the backseat. I glanced over at him as he threw the gearshift into reverse, getting a good look at his hands for the first time. They were so massive that it looked as if he could bend the thing in half if he wanted to. The guy was easily twice my size and built like a damn mountain. I’d been taken aback by how easily and carefully he’d helped me into his truck. It was ridiculously high off the ground, and being five-foot-three on a good day meant I practically had to claw my way up to the seat. I had to admit it: my boots, although stylish, weren’t very practical for snow or big-ass trucks. Somehow, with Kol’s help, I’d managed to get in without pulling another embarrassing stunt. I fumbled with my seat belt, and by the time I’d clicked it in place, Kol was already pulling out of the airport parking lot.

“So,” he said as we turned onto Grand Central Parkway, “where exactly are you headed, Stinkerbelle?”

Stinkerbelle. I hated how easily that nickname rolled off his tongue, as if he had me all figured out. I refused to acknowledge it or, worse, let him think it bothered me. Besides, what could I say, given the situation? After overhearing my tirade back at Gate 73, he probably thought I was a bitter shrew. Clearly, my personal PR needed a serious reboot. If I let him keep seeing me as some high-maintenance diva, the next three hours locked in his car would be unbearable. I needed his help, and the last thing I wanted was for him to hate me. He was interesting, someone I actually wanted to talk to, but it was obvious he knew how to be a cocky asshole when he chose to be. I wanted to keep him on his toes—make him second-guess everything—so I could maintain the upper hand in this power dynamic. It was time to spin the narrative and show him I wasn’t only some spoiled brat who threw tantrums at airport gates. For now, Mr. Captain could think he was in charge. I had at least four hours to change his impression of me, prove how great Noelle Nichols really was, and maybe even impress the man. Regardless, I didn’t care what he called me, as long as he got me to Ms. Winters’s office in time to sign those papers.

“Downtown Saratoga Springs, please,” I said, reaching for my phone to find the exact address. “I have to meet with my aunt’s attorney to sign some last-minute paperwork.” His help was the first good thing to happen to me all week. I glanced over at him and gave him an effortless smile. “I really appreciate you doing this for me. Can I at least buy the gas?”

“Don’t worry about it. Saratoga’s not that far from my place.” He reached over, pressed the nav button, and pointed for me to enter the address .

“Oh, where do you live?” I asked, leaning forward and tapping on the screen.

“Off I-90, near Rotterdam.”

“Hmm, I know that area. I grew up just outside of Saratoga. I guess this is my lucky day—having the pilot of my canceled flight live so close to where I need to be and offer me a ride.”

“You planning on staying long?”

“No.” I bit my lip, thinking about the weather. “I’d planned on signing the papers today and going back to Atlanta tomorrow. But with this surprise snowstorm, who knows? You’d think with all the fancy equipment and technology, the weather gurus would have figured out how to make a reliable forecast.”

He shook his head. “Well, Mother Nature is one mysterious woman—always keeping you guessing, just like women in general.” He smirked. “Weather’s tricky. It’s not just about the clouds and temperature. You’ve got pressure systems, wind currents, moisture levels. There’s a million moving parts. And even with all the technology, the forecast can be off because things change faster than you think. That’s what keeps pilots on their toes. One minute, you’ve got clear skies, and the next, you’re dodging turbulence. I’ve seen it change right in front of my eyes from the cockpit.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. I guess that’s why people always say pilots are great at flying by the seat of their pants.”

“If you say so. But that’s why I’ll never trust a pilotless plane. The tech wizards say it’s coming, but no machine can handle the weather, winds, and everything else that affects how an aircraft responds. A computer doesn’t have instincts.”

“I agree with you there,” I said, a little shocked by the idea that one day there could be pilotless planes similar to driverless cars. If they couldn’t get a car to work right on autopilot, how on earth did they think they could make a plane fly on its own? I mean, I understood that drones didn’t have pilots on board, but at least there was a pilot in a dark room somewhere ultimately responsible for it. “I would like an actual person in control when I’m thousands of feet up.”

“You would be smart. Especially when the shit hits the fan.”

At that, I smiled and turned to look out the window. I focused on listening to the steady hum of the engine and the tires whirring against the wet pavement as we inched our way out of the city. The traffic was practically crawling, and the dark clouds above warned that the weather was about to get a whole lot worse.

I glanced over at Kol, realizing he hadn’t put any music on.

“So,” I said after a few more beats of silence, “what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

Kol raised an eyebrow. “I’m a country music sort of guy—old-school stuff, like George Strait, Johnny Cash. Newer stuff too; Eric Church and Luke Combs are a couple of my favorites. What about you?”

I shrugged. “I like everything from rock to EDM to dubstep. Avicii’s one of my all-time favorites, but I’m really into Tyler Childers these days too.”

He shot me a surprised look. “Wait, EDM? Like, festival music?”

I grinned. “Yep, I’ve been to a bunch—Bonnaroo, Okeechobee, and Electric Forest—back in college. I love the entire festival experience. The energy, the lights, the bass drops. I haven’t been to one since I started working at the Martindale Agency, though, for lots of reasons. I miss it.”

Kol chuckled, shaking his head. “Hm, music festival junkie. I didn’t see that coming. So, you’re into camping with a bunch of hippie types?”

“Don’t knock it,” I teased. “It’s fun, I’m telling you. And anyway, I listen to all kinds of music. I think it’s always been my saving grace. It’s the energy that matters. I mean, I get that festivals might not be everyone’s thing, but music is music.”

His gaze slid my way for a moment, and a barely perceptible smirk appeared on his face as he kept his attention mostly on the road. “I’m not sure I can picture you in one of those festival getups, dancing to whatever it is they play.”

“Please, I’ve got range,” I said with a laugh. “I listen to country too, so I’m not just some rave queen. Plus, Tyler Childers? He’s so…incredible.”

Kol snorted. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Tyler Childers is solid. But I don’t know about all that other stuff.”

I wrinkled my nose, trying not to laugh. “Oh, so you only like sad cowboy music? Songs about trucks, heartbreak, and whiskey? That’s your thing?”

His eyebrow shot up. “You mean songs with actual substance?”

“Substance? You’ve got to be kidding,” I shot back. “Festival music is about more than just mosh pits and bass drops. It’s about social change, diversity, people coming together to make something bigger than themselves. The artists I follow are out there pushing boundaries, speaking up about things, supporting equality, worrying about climate change, and advocating for mental health. Sure, the beats are great, but a lot of the messages are really solid.”

“Sure, if you insist.”

“But don’t get me wrong,” I continued. “I’m not saying country music doesn’t have substance. Country’s great for telling stories that hit home, you know? It talks about real-life struggles—family, love, loss, and where you come from. I think that’s why I like Tyler Childers so much. His songs are real, and so are the issues he sings about. At the end of the day, all genres have depth; they just express it in different ways.”

Kol nodded slowly. “All right, I’ll give you that. But I’m still not convinced that camping with seventy thousand sweaty people sounds like a good time.”

I laughed. “Hey, as long as you appreciate the message and don’t deny that all music is good, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah, well, except when it’s terrible.” He snorted.

“See, that’s the problem. People don’t give stuff that’s different a chance. It’s what happens to Taylor Swift. Some people love to hate on her, say she sucks, but that’s not fair. They just don’t like her style of music. Doesn’t mean she’s not a genius.”

He tilted his head and twisted his mouth slightly, clearly skeptical. “Taylor Swift? Genius—really?”

“Absolutely. She writes her own music, works her ass off, and never backs down. Even when Kanye was a complete dick to her, she was composed and kept going. You can’t deny her talent or her business success.”

“Kanye’s a dick to everybody,” he said with a laugh.

“Exactly! People just hate on things for the dumbest reasons or no reasons at all.”

Kol grinned. “Okay, I can get on board with not bashing Taylor. But let’s be real—something like… say, screamo is not gonna help us survive this drive. How about we stick with my playlist for now?”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I guess Skrillex might be a bit much for a snowstorm. We’ll just stay in your country comfort zone. Go ahead and start your playlist. I’ll save mine for later.” I crossed my arms, thinking about all the songs I’d play.

“See? It’s not so hard to let me take the lead, now, is it?”

I shot him a sideways glance, trying not to smile. “Don’t push your luck. ”

For a few seconds, we just rode along, the city slowly falling away behind us as we crossed over the New Jersey state line.

Kol tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, then cleared his throat, drawing my attention. “So,” he began, keeping his eyes on the road, “what’s the deal with the attorney? Family business?” He glanced at me briefly before refocusing on the highway.

“Yeah.” I shrugged, staring out the window as the world raced by in a blur of gray. “My Aunt Mary passed away about a month ago. She’s left me something in her will, and I need to take care of it.”

“Is that what got you all worked up at the gate? Estate stuff?”

I huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “That, and my life being a total dumpster fire, but thanks for asking, Mr. Captain.”

He grunted. “You can just call me Kol, you know.”

“Yeah, but I think Mr. Captain is better. Fits your whole tall, dark, and serious vibe. Very Night Stalkerish.”

His lips twitched as he reached out and turned up the heater a bit to fight the growing chill from outside. “So, why are you heading up there at the last minute?”

I sighed. “Long story short, I’ve been so buried in work that I put it off until I had no choice. I have to sign everything by the end of today or I won’t receive what my aunt left me. Instead, it’ll be donated to the church. And—no offense to the church—I’d really like to keep whatever she’s giving me, because I’m going to need it at this point. The last month has been overwhelming, with her death and then everything happening at work—the biggest project of my career, going for a huge promotion. I just haven’t had the time or…the emotional bandwidth.”

He gave me a quick glance but didn’t pry further. A big wet snowflake splattered against the windshield .

Kol turned on the wipers. “Speaking of time, this snow might slow us down,” he said.

I peered out at the landscape as we drove north. The snow was starting to fall in earnest now. Flakes smacked the windshield like wet spitballs. The windshield wipers squeaked with each swipe, dragging across the glass as if reluctant to move. The wet snow was light enough that they didn’t have much to push aside, so they made a faint, high-pitched screech on every pass.

I groaned. “Of course we’re already running into snow. Because things weren’t complicated enough.”

I pulled out my phone and dialed Ms. Winters. It rang and rang before finally going to voicemail. “Hi, Ms. Winters. It’s Noelle Nichols. I’m on my way, but I’m running behind because my flight to Albany got canceled. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Please wait for me.”

Hanging up, I dropped the phone into my lap and sighed. “Great. If we don’t get there by five, I’m screwed.”

“We’ll make it.” Kol’s tone was confident, but his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as more snowflakes started to fall. The road quickly became slick. He twisted the dial on the console, engaging slippery mode. I had wanted a Bronco for a long time, so I’d read about how these newer models could automatically adjust throttle response, transmission shift points, and traction control settings to improve performance on icy surfaces. This wasn’t a good sign.

“I swear, this is all some cosmic joke,” I said. “You ever have those days where the universe just piles everything on you at once?”

Kol glanced at me. “Yeah. Three tours in Afghanistan will do that. ”

I blinked, not having expected him to drop something so heavy into the conversation. “Well, I guess you win the bad-day contest.”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but I could tell by the way his jaw ticked that maybe it was.

The truck’s tires squelched over the slush as we drove further into the storm.

Deciding to pry a little and learn something about this stranger sitting next to me, I asked, “So, what’s the story with you and flying? Was it something you fell into through the military, or did you always want to be a pilot?”

Kol shifted in his seat, frowning for a second as though debating whether to respond. “No, not always. But once I joined the Army and started flying, I was hooked. Now, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

He paused, a brief flicker of pride crossing his face. “After the Army, I knew I wanted to stick with it, so when I found out that there was a structured pathway to transition to fixed-wing aircraft, I jumped at it. I could earn my ratings all the way through to my ATP certification over the course of a year. Flying for National Airlines is just the next chapter. Civilian flying’s a whole different beast, but the view from up there never gets old.”

I tilted my head slightly, leaning in with curiosity. “So, not only do you get to see the world from the cockpit, but that’s your office? That beats the little gray office with a view of the parking lot I had by miles. You’re basically living the dream, aren’t you?”

“Depends on how you look at it. Sure, flying is incredible. I mean, how many people get to say their office is thirty-five thousand feet above the ground? Watching the sunrise over the clouds, thunderstorms lighting up a cumulonimbus at night like a mythical war between gods, or catching the colorful waves of the aurora borealis—it’s pretty damn great. But it’s also a lot of responsibility. Most people can make a mistake at work and fix it. If I screw up, it’s not just me—it’s the lives of hundreds of passengers, crew, and even people on the ground that are at stake. Keeps me on my toes, for sure.”

I examined his face a bit more closely. Apparently, he wasn’t just flying for the thrill—he had people’s lives in his hands every time he went up there. I shifted in my seat, tucking a curl behind my ear as I gave him a sideways glance. “Well, Mr. Captain,” I teased, letting a smirk play on my lips, “I guess you’re no stranger to high-stakes situations. A snowstorm must be a breeze compared to navigating the skies with a whole plane full of people counting on you.”

Kol straightened up in his seat, flexing the muscles in his forearms as he leaned forward to assess the storm ahead. “You could say that,” he muttered. The dark clouds seemed to be sinking lower, and the snow was picking up, swirling faster and colliding with the windshield more rapidly. His jaw tightened. The silence between us stretched as music played in the background. Though Kol didn’t say a word, I could sense him scrutinizing every flake, every inch of the road, like someone trained to see danger long before it hit.

We’d just passed the West Point Military Academy exit, and I was already on edge and biting my thumbnail. The knot in my stomach tightened with each passing mile as the conditions got worse. I hated driving in the snow.

“Don’t worry. This thing handles worse obstacles than this,” Kol said, reassuring me with confidence. “It’s made for going off-road and through mud slicks.”

I wanted to laugh, but the sound that came out was more of a nervous hiccup. “I hope you’re right. Dying in a fiery crash after flying off the highway isn’t exactly how I pictured my day ending. ”

His focus broke for a moment as he turned toward me, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, more in quiet encouragement than amusement. “We’re not going to die, Stinkerbelle. I’ve got this. Just sit back and relax.”

I slumped back in the seat, staring anxiously out the window at the increasingly white landscape. “I wish it were that simple.”

As the snow began to blanket everything around us, I couldn’t help but wonder if we would actually make it to Saratoga before the storm buried us. I chewed my lip and glanced at Kol again. The calm, assured look on his face eased my mind. I took a deep breath, trying to trust that he really did have everything under control.

This was going to be a long drive.