Christmas Cancellation

24. NOELLE

Chapter twenty-four

O ut of nowhere, a toy train ran off its track and veered toward the kitchen, its little wheels spinning furiously, drawing Kol’s attention.

“Damn thing’s got a mind of its own,” he said, releasing me and chasing after it. I stood there, staring down at the necklace, still reeling from its history and meaning. As I traced my fingers over the delicate pendant, I promised myself I’d never take it off and that, someday, I’d find just the right girl to pass it on to.

Walking over to Kol, I watched as he tinkered with the train, his large hands surprisingly nimble as he worked. He crouched by the tree, trying to get the stubborn toy to cooperate and stay on the track. His patience was admirable, but I had something bigger on my mind.

“Kol, will you take me home?”

He froze, his hands going still. Slowly, he rose to his feet and wrapped his strong arms around me. After a moment, he took my face between his hands and brushed his thumbs gently against my cheeks. Tenderly, he kissed my forehead. “I’d be happy to make that journey with you, sweetheart.”

It didn’t take long for us to bundle up and head out. We remained silent for a while as we drove to the farm, listening to the hum of the engine and the songs on the radio.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence, “I’ve been going over it in my head—the reasons to stay in Atlanta and the reasons to move back here.”

Kol glanced at me, his eyes reflecting the lights from the dashboard. “And?”

“And it’s not as straightforward as it seems.” I sighed. “I doubt there are any marketing executive jobs remotely similar to my old one here. But I’m not even sure that’s what I want to do anymore. It all seems so…superficial.”

Kol nodded, his thumb tapping a rhythm on the wheel. “Life has a way of changing our priorities.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “The hardest part would be leaving Amanda. She’s been my rock. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She’ll understand. True friends want what’s best for you, no matter where you are. And from what you’ve told me about Amanda, she doesn’t seem like the type to let a little distance get in the way.”

I stared out the window, watching the trees blur past.

“And then there’s the fact that I’d be alone here,” I pointed out. “But then again, my life would be turned upside down regardless of whether I stay or go.”

Kol reached over, finding my hand and squeezing it. “You wouldn’t be alone, Noelle. You’d have me. ”

I smiled at him. “The best thing about coming home would be keeping the farm and Aunt Mary’s house. Especially right now, when I’m jobless and unsure about what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

Kol’s thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. “It’s a good place to figure things out. It’d be a fresh start.”

“To most people, this would be an easy decision, a no-brainer,” I said, “but for me, being here without my parents…it might be more than I’m capable of emotionally. Everything reminds me of them. It’s not that I want to forget them; it’s that I want the memories to stop being painful.”

Kol’s grip on my hand tightened. “I understand. The mind has a way of shutting itself off to memories that are too painful to cope with.”

“I can’t believe it’s already been four years since they died. I thought I had it handled because I just… I didn’t let myself think about them as gone. It was easier to pretend we hadn’t seen each other in a long time. I know that sounds crazy, but since I never went back to the farm after the funeral, it still wasn’t real in my mind.”

Kol’s eyes were filled with understanding. “It’s not crazy. And, hey, I just want you to know it means a lot to me that you asked me to go with you. I hope it will help you find closure.”

I smiled, appreciating the steady calm he always seemed to offer. “I feel bad for taking up so much of your time. You probably need to get back to your life, your job…”

He chuckled. “I already got in touch with my chief pilot and took off a couple of days. Work’ll be there when I get back.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “You…you took time off? For me?”

He glanced over, a half smile curving his lips. “Right now, you’re what matters.”

Stunned, I stared at him. I couldn’t believe he’d made me such a priority.

After a few more minutes, we had arrived in Greenfield and the truck was maneuvering up the long gravel driveway, the tires crunching along and kicking up slush and small stones. As the house came into view, Kol let out a low whistle. “This is not what I was expecting.”

I grinned, my eyes fixed on the white farmhouse with its wraparound porch. “It’s just a typical middle-class farmhouse. Nothing fancy.”

“It’s not just the house, Noelle. It’s the property.” He scanned the sprawling land, taking in the big red barn, the riding arena with its weathered fencing, the paddocks still covered in snow, and the trails snaking off into the woods beyond. “How big is this place?”

“About forty acres, I think.”

“That’s big enough for a lot of horses,” he replied, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked around.

He put the truck in park, and I started to hop out.

“Wait! I have another present,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. “It’s just a little something I picked up for you.”

I paused, one foot on the ground, caught off guard. “Kol, no…you shouldn’t have.” I climbed back into the seat. “You’ve already given me such a beautiful gift today.” My fingers brushed over the pendant. “I didn’t get you anything. Now I feel terrible.”

Kol just shook his head, that easy smile playing on his lips. “It’s nothing big, I promise. Just a little something. I’d stuck it in my pocket, and with everything that happened with Mrs. Dottie, I almost forgot about it.” He fished around in his coat pocket before finally pulling out a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper and handing it to me .

I peeled back the tissue, revealing a crocheted wreath ornament—the one I’d pointed out in the store yesterday. It was simple yet beautiful. “Kol…” I whispered, the words sticking in my throat. “You went back and got it? When?”

“Of course I did. You remember…when I left the coffee shop,” he said, tilting his head and straightening up. “It was obvious how much you loved it when you saw it. Your face always shows exactly what you’re thinking. You said you didn’t want it, but…”

“I do! I love it,” I said in a rush. “It’s a little piece of art…not plastic and shiny. It’s something someone took their time to make with their hands. Like the ones my momma made for gifts.” I swallowed hard, running my fingers over the soft, tiny stitches. “Thank you.”

Kol’s smile softened. “It’s just a little thing, but it can be the start of new memories…happy ones. I loved watching your face light up when you saw it.” He shrugged.

I nodded, unable to trust my voice to speak without cracking. Instead, I reached up and looped the little wreath over the Bronco’s rearview mirror, adjusting it until it hung just right. The soft lacy yarn stood out against the rugged interior. “It looks so good there,” I said, finding my voice again. “The red and green go perfectly with your big red sleigh.”

Kol laughed.

I glanced out at the barn and then back at him. “Thank you, Kol. Really.” My fingers brushed over the little wreath again. This guy just kept blowing me away. How had I gotten so lucky for him to fall into my life?

He reached over, his hand finding mine, squeezing gently. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the barn. “Let’s go in.”

As we got out, the crisp winter air bit at my nose. Kol’s boots scuffed on the gravel as we walked toward the stables. After shoving open the barn door, the smell hit me first—that warm, earthy scent of horses and old leather. Memories flooded back, good ones I’d pushed aside for too long.

Inside, dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight filtering in through the windows. I spotted an old grooming brush on the shelf and picked it up. Holding it to my nose, I inhaled the distinct aromas of horses and sweat. It transported me back to summers spent mucking stalls and riding until the sun went down. God, it smelled good.

“This is where I spent most of my childhood. I used to spend hours in here,” I said, twirling the brush in my hand. “I loved the smell of the hay, the sound of the horses shuffling in their stalls, the leather of the bridles in my hands.”

Kol rested his shoulder on one of the stalls, watching me as I moved around the space. He didn’t say much, remaining quiet but attentive, as though everything I said mattered.

“I’ll never forget the first time I cantered,” I continued, unable to hold back my enthusiasm. “The freedom of it, the way the horse’s muscles moved beneath me as we covered so much ground together.”

“Tell me more,” Kol said, his voice low and rumbly.

I laughed, bubbling over with memories. “The first time a horse took off with me, I was maybe twelve. My dad had told me what to do—pull his nose all the way over to my boot. It’s hard for a horse to go very fast with their neck bent over. So, I did that, and eventually, he slowed down. Still, I was terrified.”

Kol raised an eyebrow. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, it was. But you learn fast with horses. They can spook at anything. One day, I was riding Vixen at a walk from the barn to a paddock, and something must have stung her. She jumped into the air, twisted, and bolted. I was lucky to have my wits about me and do an emergency dismount, because she freaked the fuck out and didn’t stop until she was across the back field, covered in sweat and foam.”

“Jesus, Noelle.” Kol’s eyes widened, but I just grinned.

“It’s a miracle my reins didn’t trip her up. Thankfully, she didn’t get hurt. It just goes to show you that even the best of horses can spook.” I moved to the tack room, running my hands over the leather saddles and bridles. “I loved it all though. The smells, the feel of the leathers, the thrill of jumping…”

Kol followed me. “So you like jumping horses a lot, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” I turned to him, excited by all the memories. “My first jump was over a little cross rail when I was just around six years old. I loved the exhilaration of a horse lifting off the ground. As the jumps got higher, the feeling of the horse leaping up and over the fences was magic. It was like flying.”

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You light up when you talk about this.”

My face heated, and I leaned into his touch. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about this place in so long, but now it all came rushing back—the trail rides with my family, the competitions, and how the barn always smelled.

“I can’t believe how much I miss it,” I admitted softly. “It was a family affair, you know? We all worked together to take the best care of our horses. It was our life.”

Hand in hand, we walked out of the barn. The sun was bright in the sky, casting a golden glow over the fields.

“When I went off to college, my parents would send me pictures of all the horses’ antics. Like the time my dad’s horse, Dasher, learned to unlatch the paddock gate and showed up on the back porch eating Mom’s sunflowers.”

Kol chuckled—a deep, warm sound that made my heart flutter. “Which was your favorite horse? ”

“Vixen, she was my heart horse,” I said without hesitation. “She was small for a warmblood, only fourteen and a half hands, but perfect for a ten-year-old learning how to do a three-foot course. She was this beautiful bay with a coat that shined like a new penny.”

I led him to the first paddock, my hands animating my stories. “Vixen was very well trained when we got her at thirteen years old, and boy, did she know her job. She trained me. If I didn’t ask her properly for a turn or a distance, she’d let me know the hard way.”

Kol rested a foot on the fence, his eyes never leaving me. “She sounds like a Catholic school teacher.”

“She was the princess in the barn and a bossy mare that would put the biggest, baddest gelding in his place. Everyone knew Vixen had a wide bubble for her personal space and to never cross the line or they’d get bitten or kicked.” I laughed. “She was amazing; she made me a good rider. I can’t tell you how many ribbons I earned on that horse. God, I miss her.”

Kol reached out, pulling me close. “I love the way you talk about all your horses. Maybe you could teach me to ride one day. I’ve never been on a horse.”

“I’d like that.” I bet he’d like it too.

We strolled toward the house. As we got nearer, I became nervous, my palms growing clammy and my steps slowing. Kol looked at me questioningly. After a moment, he asked, “Do you want to go inside the house?”

I hesitated, looking at the farmhouse. Kol must have sensed my apprehension because he squeezed my hand. “We can take it slow; there’s no rush.”

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for the wave of memories that were sure to come. “Yeah. Let’s do it. ”

At the top of the porch steps, I inhaled slowly a couple of times, the cold air stinging my lungs. “I think it’s time,” I whispered. Kol’s eyes softened. “I’m so grateful Aunt Mary didn’t sell the place,” I added, trying to keep my voice steady.

We stood there, the wind whipping around us, as I fumbled with the keys Mrs. Winters had given me. My fingers trembled slightly while I tried to find the right one. Kol stood patiently beside me, his breath misting in the cold air.

After trying a couple of keys, I finally found the correct one. It turned in the lock with a satisfying click. I pushed the door open, and we stepped inside. The scent hit me first—a mix of dust, disuse, and my mother’s perfume. It was overwhelming, a sensory overload that made my heart ache.

The farmhouse had been restored around thirty years ago, modernized in some ways, but it still held onto its old charm. Wide wooden planks lined the floor, stretching into the living room, and exposed beams crossed the ceiling. The place hadn’t changed. No one had touched it since my parents passed. Dust coated everything like a fine film, and I swore I saw something dart across the floor—a mouse, maybe. I swallowed hard. This was home, but it was also so much more than that.

Then I spotted it. The artificial Christmas tree, bedraggled and worn, stood slumped in the corner of the living room. Gifts, still wrapped, sat underneath it. My breath hitched as memories slammed into me, one after another—Christmases filled with music, the warmth of my parents’ hugs, the smell of cinnamon rolls and fresh pine from the real trees we used to have before they replaced them with this plastic thing when I’d gone off to college. I hadn’t expected the wave of grief to crash into me so hard, but there it was, suffocating and overwhelming.

Kol’s hand was on my back—a warm, steady pressure. “Take your time,” he soothed.

I nodded, unable to speak. The room swam before me. I could almost see my mom in the kitchen and hear my dad’s laughter echoing through the house. Their absence pressed down on me, a physical force that made breathing hard.

This was my childhood, my past, my pain. And it was all wrapped up in this house.

I took a step forward, and Kol stayed right by my side. We moved through the room slowly, each step stirring difficult memories. There was the fireplace where we’d hung our stockings, the couch where we’d watched countless movies, the dining table where we’d shared so many meals.

But it was the Christmas tree that drew me in. The gifts were covered in dust, their wrapping paper faded. I knelt, my fingers tracing the edges of the boxes. Each one was a time capsule, a piece of the past frozen in place.

My eyes filled with tears, and I blinked them back, my vision blurring. Kol crouched beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t say anything; he just stayed there, silently supporting me.

I picked up one gift, a small box wrapped in shiny red paper. My name was written on the tag in my dad’s handwriting. A sob caught in my throat, and I clutched the box to my chest, the edges digging into my skin.

It was too much. I couldn’t go any further. Not today.

I dropped the box and fled.

The next few days passed by in a blur, Kol staying with me at Aunt Mary’s house.

The day after Christmas, we barely made it through the front door before it became too overwhelming for me, and we had to leave. Later that evening, though, we returned, spending a few quiet hours wandering through the house. Kol patiently let me take my time as I poked around, fretting over everything that needed to be done. I couldn’t help but worry aloud about whether I was ready to take it all on. The following day, I spent hours exploring, sitting in my old bedroom, thumbing through dusty photo albums or sorting through boxes of forgotten things, carefully working to figure out what I should keep and what should go.

Kol was there every step of the way. He never rushed me, never pushed me to do more than I was ready for.

Eventually, I was able to go back to the gifts under the tree. I unwrapped each one carefully, as if they were the most precious things on the planet. Because they were. They were pieces of my past, pieces of my parents.

One of the gifts was a horseshoe, painted gold with a red ribbon tied through it. Attached was a note from my dad, telling me the history of how horseshoes bring luck. He wrote about how the legend started and how people believed that the seventh son of a seventh son, who was a blacksmith, could make horseshoes that brought good fortune. How you had to keep the ends pointing upward to keep the luck from spilling out, and how sailors used to nail them to the masts of their ships for protection. He said it was a reminder that, even when times were hard, luck would always be found if you believed in it. At the bottom of the note, he said this was one of Vixen’s old shoes, and that he’d chosen to paint it for me as a keepsake, a reminder of how much luck I’d brought him, being his daughter.

As I read his words, I could almost hear his voice and see his smile. This gift was bittersweet, a painful reminder of what I’d lost, but it was also a comfort, a connection to the past. I clutched the horseshoe to my heart. I’d cherish this, always .

These days had brought Kol and I even closer. He shared pieces of his past with me—his darkest memories, the ones he carried deep inside—including the guilt, the anger, and the unresolved pain from his time in Afghanistan. I didn’t judge him for any of it, just as he didn’t judge me for my grief and the way I had tried to shut it all away. We were scarred in different ways, but we accepted each other for who we were. We were flawed but also stronger because of everything we’d been through. We were two people with both shadows and light inside of us, learning to live with both.

In that house, we didn’t just find closure. We found each other.