Christmas Cancellation
Chapter One Sneak Peek

NOELLE

12/23 late morning

The departures board glitched like a Christmas tree having an existential crisis—green to yellow to red—then froze on: CANCELLED.

“Of course it did,” I hissed in frustration, dropping into one of the stiff, faux-leather seats by Gate 73 with all the grace of a crash landing. The row jolted under the impact, and an older woman two seats over snapped her head around with an exaggerated sigh, her body language screaming I-am-so-over-this-day. I offered a tight, apologetic smile before shoving my coat through the handles of my suitcase and tossing my tote into the chair beside me.

It hadn’t just been one of those days; it had been a no-good, rotten week. Actually, my life had sucked in general since that night four years ago. Today was merely another example of the dark cloud that had moved in and taken up permanent residence over my head.

I scrolled through my phone, desperate for a miracle. Maybe I could rent a car? Nope. Nothing. Nada. The screen mocked me with a big, fat “No Availability.” Other stranded passengers and holiday travelers had already snatched up every car anywhere near the airport. Okay, maybe a hotel room? I tapped through a few options, only to find that the cheapest one was some no-name motel charging three times its regular rate, all because it was the holiday season. Perfect. Just perfect. I was stuck, stranded, and watching my future unravel.

I needed to vent. Needed Amanda. She was the only person who could talk me off an emotional ledge. My best friend, my ride-or-die, since I’d moved to Atlanta to start at the Martindale Agency as a social media coordinator. She’d been there for me when everything else fell apart.

I’d met her the day I moved into my apartment, when her goldendoodle knocked me down in the hallway and slobbered all over me. And instead of being pissed, I’d laughed, because who could stay mad with a face full of goldendoodle?

I’d give anything right now to be on her couch, a glass of wine in hand, with that goofy dog sprawled across my lap, rather than stuck here in this damn airport waiting for a flight that wasn’t going to happen.

I yanked my earbuds out of my tote and shoved them into my ears—hoping to muffle the annoyingly cheerful holiday music that was being piped through the airport speakers—then dialed Amanda’s number, and waited. She picked up after the second ring.

“Hey, girl. What’s up?” she asked. Fluffers barked in the background.

“Hey!” I replied.

The guy across the aisle jerked back, head snapping up from his phone—startled. I’d shouted, forgetting how loud I could be with the earbuds in.

“You will not believe this,” I said at a more reasonable volume, I hoped. “My flight’s canceled—the leg to Albany. So, now I’m stuck at LaGuardia with no rental cars, no hotels, and a snowstorm that’s apparently bad enough to ruin my life but not bad enough to be visible. Merry freaking Christmas to me.”

Amanda laughed softly. “I’m sorry, babe. Did you talk to the gate agent? Can they rebook you?”

“Oh, I sure did. She smiled at me as if I was a toddler who had lost her balloon. Then, in her oh-so-fake-nice voice, told me the weather was to blame—‘an act of God.’ No options, no nothing for today. They’re saying they can rebook me for tomorrow night at the earliest. Which is great and all, except I need to be at the attorney’s office today to sign those papers.” I let out an exasperated huff. “Just add it to the list of things that have gone wrong this week.”

“God, Noelle. Your week’s been brutal.”

“Tell me about it,” I all but shrieked, the pitch in my voice climbing before I could stop it. “And don’t even get me started on the airlines. They don’t give a crap about passengers. You know, ‘Oh, sorry, folks. We’re screwing you over, but it’s fine because we’re blaming it on the weather.’ Except there’s no weather, Amanda! I can see out the giant windows overlooking all the runways. It’s thirty-four degrees and partly cloudy. Partly cloudy! What storm?”

“Noelle, calm down,” she cut in, half laughing. “Don’t become airport TikTok famous.”

I inhaled, catching the smell of Cinnabon—sickly sweet—making my stomach churn. “I’m pretty sure the flight was half full, and am guessing the greedy airline didn’t want to waste money flying to Albany. Or maybe some pilot didn’t want to work today—he’d rather be home, drinking eggnog with his perfect little family.”

Amanda snorted. “You think a pilot called in sick? ‘Hey, boss, got holiday fatigue. Can’t make it to Albany today.’”

“Exactly!” I shouted, leaning into the ridiculousness because if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry—the outburst earning me a few irritated glances from people nearby. “Or maybe the entire crew is sitting at Starbucks right now sipping cocoa and plotting how to ruin everyone’s Christmas since they have to work.”

“Do pilots even drink hot cocoa?”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” she said, laughing into the phone. “Noelle, you’re being paranoid. Maybe it’s just bad luck. Or maybe—”

“No, the universe is against me,” I said, throwing up a hand. “Who cancels a flight to Albany on Christmas Eve-Eve? It’s practically un-American! I bet the crew is trying to avoid rowdy holiday passengers. God forbid anybody be happy on Christmas. Or maybe they do it for sport, always keeping us in suspense—guessing if our flight will, in reality, make it out, as though it were some twisted holiday thriller.”

“Okay, now you’ve gone full holiday conspiracy theorist,” she said, tsking.

“Am I?” I complained. “Why would they cancel a flight for partly cloudy? There’s not a flake of snow on the tarmac.” People a few rows over were staring now, and the guy across the aisle scowled. I caught myself and offered a quick, sheepish grin to him. “Sorry,” I mouthed. “Long week.”

Amanda chuckled again. “Calm down. You sound like a maniac. As if you actually believe the universe is out to get you.”

“Yeah, well, the universe can bite me,” I said, tipping my head back against the seat in defeat. I knew I was annoying everyone within earshot of my ridiculous ramblings, but I was too fried to care—mostly. My life was falling apart around me, and now the universe had piled on more nonsense. I was fully aware I was acting unhinged, but considering all the wine I’d had earlier and the deplorable circumstances I found myself in, unhinged was the best I could do. “Just so you know, if I ever meet the person who made the decision to cancel this flight, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind. And possibly a swift kick in the shin.”

“Not your best plan,” Amanda warned. “And maybe lower your voice before security gets ideas.”

I shrugged. “Oh, everyone’s too busy plotting their own escape routes to care.”

Frowning, I snatched up my phone and started furiously scrolling again, searching for a hotel or a rental car. At this point, I would take anything.

Digging my heels into the floor beneath me, I groused into the phone, “There are no rental cars anywhere in the city. Absolutely none. And the hotels? Not a single room available unless I want to shell out a couple grand for a five-star suite with a chandelier in the bathroom—or risk my life at a fleabag motel charging triple its normal rate.”

Amanda sighed. “Of course they’d price gouge right before Christmas. It’s all about the money.”

“Yeah, and guess who doesn’t have that kind of cash lying around? Me. The girl who lost her shot at a promotion and just quit her job because her snake of a boyfriend stabbed her in the back.” I was sure Amanda was rolling her eyes at the mention of Blake.

“I always hated that guy,” she said. “Remember, I warned you? I told you he was a selfish jerk.”

I sighed. “Yeah, you did. And you were right. He was a walking red flag. I just…I wanted to believe he was different. I mean, he was hot and charming when he wanted to be, and I thought…well, you know what I thought.”

“You thought he was the one,” Amanda finished for me. “But instead, he was a jackass who played you. He didn’t deserve you either. You’re too good for him, Noelle. You always were.”

I swallowed, and a lump formed in my throat. “I don’t get it, Amanda. Why is it always me? Why is it always my life that’s a damn train wreck? It’s like…it’s like, ever since…” I glanced around the bustling gate area. The emotion started to push its way up, but I wasn’t about to cry here, not in front of all these strangers. “It’s as if I’ve been cursed or something. Nothing ever goes right.” I lowered my voice. “You know, I shouldn’t have quit. I should have just sucked it up at least until I could find another job. But my pride got the better of me, and here I am.”

Amanda remained quiet, and I pictured her biting her lip, trying to find the right words to say.

“Noelle, Blake did you dirty. You’re human. You had every reason in the world to quit,” she finally said. “And you’re also strong. You’ve been through a lot and have handled it all better than most people—so much better than I ever could have.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of handling it,” I said softly, trying to blink away the prickle in my eyes. The bustle around me—the blaring announcements over the intercom, the rumble of suitcase wheels, the hurried conversations—blurred together into one chaotic buzz, and frustration frayed my last nerve. “I’d hoped to make it in the nick of time to the attorney’s office to receive whatever it is my aunt left me. I’d hoped it was going to be some money or something I could sell to tide me over until I found another job. But now that’s not happening. Looks like I’ll be going on a dumpster-diving diet… I want something to go right for once. Just once. Is that too much to ask?”

“It’s not. It’s not at all,” Amanda said in that reassuring, motherly voice that I both loved and hated. “But sitting in that airport isn’t going to change anything. Maybe…maybe you need to get out of the terminal. Take a walk and—”

“Where am I supposed to go, Amanda?” I snapped more harshly than I’d intended. “I’m trapped here.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment; she simply let me stew in my misery. “You’re not trapped, Noelle. It’s only a setback. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“Sure,” I scoffed. “Like I figured out Blake?” I shook my head, the words catching in my throat. “Never mind. I just wish things were different. I wish…I guess I wish a lot of things. I’m sorry to unload on you. Thanks for letting me vent though. I’m so lucky to have a friend who listens when I’m going off the rails and isn’t afraid to set me straight. God knows we’ve both been there for each other when life’s thrown the worst at us.”

Amanda snorted. “You’re right about that. And don’t think I’ve forgotten how much I owe you for dealing with my meltdown over that lying, cheating, wannabe country star, Jason Owens, who couldn’t keep his pants zipped if his life depended on it. If you hadn’t dragged my sorry ass out of that pity party, I’d still be hiding under my blankets, binge-watching rom-coms on Netflix and eating pint after pint of ice cream.”

I chuckled and then let out a long sigh. “Oh, I remember. It was clear I had to intervene when I came over that day, and pint containers were stacked in a pyramid like champagne glasses at a wedding.”

She giggled even though, at the time, she’d been the most miserable I’d ever seen her. I crossed my legs and relaxed into my seat, catching sight of a pilot standing at the gate agent’s station. He glanced over his shoulder, shooting me a side-eye that could have killed. His presence registered, and heat crept up my neck. Great—so he’d probably heard every word of my meltdown. I straightened up in my seat, focusing on my phone. There was no taking it back now; he’d think whatever he wanted.

“Ugh, I’ve got to escape this airport, make my way to Saratoga, sign those papers, and wrap this part of my life up…somehow.” I took a deep breath, contemplating my lack of options. “Hmm, I know…I’ll hitchhike,” I joked.

“Yeah, and end up as the next victim of a serial killer. I don’t think so,” Amanda snapped. “It would be better to lose whatever your aunt is giving you in her will than end up dead trying to get home.”

Out of nowhere, Mr. Captain strutted over with an air of authority—a contained dominance that made my pulse skip. He stopped right in front of me, his expression screaming, I’m about to school you. My thoughts scattered as I took him in this close. Damn, I loved a guy who looked at me as though he was about to start a war. Oh yeah…bring it, hot stuff.

He was tall, and his broad shoulders filled out his uniform in a way that made me clench my thighs. His dark, wavy hair was casually tousled, with that perfect balance of messy and stylish. And those brown eyes flecked with gold? Dangerous. Oh my God. He was so fucking hot. Seriously, how was this man so gorgeous? Any man in a uniform was sexy as hell, but this guy? Holy moly.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, though it didn’t really sound like a question, bringing me back to reality. His voice had the grit of gravel and the warmth of honey whiskey—a little rough around the edges but smooth enough to go down easy.

I blinked up at him, trying to play it cool. Oh, shit. He actually looked as if he wanted to murder me, and that wasn’t some fantasy in my head. “Uh, Amanda, I gotta go,” I mumbled. Not waiting for her reply, my thumb jabbed the “End Call” button.

I shrugged nonchalantly as I popped my earbuds out. This was a challenge I was more than up for today. Let’s play. “It’s a public space,” I said, gesturing to the seat beside me. “You don’t need my permission.”

He didn’t crack a smile, didn’t even blink—just lowered himself into the chair next to me. The fabric of his jacket looked ready to burst from the strain of his bulging muscles. His eyes flicked my way for a second before he turned to stare out the window. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and turning his hat slowly in his hands, ignoring me for a moment. Tension radiated from him.

“All your assumptions about the cancellation are total bullshit,” he said calmly, but his words had a sharp edge to them.

I stiffened, not expecting the bluntness. Who did this guy think he was anyway? But before I could snap back, he continued.

“First of all,” he said, lifting his hands to make air quotes, “the tarmac isn’t a place. It’s a surface coating used on roads and airfields. What you’re looking at out there, where all the people and equipment are, is called the ramp. That’s where planes are parked and serviced. The taxiways are the”—more air quotes—“roads planes use to move to and from the runways. And the runways? That’s where airplanes take off and land.”

He rattled this off as though he was a kindergarten teacher explaining the ABCs. My eyebrows shot up; his unexpected aviation lesson caught me off guard.

“Okay,” I said slowly, giving him my best who the hell cares look. “Thanks for the…clarification.”

He didn’t acknowledge my sarcasm. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, tapped it a few times, and then held it in front of my face. “Second, the information on weather apps isn’t always accurate. We pilots use a TAF—the official FAA aviation forecast. It tells us if the weather is dropping below the minimums for ceilings or visibility at either the departure or arrival airports and whether we can be legally dispatched for a flight. We use a whole host of tools, dispatchers, and meteorologists to determine if the weather’s good enough to fly. It’s not as simple as looking out the window, sweetheart.”

His words stung, not because he was wrong, but because he was being a dick about being right. I blinked, staring at the jumble of numbers and letters on his screen. “I—”

“Basically,” he said, cutting me off, “for this flight, the rules say we can take off, but we can’t land at Albany. We don’t have a choice in the matter.” He exhaled sharply.

“And thirdly, so that you’re more grounded in reality, the number of passengers on a flight doesn’t determine whether it goes or stays. We don’t just cancel flights because there aren’t enough people on board. Planes need to be positioned for their next scheduled leg, and there are strict FAA regulations. It’s not about saving a few bucks or skipping a leg because we’re feeling lazy. The airline would get fined if we pulled a stunt like that.”

I glanced down at his chest, catching sight of the name badge below his wings. “Yes, sir, Captain Vinter.” What kind of name was Vinter? It sounded like something out of a Norse myth. Made sense, I guess. Everything about him screamed Viking—he was all hard lines and had a gaze frigid enough to freeze hell over.

He leaned back, turning to rest his elbow on the back of the seat, his dark eyes locking onto me. “For the record,” he said tersely, “I want this flight to happen just as much as you do. None of us want to be stuck here. I didn’t drag myself into work before dawn to sit around listening to passengers tear into a crew that’s already stretched thin—or whine about the airline canceling flights for unsafe weather conditions.”

He shifted closer, his broad shoulders cutting into my personal space. “We don’t get paid for delays,” he snarled. “Not for ground time, not for babysitting gate agents, and definitely not for listening to people complain about things we can’t control. I only get paid when the jet moves.”

The woman a couple of seats down let out a smug little snort of approval at his words, which hadn’t been quiet or restrained.

His gruffness caught me off guard. My mouth snapped shut. The air between us thickened, every nerve in my body aware of the heat rolling off him. I didn’t know whether to be pissed off or impressed by the way he’d just schooled me in front of an audience.

I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable, though the armrest dug into my back. My pulse thudded as his gaze stayed fixed on me as if he was waiting to see if I’d snap back.

For a moment, I said nothing, studying him more closely.

Maybe the old me—the one who’d spent the last two years trying to play nice for Blake Mercer—would’ve shrunk into the seat and mumbled an apology just to smooth things over.

But not today. Not after everything that had gone down.

I straightened, crossing one leg over the other and meeting his stare head-on. “You know what? You’re right,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I was dramatic. I shouldn’t have gone off about pilots or the crew. That wasn’t fair.”

His brow lifted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected me to admit it.

“But,” I added, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, “you can’t honestly tell me it’s right that airlines get to cancel flights for weather—” I made air quotes, imitating him, “—and then just shrug when people are stranded. No hotel vouchers, no cars, no nothing. It’s Christmas in New York, not the middle of nowhere. And some of us actually have places to be.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he said nothing.

I leaned back, arms folded, refusing to wilt under his scrutiny. “So yeah, I vented. Maybe I should’ve kept it down, but the truth still stands. The system’s a mess. People are stuck and broke, and everyone’s supposed to smile and take it.” I exhaled and forced a laugh. “Sorry if that makes me the difficult passenger today.”

He watched me quietly, jaw ticking as though he wasn’t sure whether to argue or admire the comeback.

“Anyway,” I said, softer now, “it’s just been a really bad week. I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders when I opened my mouth. But trust me, I get that none of this is your fault.”

He stared at me for a moment longer, then nodded once and stood, tucking his phone into his pocket. “We all have them,” he said with a quiet professionalism that showed he’d seen worse. “Doesn’t mean you get to unload on strangers.”

“Fair point. But in my defense, you didn’t exactly seem like the type who gets ruffled easily.”

His mouth curved in something close to a smirk before he turned and walked away, leaving me equal parts flustered and annoyingly intrigued.

I’d stood my ground, refused to shrink back, and for once, I hadn’t let a man talk down to me. It should’ve felt good. Empowering, even.

But the second his eyes were off me, the adrenaline drained out of me.

The truth was, I wasn’t as unshakable as I liked to pretend. My life had become one long domino line of bad luck and hard hits. The tragedy from four years ago, what Blake had just done, and now this canceled flight—wrecking the one fragile thread of hope I’d been clinging to—felt like more than I could take. No matter how hard I fought back, life always seemed to find a new way to knock me down.

I sank into the seat as exhaustion crept in like fog. The rows of chairs were half-empty now, most people having accepted their fate or moved on to new gates. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with a low hum as my thoughts raced.

Could my life be any more pathetic? The way he had scolded me had whisked me back to my elementary school classroom—standing red-faced in front of the class, murmuring an apology I didn’t mean just to get the humiliation over with. Except this time, it wasn’t a teacher; it was a stranger in a pilot’s uniform who’d read me like an open book.

My throat tightened. My eyes dropped to the floor as I let out a loud, frustrated sigh. “God, I wish I’d never been born.”

His footsteps paused mid-stride. The brief scuff of his boots against the tile was the only sign he’d heard me. Then he kept walking, leaving me alone with the echo of my own words.

I slumped further into the seat, biting my lip to keep it from trembling. Blake’s face flashed in my mind—the smug grin he’d had on his face yesterday in the office, the way he’d strutted around as if he’d won some grand prize after screwing me over. The swagger he had when he’d walked into my office, acting like he was doing me a favor by ending our relationship—right before telling me how things had to change now that he was my boss.

His words replayed in my mind: “No hard feelings, right?” As though he was merely my buddy, parting ways with me after a casual lunch, not a man who had made me fall in love with him and then stolen my work.

Why was it so impossible to find anyone to love me? Was that really so difficult? Guys today sucked. Really, they did; it couldn’t be me, right? That was what I kept trying to convince myself of. But deep down, I knew better. Of course it was me. Me. I was the problem.

I pressed my lips together, fighting the sting in my eyes. I wasn’t a bad person. I didn’t lie; I didn’t cheat—I didn’t hurt people on purpose. But I was…a lot. I was loud, emotional, and undoubtedly a bit of a drama queen when I’d had a glass or three of wine, like today. Mr. Captain over there probably thought I was a total bitch after that little display on the phone with Amanda. I didn’t blame him. I wore my feelings on my sleeve, especially when I was pissed off. I’d never learned to play it cool or keep my mouth shut.

I twisted in my seat again, trying to find some comfort that didn’t exist. The terminal buzzed with activity, people moving to and fro, while I sat here dejected. I was frustrated with everything—especially being stuck here—and pissed off about how my life was unraveling in a dozen different directions. My vision blurred as the emotions bubbled up, spilling over in hot, silent tears that rolled down my face. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my comfy gray sweater dress, hating that my world was crashing down around me.