Four: Snowflakes and Snowmen
1103 Words
I did everything I could last night. Hours of research, cross-checking, making lists—anything to make this Holiday Caravan run smoother and ensure not one kid gets left out. I sent emails to every corporate contact I had from my old job in the city. By midnight, my inbox was already filling with promising replies.
So when I walked into the station this morning, I was practically glowing.
“Hey,” I said to the guy I talked to yesterday. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name last time.”
“Oh—George,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants. “And you’re the cookie lady.”
I laughed. “I’m Elara.”
“Elara… Elara… where have I heard that name before?”
Before I could respond, Noah jogged up and tapped George’s shoulder.
“Inside, man. Move.”
George disappeared, leaving me alone with Noah.
“You’re early,” he said, slightly out of breath.
“Sorry, I was just… excited.” I pulled out my tablet. “Look. I sent out emails last night, and I got enough funding to buy toys and gifts for adults too. And if more donations come in, we can turn this whole thing into a full holiday event.”
Noah blinked. And blinked again.
He just stared at me—like he was seeing something extraterrestrial. The look made something swoop in my stomach.
“Was I… stepping in too much?” I hugged the tablet to my chest.
“No—God, no.” He shook his head. “You did all that in one night?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I also made poster drafts but I’m glad you guys handled that already.” I glanced past him at the table, where a stack of very… simple posters sat.
“It’s just one of us and an old laptop running MS Word,” he said.
I giggled.
And he did too.
For the first time, we actually laughed together. I pretended I didn’t notice.
Ian, their second-in-command, handed out street assignments—pairs of two. Naturally, Noah and I were paired together, and our streets included mine and the one beside it.
We took Noah’s truck. Not the beat-up Toyota he taught me to drive in. This one was clean. New. Very Noah—always pristine with his things, even if he didn’t mind getting dirty himself.
It made me wonder why he chose firefighting.
“So,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “Where are we going first?”
“Fourth Ave. Then your street.”
I nodded.
The drive was painfully quiet. I wanted to reach for the radio, save myself from drowning in silence—but before I could, Noah did it.
And Beyoncé’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasted through the speakers.
I snorted. Loudly.
He *hates* this song.
“Stop it,” he said immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.” I bit back another laugh.
“I know why you’re laughing.”
“Baby, all I want for Christmas is you…” I sang under my breath.
He groaned.
---
Fourth Ave’s houses were gorgeous—like a Christmas magazine spread. My future house suddenly felt sad in comparison. I definitely needed to step up my decorating game.
Noah set up the ladder. I held the poster while he climbed. Three trees later, we were on my street.
And there it was: my house. Naked. Not a single ornament.
“You okay?” Noah asked while setting the ladder against another tree.
“My house looks like Scrooge moved in,” I muttered.
“You haven’t even slept there yet,” he said.
“Still. A wreath. A light. Something.”
He stapled the poster, climbed down.
“Your furniture came?”
“Yeah. I was going to assemble it later.”
“I can he—”
“Noah?”
A woman approached us—slender, tall, perfect blowout blonde hair. She looked like the kind of girl who belonged in those fancy Fourth Ave houses.
“Lisa,” Noah muttered.
They hugged. A long hug.
“I didn’t know you were in town,” He said almost whispered.
“Came back for the holidays,” she said. “Parents insisted.”
“Okay,” Noah nodded. “Good seeing you.”
He walked away abruptly.
Awkwardly, I lifted a hand to greet her before following him.
“Ex-girlfriend?” I asked in a low voice.
“Yup.”
“Did she break up with you?”
“I broke up with her,” he corrected.
“Oh.” I looked back—she was still staring. Burning holes into us. I waved again because my body decided to panic instead of behave.
“Recently?” I whispered.
“Six months ago.”
“Wow.”
Her stare was still scorching my hairline.
“Wow what?” he asked.
“She must be really into you still. She’s—don’t look! God, Noah, you’re so obvious—she’s totally staring.”
He chuckled. “She’s fine. Probably just angry.”
“What was the reason you broke up... if you don't mind me asking?” I asked before my brain caught up.
He stiffened.
“I do mind. Let’s not talk about it, please.”
“Okay. Zipped.” I pretended to zip my lips and throw the key.
He caught it automatically.
Just like always.
My chest tightened. In the softest way.
He still remembered.
After seven years.
He still remembered.
And for the first time since I came home, the tension between us cracked—just a tiny bit
When I got home after hanging posters—and a quick meeting with Noah—I headed to Dad’s shed to grab the tools I needed. I had to assemble at least two pieces of furniture tonight if I wanted to actually live in my new house by the end of November. Five days left. No pressure.
I said goodbye to Mom and drove over.
But the second I stepped out of the car, my mouth fell open.
A wreath hung on my front door.
Not just any wreath—tiny snowflakes, little snowmen, carefully arranged like someone actually thought about it. My heart did a slow, ridiculous flip.
I looked around the street, hoping I’d catch him still nearby.
Nothing. Just quiet houses and twinkling lights.
I smiled to myself anyway.
That was definitely Noah.
I ran my fingers over one of the snowmen before heading inside, cheeks warm for absolutely no reason at all.
- Writer
