Chapter 16. Noah’s Past
1144 Words
Arielle didn’t expect the night to take a serious turn.
One moment they were laughing in the snow like two idiots who forgot the world existed. The next, Noah suddenly grew quiet—too quiet for someone who usually had a sarcastic comment ready to fire.
They had just reached the edge of the neighborhood, the cozy golden lights of the bookstore glowing in the distance. Snow fell softer here, like feathers drifting down.
Noah let go of her hand.
Not in a harsh way.
Not in an “I-regret-this” way.
More like… something inside him had shifted.
Arielle blinked, unsure. “Did I say something? Did I break something? Did my luck—”
“No,” he murmured. “It’s not you.”
Those three words instantly sent her into emotional cardiac arrest.
“It’s never you,” he added, softer.
Her heart restarted.
But his eyes—normally warm, steady, a little mischievous—looked distant now, shadowed by something old and painful.
Arielle swallowed. “Noah… what’s wrong?”
He brushed snow off a bench and sat. For a moment he looked like he might keep everything locked inside.
Then he patted the space beside him.
She sat. Slowly. Carefully. Because the last time a bench was involved, she fell backwards into a pile of slush and traumatized two pigeons. Tonight, however, the bench remained stable. Another miracle.
He stared at his hands for a long time. “You asked me earlier why I liked this spot.”
She nodded, pulling her coat tighter. “Yeah. I figured it was because you secretly enjoy pretending you’re starring in a Christmas movie.”
He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “Not exactly.”
Silence settled.
Then—
“This was the last place I saw my mom.”
Arielle stilled.
The snow kept falling, but it suddenly felt colder.
Noah’s voice dropped to something raw. “She used to bring me here every winter. We’d get hot chocolate from the market, walk through the snow, sit on this bench, and she’d tell me Christmas stories. Every year. Without fail. Even when money was tight. Even when she was exhausted.”
Arielle didn’t speak. She just listened. Something told her that was the only thing he needed.
“One year… she didn’t wake up on Christmas morning.” He swallowed hard. “Heart condition. No warning.”
Arielle’s own breath caught.
The world went silent except for the snow.
He continued, voice steady but glass-thin. “After that, Christmas felt ruined. The lights annoyed me. The songs felt fake. The happiness around me just made everything worse.”
His fingers curled into fists.
“I avoided holidays. Decorations. Markets. Even peppermint candles. I hated all of it.”
Arielle’s heart squeezed. She wanted to reach for him—but didn’t. Not yet. He wasn’t finished.
“Then my dad remarried.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Everyone expected me to suddenly be okay again. To move on. Be normal. Be festive.”
He shook his head. Snow dusted his lashes. “I tried coming here again a few years later. I thought maybe the memories would help. Maybe I’d feel closer to her.”
He paused.
“But instead I just felt… alone.”
Arielle’s throat clenched.
She had never seen Noah look vulnerable. Not truly. Not like this.
“And after that,” he said quietly, “I stopped coming here. Completely. Until tonight.”
Her breath hitched. “Why tonight?”
He turned his head.
His eyes met hers.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
“You,” he whispered.
Arielle forgot how lungs worked.
“I don’t know why,” he continued. “But being around you feels… warm. Like those memories aren’t painful. Like they’re… something I can touch again without breaking.”
Arielle stared at him—Noah Reed, who held everything together for everyone, who joked his way through life, who smiled like things didn’t hurt.
But they did.
They very deeply did.
And tonight he was letting her see it.
Her chest swelled with something dangerous. Something familiar. Something magical.
Something the Lucky Magic warned her about.
She inhaled shakily. “Noah… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “I just wanted you to know.”
Quiet fell between them again. But it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was gentle, like the snow around them—soft, slow, peaceful.
Arielle reached out, hesitated… then placed her hand over his.
His fingers curled instantly around hers, as if he’d been waiting.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “About your mom. That’s… that’s the kind of pain that doesn’t just fade.”
He nodded, eyes down. “Yeah.”
“But I don’t think she’d want you to avoid Christmas forever.”
“She loved Christmas more than anyone,” he admitted.
“Exactly.” Arielle squeezed his hand. “I think she’d love that you still come here. Even if it took a while.”
Noah looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Then he smiled—small, soft, broken-in and healing all at once.
“You’re something else, Arielle North.”
“Oh don’t say that,” she said, flustered. “I’ll get a big head.”
“You should,” he said. “You deserve to.”
Now she was the one who forgot how to function.
To hide the emotional meltdown happening inside her, she blurted the first thing that popped into her head:
“Would your mom like me?”
Noah’s eyebrows rose. “You just went straight for it, huh?”
“Panic,” she admitted. “I panicked.”
His smile widened. “Yeah. She’d like you.”
“Really?”
“She’d think you’re funny.”
“Good funny or annoying funny?”
“Both.”
She gasped. “Rude.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “And she’d absolutely love how you look at the world. Even when it tries to kill you.”
“That is not my fault. The universe has issues.”
“I know.”
They shared another quiet moment, snow falling around them in slow, glowing spirals.
Then Noah stood and offered her his hand again.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go back.”
She took it.
His fingers intertwined with hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
This time, she didn’t pretend she wasn’t affected.
She didn’t joke. Or hide. Or panic-scream.
She just… held on.
As they walked, Arielle felt something warm stir inside her chest again—a soft glow spreading, like a little light switching on.
The Lucky Magic.
It responded to emotion.
To connection.
To romance.
And if she wasn’t careful…
It was going to activate.
Fully.
- Writer
