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The First Noelle

By Delia Latham

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Hope Springs—5 miles
Noelle Joy struggled for breath that seemed inadequate. She gripped the wheel with white-knuckled fingers as her vehicle sped relentlessly toward the small, California mountain town that had been her home until a decade ago.
What are you thinking? Why would you ever return to the place where you suffered the worst indignity of your life? Even as the desperate questions spun through her mind on an out-of-control turntable, she launched into long-rehearsed relaxation techniques. One…two…three… Breathe in. Four…five…six… Breathe out. Breathe. Just. Breathe.
By the time the weathered “Welcome to Hope Springs” sign came into view, her emotions were well in hand. She was here to do a job—one that would look good in her bank account and on her résumé. And—since she insisted on honesty at all times, especially with herself—she had to admit the person at the other end of the contract added a certain appeal to this gig.
Noelle had dutifully researched the man after he’d contacted her, but there’d been no real need. Michael Holliday was becoming a household name. The talented architect had burst onto the scene seemingly out of nowhere and had won award after award in the years since his first design created an uproar in the industry. He somehow managed to steer clear of the ever-reaching tentacles of the press, but that phantom-like ability to avoid the spotlight only whetted the media’s collective appetite.
Holliday also drew notice by often, and generously, sharing the rewards of his labor. Charity organizations, large and small, benefitted from his wealth. Individuals and families in dire need had been blessed by generous checks delivered to their doors—all signed by Michael Holliday, all accompanied by simple notes that included well wishes, promised prayers, and requests to keep his donation downwind of the press. But happy, relieved people rarely kept that kind of blessing under wraps.
Aware of, but not able to track down the source of the mysterious gifts, the media had dubbed Holliday the Phantom Philanthropist.
Not a single photojournalist had ever captured a clear shot of the man. A few unrecognizable photos found their way into various publications, but none provided any real idea of his appearance. News articles offered only guesses as to where he lived, using vague terms such as, “Most likely somewhere in Northern California.”
Along with a stringent confidentiality agreement, Noelle had signed a contract that offered an incredible amount of money to create a decorating miracle in Holliday’s home. Having scribbled her moniker on “the dotted line,” she became one of the few people who possessed a physical address for Michael Holliday, Phantom Philanthropist and Architect Extraordinaire.
He did indeed live in Northern California—somewhere near Hope Springs, where Noelle had enjoyed a happy childhood, lived out teen years filled with love and romance…and suffered the most painful and degrading rejection any woman could endure. A good portion of the total population had witnessed her public rebuff—a bride in a church bedecked with Christmas finery, awaiting a groom who never showed.
She groaned as she pulled into her parents’ driveway for the first time in a decade. As much as she loved Mom and Dad, the prodigal’s return promised to be anything but joyful.

With lunch and cleanup behind them, Noelle followed her mother from the kitchen into the living room.
A wide swath of pure silver streaked a section of the beautiful black hair Nancy Joy always wore with ultimate grace in a classic French twist. Despite that delicate bow to a departure from youth, her beauty was undeniable.
As if unable to keep from touching her daughter, she drew Noelle into a warm embrace. “It’s wonderful to have you back in Hope Springs, darling. This house hasn’t been quite ‘home’ without you.”
Noelle cleared her throat against a gargantuan lump. Since she’d walked through the door several hours earlier, she’d battled what promised to be a regular gully washer of tears.
So many memories lived within the walls of this house—mostly warm, wonderful ones that she’d deliberately buried over the past decade while keeping the events of that one dark day at the edge of her mind. Holding onto the pain kept the naïve, gullible girl she thought of now as “the first Noelle” from resurfacing. That girl would destroy the strong, successful woman Noelle had become.
She returned her mother’s hug. “It’s always good to see you and Dad, but being in Hope Springs is not easy.”
“I know, darling. I know.” Her mother reached up to brush a strand of hair almost the identical color of her own off Noelle’s face. “But facing our monsters is the only way to shrink them down to proper size, which usually isn’t nearly as large as in our imaginations.”
Noelle rolled her eyes and emitted an indelicate snort. “This one was pretty big in reality, Mom. I’m not sure it can be shrunk any smaller by coming back home.”
Mom sighed. “I don’t mean to downplay what happened, sweetheart. No young woman should ever have to endure that kind of hurt and humiliation. But you didn’t let it destroy you. You’ve already beaten that particular boogeyman, so coming back here offers an opportunity to kick it to the curb, once and for all.”
“Fine, Mom.” No one ever won an argument with the Reverend Joy’s wife because she was almost always right, and Noelle didn’t feel up to giving it a shot today. She kissed her mother’s cheek, grabbed her purse off a small table in the entry, and reached for the doorknob. “I won’t be more than a few hours. Probably less, depending on this guy’s ability to make clear what he needs in a reasonable length of time.” She forced a strained smile. “Tell Dad I’ll expect those steaks to be grilled to perfection, like always.”
Mom’s laughter soothed the seeping wound in Noelle’s heart, scraped raw by her return to an old haunt. Her unchanged bedroom. The space still housed photo albums oozing pain from every page, stuffed animals with talon-clawed memories attached to their cutesy grins and cuddly bodies, even a closet full of clothes drenched in all-too-vivid images that messed with Noelle’s cool façade.
Probably a good thing Daddy had been unable to free himself from the annual board meeting at the church. Seeing her father would have weakened her to a degree beyond that already brought about by simply being in Hope Springs. She needed this break to meet with her client and look over the job. The familiar professionalism she wore like an armor would create a bit of balance, give her a better grip on her emotions.
Daddy’s voice had calmed her every fear as a child and bolstered her through the hormonal ups and downs of a young girl entering womanhood. Those soothing tones wouldn’t be as likely to undo her once she tucked a session of cool, calm, collected professionalism into the day.
Back in her car, she fed Holliday’s address information into the built-in GPS. The route took her a good distance further up the mountain and miles off the main route. Noelle hadn’t known the beautiful, secluded area existed, despite having lived so close for the first twenty-two years of her life.
She pulled to a stop at a pair of imposing gates fronted by a guard shack. To her surprise, her heart pounded with expectation. Her mind wouldn’t be quiet either, tossing out a horde of unanswered questions.
Was Holliday an older man, or was he young for his accomplishments? Was he handsome? Maybe he was hideous, like the fairy tale beast, and that’s why he maintained such a fiercely private existence. Was he kind, as seemed to be indicated by the media-inspired title? Or was that all hype? Perhaps the whole Phantom Philanthropist thing was a ruse to hide his real personality, which might be anything from a mouse to a monster.
A man’s voice crackled across the air. “Identification, please.”
Holliday should be expecting her. Why all the cloak-and-dagger? Well, his house, his rules. She dug out her driver’s license and the guard took it, his alert gaze darting back and forth, side to side, as if expecting an attack.
Noelle bit back a giggle when he broke from his fastidious survey of the surrounding countryside to peruse her license, seemingly line by line. What did he expect to find there?
At last, he returned her ID and gave a single, terse nod. “When I open the gates, follow the drive and park by the front steps. A valet will take your car.”
Sure enough, a uniformed valet met her at the base of a series of steps leading to massive oak doors that would have served well in any medieval castle. The man actually smiled as he took her keys. Having passed the intense scrutiny of the portly guard, it seemed she’d earned a bit more friendliness.
“Mr. Holliday will meet you at the door, Miss Joy.”
Potted plants lined each side of the wide steps— gorgeous bursts of azalea, bonsai-shaped miniature wisteria, hoya, plumeria, fuchsia, and a number of plants Noelle didn’t recognize and was almost certain shouldn’t survive the cold of the Northern California mountains. Holliday must have a sizeable greenhouse.
The door opened as she reached the top step. A man stepped outside but seemed reluctant to venture beyond the shade of the overhang. He towered well over Noelle’s five feet, nine inches. Muscles strained at the cloth of his sleeves and across his chest.
“Good afternoon, Miss Joy.”
Something caught in Noelle’s heart, and she swallowed repeatedly. Had she heard that voice before? Why did it make her want to cry…or maybe scream and throw rocks through the beautiful stained glass windows that fronted the huge estate?
She allowed her gaze to travel beyond the broad chest to a firm, square chin, and upward. Nicely shaped lips curved into a smile that seemed a little shaky around the edges and revealed perfect white teeth. A straight nose, not too long, or too short. High cheekbones.
For some reason, she avoided his eyes, instead moving on to take in slightly longish, golden-brown hair with a smidgen of gray at the temples.
“Miss Joy?” A hint of concern tinged the oddly familiar voice.
Noelle swallowed again and forced her cowardly gaze to his, only to be caught in a dizzying vortex of confusion and familiarity. I know this man. I’ve met him before. Where? She stood up straighter, hiked her chin, and mentally donned the ice cloak that had stood her in good stead over the course of her career. Holliday wasn’t the only one with a media-dubbed moniker. She had one of her own, and the Ice Princess of Design wouldn’t be put off by a furrowed brow and a tense expression. “Mr. Holliday. I’d like to get started right away, if you don’t mind.”
Forced to meet his gaze—his eyes were hazel, but somehow she’d known they would be—she saw a flicker of something that made her breath a little shallow. She was way off her game. Was it because those eyes held a strange familiarity?
“Of course. Come in, please.”
He indicated she should precede him into the house…no, the mansion. “House” didn’t even begin to describe the residence. Noelle had seen a great number of multi-million-dollar homes in her line of work but nothing that compared to the one in which she now stood.
“This is…quite lovely.” She was careful to maintain the chill in her tone. “Professional distance at all times” was the mantra by which she’d lived for the past decade. It had served her well. No need to change it now, just because something about Michael Holliday made her skin tingle and sky-rocketed her heartbeat. “If anything needs improvement, it’s well hidden.”
His low laughter sent something almost unbearably electric skittering up her spine. “It isn’t improvement I’m looking for, Miss Joy. It’s a mood, a certain look…an ambiance, if you will. And since my event will be held on Christmas Eve, it must be themed very specifically around that holiday.”
She nodded, despite the rock of dread that landed in her stomach with a thump. Up until now, the only Christmas event she’d ever created had been her doomed wedding a decade earlier. After that, she never again celebrated the holiday she’d once loved most. She refused to have a tree in her home and never sent a Merry Christmas card to a single soul. Stockings, mistletoe, and hot apple cider—things she’d once loved—were now just unavoidable traditions she muddled through every year while counting down the hours until the bells stopped jingling, the carolers’ songs died away, and her favorite radio station started playing real music again.
Joy Designs absolutely never, ever, ever accepted a design job with a Christmas theme. She opened her mouth to tell Michael exactly that but remembered just in time that she’d already signed the contract, without checking into the specifics of what Holliday needed or for what occasion. She uttered a pathetic inner moan. Christmas. She’d signed a legal contract saying she and her team would create a holiday environment somewhere in this castle-sized home.
Noelle steeled her spine and pasted on a smile she was certain didn’t fool the handsome architect for even a split second. Well, the contract had not included a clause that said her smiles had to be genuine. Then again, she hadn’t realized it mentioned anything about a Christmas event either, because she barely noticed anything other than Holliday’s name. She knew better than that. Now she had no choice but to design a winter wonderland in this massive mansion.
Bah Humbug.

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