Christmas Cancellation

8. KOL

Chapter eight

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, tapping the icon to activate the flashlight. It cast a small beam ahead, lighting the way to the living room. We stepped inside. Noelle limped beside me, grumbling about her twisted ankle, but she let me support her as we walked.

Once we got to the living room, I led her to a sofa and helped her settle onto it. “Looks like I’ll be staying a while,” I said, peering around the room. “No way I’m driving out in this blizzard. And I can’t leave you alone and hurt.” I shot her a sideways glance, trying to gauge her reaction. “Hope you don’t mind having me around.”

“Oh, joy,” she quipped, rolling her eyes. “I guess if I must endure your company, I’ll survive.” She cracked a smile, clearly pleased with her own joke.

“Glad to hear it.” I found my way to the kitchen and rifled through a few of the drawers until I found a chunky flashlight. Flipping it on, I returned to the living room and set it on a side table, letting the beam bounce off the ceiling so it cast a dim light over the room.

“It’s freezing in here,” Noelle said, rubbing her arms. “They must’ve had the heat turned way down for it to be so cold this soon after the power went out.” She huffed out a few times, her breath forming little puffs of condensation in the air.

“No surprise there,” I muttered, surveying the room. “A house this old probably doesn’t keep warm too well. I’m sure Ms. Winters didn’t want to pay any more for utility bills than absolutely necessary.” My eyes landed on the fireplace tucked in the corner.

Noelle followed my gaze. “Victorian homes always have at least one fireplace, so that’s good. But since there’s wood stacked beside it, I’m guessing Aunt Mary hasn’t converted over to gas yet like Holly did.”

“It won’t be a problem if there’s more wood out back. I can get a fire going,” I said, stepping closer to inspect the hearth. A decent stack of logs sat next to it, but it wasn’t nearly enough to last through the night. “I’ve got some skills when it comes to starting fires. Military and camping experience comes in useful, you know.”

“Well, aren’t you handy to have around? Always the Boy Scout.”

“Stay put,” I ordered, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll take a look outside and see what I can find.”

As I turned to head for the back door, my stomach let out a loud growl, which echoed through the room. Noelle snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sounds like someone’s hungry. ”

“I hope there’s some food in this place,” I said, rubbing my stomach. “I’ll handle the wood first, and we can worry about dinner later.”

I made my way through the kitchen to the back door and pushed it open, stepping out onto a large screened-in porch. A gust of icy air hit me hard, the screens doing little to block the wind. I moved through the storm door and descended the steps, my boots sinking into more than a foot of snow.

The backyard stretched out in front of me, a dim, shadowy blanket of white. My view of it was further muddled by the falling snow. My phone’s flashlight struggled to light the way, but I trudged toward what appeared to be a storage shed attached to a carport. Next to the shed, under the carport, sat a decent stack of cut wood and an old car. It was resting under a tarp, but the edges glistened with ice. It was damp—no doubt about it—and would need to dry out before we could use it. As I uncovered it, I discovered that it had been cross-stacked, allowing for air circulation, so hopefully, it would be dry enough to use by the time we burned through the wood inside.

I hauled the first load to the porch, setting it down near the door before heading back for another. The cold air cut right to my bones as I moved about, my breath fogging the air with each exhale, but I welcomed the activity. After sitting most of the day, the workout felt damn good. With a few more trips, I had a decent pile stacked up on the porch, ready to bring inside.

I braced the door open with a piece of wood and grabbed an armful of logs, hefting them against my chest while still holding my phone to light the way. The cold air from the porch followed me inside as I made my way through the kitchen and into the hallway. The old wooden floors creaked with the weight of my footsteps as I passed a broad staircase that led up to the next floor .

When I reached the living room, Noelle was sitting on the sofa, as I’d instructed her to do, like a good girl. She turned to me with an amused grin on her face and reached behind her, tugging one of the afghans from the back of the couch. She spread it over her legs, curling her hands around its edge. “How’s it coming?” she asked, settling back into the sofa.

“Better than expected,” I grunted, maneuvering the logs to the hearth. “Your aunt must’ve really enjoyed using this fireplace. She stored the wood under the carport in a way that kept it as dry as possible. That takes some planning.”

“It’s hard to imagine how she kept up with this place all by herself. She never married, and as far as I know she lived alone. This house must’ve been a lot to handle for one person. I don’t remember her ever asking for help though.”

“She must have been very independent,” I said, arranging the logs into a neat pile. “This wood looks like oak, which means it should burn for a long time and provide a decent amount of heat.”

When the pile was arranged, I turned around, and she smiled at me, a hint of affection in her eyes as she drew the blanket up around her shoulders. “Well, I’m definitely grateful for you helping me. And don’t worry,” she added with a flirty edge, “I’m thinking of ways I can say thank you for all this hard work.”

I paused for a second, considering that. Was she flirting with me because she actually wanted to or because she felt like she owed me something for helping her out? It had been clear to me from the beginning how fiery she could be—brash and quick with her words. Normally, I went for quieter women. The wild ones were just out for a good time, and that wasn’t where I wanted to end up. I wasn’t into random hookups. But I didn’t quite know what Noelle’s intentions were. She was different. She had a wild edge, but there was a layer underneath it, almost like she was hiding some kind of brokenness that lay deeper than whatever that idiot Blake had done to her.

Maybe it was her emotional depth that drew me in. It was the kind you didn’t often find in someone her age. She was beautiful—drop-dead gorgeous, in fact—and here she was, in her bright red coat and casual clothes, shivering under a blanket that was pulled up to her chin, looking more captivating than any woman I’d ever met. Was it her deep blue eyes, or was it the intensity behind them that had me hooked? Either way, there was something about her I couldn’t ignore, even though I had no intention of pursuing her. I wasn’t about to hit on her just because I’d given her a ride in a snowstorm. I had done that because it was the right thing to do. She needed help, plain and simple.

I stood. “It’s no problem. I’m just doing what needs to be done.” With that, I headed back out for the next load of wood.

I got into a good rhythm as I went back and forth hauling wood from the porch to the hearth. Noelle remained huddled under the blanket on the couch while I brought in each armload and placed it carefully on either side of the fireplace.

“So, do you always stack it like that?” she asked when I was almost finished.

“Yup. Cross-stacking,” I explained as I set a couple of logs down in a crisscross pattern, leaving gaps between each piece. “This way, it allows for ventilation, which’ll help it dry out faster. Plus, it keeps the pile sturdy so it doesn’t topple over when I reach for more later.”

She nodded, seemingly impressed. “You really are a multi-talented outdoorsman, huh?”

“You have to be, living out here in the backwoods,” I said, standing and heading out for another load.

Once I had all the wood from the porch spread out over the hearth, I shrugged off my jacket, tossed it onto an armchair, and started arranging the dry logs that were already inside in the fireplace. This wasn’t one of those shallow, decorative fireplaces found in modern houses. This one was a beast. It had a big, deep hearth with a thick stone base meant to hold logs as wide around as my thigh.

I layered the wood in a pyramid before placing some smaller kindling on the bottom to get things going. The cross-stack I’d set up would allow for air to flow between the logs, feeding the flames as they caught.

Once the setup was ready, I struck a match and lit the kindling. For a second, nothing happened, and then a small flame flickered to life, spreading across the dry tinder. I leaned back on my heels, watching the fire grow. Soon it was crackling softly as it licked up the edges of the oak logs. Within minutes, the flames caught the larger pieces, and warmth was radiating out into the room.

Noelle limped over and sat next to me, extending her hands toward the fire. “You sure know your way around a fireplace.”

I gave her a sideways glance. “You know, back in the day, these fireplaces had to heat the entire house. The bigger the hearth, the bigger the fire, and the more rooms it could keep warm. That’s why you see these massive fireplaces in older homes. Smart design, if you ask me.”

“This is cozy,” she replied, sighing contentedly as the heat started thawing out the room. “Definitely beats freezing.”

We spent a few minutes in companionable silence, enjoying the fire, and then Noelle shifted beside me before slowly rising to her feet. She winced as she put weight on her ankle but waved me off when I opened my mouth to offer help. Shrugging out of her coat, she crossed the room and hung it on a coat rack near the front door. “It’s so dark in here without electricity,” she remarked, glancing out the window into the pitch-black night. “I wonder how long the power will be out? Hopefully not for days.”

She carefully made her way back across the room. Once she reached the area between the sofa and the fireplace, she sat down on the floor again, crisscrossing her legs.

The flames became quiet, so I adjusted the logs with the poker, making sure they’d continue to catch evenly. The fire roared to life. “There. That should keep us warm for a while,” I said, settling back and taking a knee beside her, watching the flames dance along the oak logs. The heat continued to fill the room, and for a moment, we were both content. This old place might have its quirks, but with the fire blazing, it seemed perfect.

I turned to Noelle. The firelight washed over her face, illuminating her features in a soft, golden hue. It struck me how naturally beautiful she was—long, curly blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, deep blue eyes reflecting the flickering flames, and flawless skin with a few freckles sprinkled across her nose. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, just sitting there in front of the fire in a simple gray sweater dress and black leggings, still sporting those fancy boots. There was a serenity about her that hadn’t been there before. Some of the tension had finally melted away. It threw me off for a second.

Without thinking, I lifted my hand. The urge to touch her—to kiss her—rose like the heat from the flames. I moved closer, my fingers itching to brush against her cheek, but I stopped myself, pulling back just as she glanced up. Clearing my throat, I dropped my hand, grabbed the poker, and prodded at a log.

“I should, uh, go grab the suitcases,” I muttered, trying to sound casual. I stood up and set the poker back in its stand. “Be right back.”

She nodded, her eyes drifting back to the fire as I stood. When I stepped outside, the cold nearly took my breath away. In my haste to leave, I’d forgotten to put on my jacket.

As I crossed the porch, I pulled out my phone and tapped on the flashlight. Once again, I noticed how beautifully this old Victorian had been maintained. Even with snow piling up, the house stood strong against the harsh elements. Its decorative trim and tall windows spoke of a time when homes were built to last, crafted with a level of care you just didn’t see anymore.

I quickly navigated the slippery steps and went to the truck, hauling the suitcases out of the back. Then I hurried back up the steps. Pausing, I glanced at the intricate carvings on the porch columns. Noelle’s aunt must’ve really loved this place. It was a stroke of luck that she’d left it to Noelle in her will at a time when Noelle’s life was—how had she put it?—a “dumpster fire.” Hopefully, Noelle would keep it and maybe even consider moving to Saratoga. The thought of her here, living in this house, was appealing to me in a way I couldn’t explain.

But then my thoughts shifted back to how upset she’d been after the meeting with the attorney. Why was she so sad? Her aunt had left her this incredible home. I was curious, but it still didn’t seem like the right time to ask her about it. There were certain things you just didn’t pry into unless invited.

I pushed the door open and stepped back into the warming living room. “Noelle?” I called. The firelight threw a glow around the room, but there was no sign of her, so I made my way into the kitchen.

There she was, hobbling around on her good foot. I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

She spun around, a wide grin plastered on her face. “There’s food! Like, a lot of food. It’s so weird, Kol. It’s like no one’s touched this place since…” Her voice faded, her eyes flicking away from mine.

“Since she died,” I finished for her, and she nodded.

The kitchen did, in fact, appear as though it was simply waiting for its owner to stroll in. Utensils sat in a jar on the counter, a cookbook was open on a stand, and a kitchen towel hung folded over the oven handle. It was like time had been frozen.

She pointed the flashlight at the pantry door. “There’s a ton of food in there. I can’t believe no one cleaned it out. It’s like everything’s just been left exactly how it was three weeks ago. I guess the cleaning service Holly mentioned only does the basics to keep the place up. Lucky for us, they didn’t throw out all the food.”

“That’s good. Now sit,” I ordered, pointing to the kitchen chair. “Let me take a look at that ankle before you make it worse.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just a sprain,” she protested, but I didn’t wait for an argument. I grabbed one of the chairs and set it down behind her, pressing a hand onto her shoulder to ease her downward. She pouted but obeyed, dropping into the chair.

“Give me some light,” I said, nodding toward the flashlight in her hand. I lowered onto one knee in front of her. Gently, I pulled off her boots, then slipped off her socks, tucking them inside her shoes and pushing them under the table. My fingers slid up her calf as I adjusted her leg to check her ankle. She shivered slightly at my touch. Examining her ankle, I didn’t see anything that would indicate she had broken it or had much of an injury, but damn did her skin feel good in my palm.

I dragged my fingers down to her arch and massaged her cold foot. I caught her sharp intake of breath, and my pulse jumped. For a split second, my mind raced to other places I wanted to touch, places that had nothing to do with her ankle. All I could think about was how those legs would feel wrapped around me. Heat shot through my gut, pooling lower. I adjusted my position and stood, trying to ignore the tightness in my jeans.

I jerked my hand back, clearing my throat. Focus .

“Looks like you’ve got a mild sprain,” I said, trying to sound clinical. “A little swollen, but nothing too serious.”

“Oh, good,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I was worried I’d be crippled forever.” She moved to stand, but I pressed my hands down on her shoulders, pushing her back into the chair.

“Nope,” I said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Bossy much?” she said.

I leaned in closer until my face hovered inches from hers.

The sudden nearness of her made me pause. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I had the insane urge to close the gap, to taste that sass on her lips. My heart rate kicked up a notch, but I pulled away and straightened, taking a deep breath.

“I’ll make us some food,” I grumbled, scanning the kitchen.

She let out a shaky laugh, then folded her arms and leaned back. “There’s some canned soup, pasta, and…I think I found rice?” She wrinkled her nose. “But some stuff’s gone bad. It’s hard to tell what’s good in this darkness, so double-check everything.”

I walked over to the sink and turned the handle, curious to know if the water heater was gas-powered. The pipes groaned for a second before a steady stream flowed. I waited for a minute, and sure enough, warm water rushed over my fingers. That was a relief. At least we’d have hot water for a shower. I gave my hands a quick wash and moved to find something to eat.

The pantry was well stocked, and the fridge was fairly full. “We’ll make it work,” I said, my mind half on the food, half still stuck on that damn near-kiss a minute ago .

“Well, lucky me,” she teased from behind. “Stuck with a man who might even be able to cook.”

I had a shred of hope when I caught sight of the old gas stove; it might not rely on an electric ignition either. I twisted the knob, and after a second, a blue flame flickered to life. I leaned in closer, noticing the small pilot light under the burner—keeping the stove ready to go even without power. Another good thing we had going for us. I glanced over at Noelle, who was watching me from the chair, her ankle now propped on another seat. “Thank God for old-school stoves,” I said, pointing to it and smirking. “We’re not going hungry tonight.”

She gave me a mock round of applause. “Bravo, survivalist. Show me what you’ve got.”

I snorted and turned to the pantry, digging through cans and boxes. There was nothing fancy, but I did find some staples: canned beans, rice, and a few spices that might have been older than me. The fridge was a similar story: eggs, cheese, pickles, various drinks, and other condiments—the basics.

While checking expiration dates, I called out, “So, you and your aunt Mary, were you close?”

She adjusted her leg on the chair. “Not really,” she admitted. “Mary was ten years older than my mom, and there was this big falling out before I was born. It was…complicated. We were polite, I guess, but not close.”

I grabbed some eggs and other good finds, shut the fridge door with my hip, and set the food on the counter, listening. “Still, it must be hard,” I muttered, finding a bowl and cracking a few eggs into it.

Noelle’s shoulders rose in a small shrug. “Yeah, it is. It’s hard to believe she’s gone. One minute, she’s bustling around, running the church bake sales, and the next… Well, she died in such an odd way and so unexpectedly—she fell down some steps at the church. Fitting, I guess, since she practically lived there.” She threw out a small, bitter laugh. “Kind of poetic, in a dark, twisted way. Devout Catholic, right to the end.”

“Catholic, huh?” I asked, whisking the eggs. “Me too. Raised that way, at least. Don’t do church much anymore though.”

“Same,” she muttered. “Guess we’ve both lapsed then.” She shook her head, as if she was shaking off an old memory. “I don’t go much anymore either,” she whispered. “Too many…reasons not to.”

“I get that,” I said, keeping my tone light. Her comments resonated with me. We didn’t even need to swap stories. I understood what it was like to have doubts, to step away from the faith that I had grown up with.

I grabbed a pan and set it on the stove, letting it heat for a minute while I found a cutting board on which to chop up some precooked bacon. “All right, let’s see if this ancient stove can work some magic.” I tossed in a bit of butter, watching it melt. “Tonight’s menu: breakfast burritos.”

“Oh, that sounds good. Anything warm will be so much better than gas-station junk food and airport wine.” She grinned.

I had found some tortillas in the fridge that looked safe enough, so I tossed a few into another pan and covered them with a lid to warm them up.

“Yep,” I said, pouring the eggs into the pan and stirring slowly. “It’s all about improvisation. We might not have any fresh tomatoes, but I did find a can of diced tomatoes with green chilies.”

It made me happy to be able to cook a nice little meal for her, here in the midst of the blizzard. I glanced over at the fridge, remembering something I’d spotted there when I’d rifled through it earlier. Along with the eggs and bacon, there had been several bottles of wine nestled on the bottom shelf. It appeared her aunt had good taste. I opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of pinot grigio, and set it on the counter. Why not make this meal a little more civilized?

I returned to the pan, mixing in the chopped bacon with the eggs before sprinkling a generous amount of shredded cheese on top and letting it melt. I grabbed the warmed tortillas from the other pan and spread them out on top of a large cutting board, my stomach growling again.

As soon as the cheese was thoroughly melted, I spooned the mixture onto the tortillas, adding a scoop of diced tomatoes and chilies before rolling the burritos up tightly. Not bad, considering our limited supplies. I plated the burritos and set them on the table. Then I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, popped the cork on the wine, and poured a generous amount into each glass, setting them beside our plates.

“Let’s get you turned around,” I said, walking over to Noelle. I rotated her chair and eased her closer to the table.

“Thanks,” she said, her eyes drifting to the burritos and the wine. “Looks impressive.”

I grinned and sat down across from her, pushing one plate closer. “Told you I had some survival skills. And I figured we could make this a little more…gratifying.” I raised my glass slightly in a mock toast. “Dig in.”

Noelle didn’t need to be told twice. She picked up a burrito and took a big bite, letting out a contented sigh. “Oh wow, this is really good.” Her eyes widened in surprise and appreciation. “First proper meal I’ve had all day.”

I chuckled, taking a bite of my own. “Glad it’s hitting the spot.”

I washed the food down with a sip of the wine, which had a nice, crisp finish .

This, I figured, was as good a time as any to steer the conversation back to her aunt. “So, you didn’t get to stick around after your aunt’s funeral?”

She shook her head, sighing softly. “No. I had to fly back for work. Like I told you, I was competing for that big promotion.” She took a couple of deep swallows of her wine, then added, “I feel bad about not coming to see her more.” Her tone had softened. “I mean, after everything that happened… Well, it doesn’t matter now. Bottom line, I should’ve made more time to see her—talk to her. She was all alone here.”

I nodded. “Life gets in the way,” I said simply.

We fell into silence after that—not an awkward one, just the kind that comes when you’re too hungry to keep talking. We focused on the food in front of us, devouring the burritos without much more conversation. Between bites, we took slow sips of the wine, savoring it as much as the meal. By the time our plates were empty, she had finished off her glass. So I poured her another, which she accepted with a small smile.

“Thanks. You’re surprisingly domestic,” she said.

“Don’t spread that around.” I winked.

I gathered up the empty plates, balancing them in one hand. “Stay put,” I said, pointing a finger at Noelle before she could even think about getting up. “I’ve got this.”

I turned toward the sink, setting the dishes on the counter. When I went to toss the bacon box and tomato can into the trash can under the sink, something caught my eye. An emergency radio hand-crank solar lantern sat nestled between the bags and cleaning supplies. I pulled it out.

“Well, look at this,” I said, inspecting the gadget, curious about how much light it would emit and hoping it was charged up. “This is a cool little device. I’m surprised your aunt would have one of these. ”

Noelle raised an eyebrow in mild interest. “What is that? Some doomsday prepper thing?”

“Better,” I said, turning it over in my hands. “It’s got a solar panel, a hand crank, and even Bluetooth, so that means I can connect it to my phone and…play some music.” Without waiting for her response, I pulled out my phone and linked it up. In a few seconds, a Christmas song filled the room.

Noelle burst out laughing. “You, Mr. Captain, have a Christmas playlist?”

I shrugged, taking a sip of my wine. “What? Who doesn’t like Christmas music this time of year?”

She smirked, and the gleam in her eye told me I was about to be roasted. “It’s just not what I expected.”

As “Jingle Bell Rock” revved up, she grabbed my phone and started scrolling through the playlist. “Oh, this is funny,” she said, scanning the list. “‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.’ Seriously?”

“What? It’s the John Mellencamp version.” I smirked and left her to her fun, returning to the sink to start washing the dishes.

The song changed to “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” and Noelle snorted with laughter. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered, scrolling through the list and biting her lip in fascination as though each title held some secret about me.

As she sat there laughing and making comments, I scrubbed the plates and utensils, rinsed them off, and placed them in the drying rack.

“You got something against Christmas classics?” I asked after the last plate was clean, tossing a glance her way.

“No, but this?” She held up the phone, waving it in the air. “I just didn’t peg you as the ‘Deck the Halls,’ kind of guy. I thought you only listened to…country music?”

I chuckled, tossing a dish towel over my shoulder. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who barely knows me. Maybe you shouldn’t make so many assumptions. There’s more to me than meets the eye.”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” I replied, wiping off the counter. “I mean, just because I like country music doesn’t mean I fit into some cookie-cutter mold you’ve got in your head.”

I placed the last item in the pantry and turned around to see her hobbling toward the fridge. “What did I say about staying put?” I grumbled.

She flashed me a playful grin, the wine making her all the more bold. “Relax, I’m looking for dessert.” With that, she yanked open the fridge door and leaned inside, digging through its contents.

My eyes drifted to her curves. Her tight leggings framed one hell of an ass. I swallowed the urge to cross the room and pull her up against me.

Noelle squealed, startling me from my lascivious thoughts. She pulled out a large tin decorated with a festive candy cane pattern, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Aha! These always have the best goodies!”

She popped the lid and gasped. “Peanut butter fudge and chocolate fudge!” When she whipped around to show me, she grimaced—her ankle clearly giving her grief.

I shook my head at her enthusiasm. “You’re like a kid in a candy store,” I said, striding over. “But also, you’re a stubborn one. I told you to stay off that ankle.”

Before she could protest, I scooped her into my arms, making sure to steady the tin with one hand. She let out a soft yelp but then settled against my chest, clutching the tin like it was the Holy Grail .

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, carrying her to the living room and setting her down in front of the fireplace. The fire had burned down, with several of the logs reduced to embers. It was time to add more wood to keep it going.

She smiled up at me, her eyes sparkling. “You know, if getting bossed around means I get the royal treatment, I might start liking this whole military commander thing you do.”

I let out a laugh. “You’d better be careful what you ask for, Stinkerbelle.”

I turned to the hearth, grabbing a couple of logs to feed the fire. “Now, sit tight while I make sure we don’t freeze in here.”