He doesn’t seem to feel a thing from this run, his legs moving effortlessly next to mine.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’re running really well. I feel like I’ve got sand in my legs today.”
“Mallory, one night of pizza and popcorn isn’t going to kill you.” He glances over at me, raising his eyebrows.
“No, I think it might,” I huff, my side aching.
“We’ll slow down a bit.” Noah chuckles.
And it’s thoughtful.
It really is.
But I don’t think it’s going to make a difference this morning.
Because by the time we get back to the house, I actually feel like I might die.
I lean against the column, letting my chest heave.
“Holy shit,” I say, breathless. “I didn’t think I was going to make it.”
“You’re being a little dramatic,” Noah says, taking a deep breath in, his hands resting on his hips.
His shirt has sweat stains on it, but overall, he looks just a little winded.
“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. “My chest is burning.”
“Shake it out,” Noah says as he stretches out his legs.
He drops his arms down, touching his toes before coming back up and twisting his torso back and forth.
“All right,” I say, doing my best to lean over and touch my toes.
But I don’t even get close.
Usually, I’m able to get my fingers on the ground, rocking back and forth.
But everything is tight and stiff today, and I feel like a sweaty disaster.
“It’s not working,” I moan, standing back up.
Noah wipes off his face with the towel he left on the front porch and looks up a me. “So much complaining this morning.” He chuckles.
I stick out my bottom lip, pouting at him, but he just says, “Keep stretching. It will help.”
I look out toward the street and bend my right knee, bringing my left leg out in front of me to lean over it, trying to do what he said and stretch. But the second I bend forward, Noah’s towel smacks me in the butt.
I whip my head around, my mouth falling open. “Noah!”
He’s looking back at me with a grin, his brown eyes sparkling.
And I cannot believe he just did that!
“What has gotten into you?” I cross my arms over my chest, wanting to be upset with him. But it’s hard to be mad when he’s got this silly, boyish grin on his face.
“I had to.” He laughs, his eyes dropping to my butt.
His creamy cheeks tint pink, and I feel my stomach tighten at his reaction.
“You’re getting cocky,” I say, willing my voice to be stern. “Just because you’ve suddenly become a running machine doesn’t mean you can get a big head about it.”
Noah puts his hands up in the air in defeat, but he bites into his lip, and I know he’s trying to keep a serious face.
I roll my eyes, pushing past him into the house. But the sudden movement causes my calves to tighten, sending another ache through my legs.
“Everything hurts,” I whine, falling onto the living room floor as Noah shuts the front door.
“What hurts?” Noah asks, towering over me from above.
“My back. My sides. My legs. It all hurts,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Are your legs tight? Because that could make your back tighten up and feel sore.”
I sit up, trying to stretch out my legs.
“I think so,” I admit, my mind shifting to school.
Because classes are going to be hell if I don’t get loosened up. I’ll be sitting for hours, getting even tighter. And then I’ll have to go to Yoga, which would normally help. But I already can tell it’s going to be like stretching cold rubber.
“Why is this happening?” I say in frustration.
Noah glances down at me with concern. “We need to get your hamstrings stretched out.”
“All right.” I nod, knowing that I have no choice.
Noah squats down on my level. “Keep one leg flat on the ground and raise up the other one,” he says, leaning closer to me.
When I raise my leg, he slides under it so that it’s now resting on his shoulder. He holds that leg in place while he presses his other hand on the top of my thigh so that it stays on the ground.
He situates himself, pressing against me.
I feel a light stretch in my leg but nothing I can’t handle.
“Do I smell?” I ask, trying to come up with something to say.
Because with Noah so close, I can smell him.
But it isn’t a bad smell. It’s like a musky, heavy scent.
And I’m wondering what I smell like.
“Do you really want to know the answer?” he asks.
“Nope.” I push a breath out, trying to relax. “Ow, Noah.”
My leg tightens as he presses it further back, and I feel my hip want to rise.
“Tell me when it hurts,” he says, his head above me.
“It hurts,” I whine. And I’m really trying not to whine, but my body is fighting against me, and I’m frustrated that I can’t just relax into the stretch.
“All right. Push hard against my shoulder with the back of your leg,” he says, bracing himself.
I give it my best effort, feeling my leg start to shake.
“Okay, relax.” Noah nods. He rubs the front of my thigh with his hand, like he’s trying to warm it up. “I’m going to deepen the stretch,” he says, shifting closer to me.
I try to look away from his face, rolling my head to the side, because this is a fairly intimate position to be in.
“How’s that feel?” he asks, grabbing my attention.
I roll my head back straight, looking up at him. His face is hardened, and I can tell he’s taking my stretching seriously. I feel my leg slip further back, finally relaxing.
“All right, go ahead and push again,” Noah says above me.
“This is the worst feeling,” I breathe out, pushing my leg against his shoulder.
“It’s better to do it with warm muscles,” he counters.
“True,” I admit.
“All right,” he says, leaning back onto his ankles as he lowers my leg to the floor. “One down, one to go.”
“Oh, joy,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
“You’re being a little ungrateful,” Noah says, grabbing on to my other leg.
“Am I?” I ask, licking my lips, my gaze on him.
“Mmhmm,” he says, putting my other leg onto his shoulder and pressing it back toward me.
It’s a deep, slow burn, but I know when he’s gotten as far as I can go. I press into his shoulder hard.
“Good.”
He rubs up and down my thigh with his palm, trying to massage out the tension. I close my eyes at the feeling, wanting to relax.
“One more time,” he repeats, his tongue coming onto his lip as he presses closer to me. “How does it feel?”
“It feels …” I start, trying to figure out how I’m feeling.
But Noah is so close to me, and my leg is up on his shoulder. His hands are on my thighs, and I can smell his sweat and practically feel his words slip down my cheek. He’s looking at me, waiting for an answer, but I finally feel my muscle tense.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Okay, push,” Noah says.
I push against him, my fingers forming fists at my sides.
“Hey …” Naomi says, her voice grabbing my attention.
Both Noah and I look up at her coming down the stairs. I feel a little like I just got caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. Especially because of the way she’s studying us.
“Hey,” I manage out, feeling my heart pound in my chest.
“All done,” Noah says, shifting his weight off of me as he lowers my leg to the ground.
“Did you get my note?” I ask her, slowly sitting up.
Naomi still has on her pajamas, but she looks well rested.
“I’m with you on that. I sort of wish I hadn’t woken up to run either,” I admit. “I’m so freaking sore now.”
“Thus the stretching,” she says, finally connecting the dots.
“Yes, instead of the run loosening me up, it made me cramp,” I explain.
“Morning, Naomi,” Noah cuts in, standing and pulling me up off the ground in one fluid motion.
“Morning,” she says back.
“Come on. Let’s go get ready. Then, we can come down for breakfast and coffee.”
“Sounds good,” she says, turning around and walking back upstairs.
“Do you need to shower?” I ask her, trying to figure out the best plan. Because three people and one shower doesn’t exactly add up.
“I actually already did. So, just hair and makeup now,” she replies.
“Noah, do you mind if I shower first? I’ll be quick, I promise,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him.
He nods his head. “No worries.”
“Thanks.”
I rush into the bathroom, not wanting to leave Naomi alone for more of the morning. I rinse off my body and then run shampoo and conditioner through my hair like a madwoman.
But by the time that I’m back in my room, Naomi’s only brushed out her hair and turned on my curler.
“That was way quicker than I thought,” she says, eyeing me, stunned.
“I can be efficient when I want.” I shrug. “Besides, it’s more fun to get ready together.”
“I could do your hair,” she offers, her eyes brightening, and I instantly know she’d love to give me a full makeover.
“Uh, how about you do my hair this weekend?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Fine. But only if I can do your hair and makeup,” she barters.
“Deal.”
Naomi does her hair and makeup meticulously, but she’s surprisingly quick. And in no time, we’re headed back downstairs, fully dressed for school.
“Morning,” Gene greets, sitting at the kitchen table. He has the paper open to the crossword section.
“Morning.” I smile back, slipping past him to start our coffee.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Naomi says, extending out her hand to him.
“Sorry. Gene,” I say quickly, having totally forgotten my manners, “this is Naomi. Naomi, this is Mr. Williams.”
“You can call me Gene,” he says with a polite smile.
“Lovely to meet you,” Naomi says, taking a seat at the table.
I turn on the kettle and pour coffee into the French press. A few seconds later, Noah’s in the kitchen with us, his hair still wet from his shower.
“Naomi, do you like anything in particular for breakfast?” I ask, trying to figure out what to make. “We’ve got tons of bread and fruit and oatmeal too,” I say, mentally running through the breakfast foods.
“Have you ever had sautéed bananas?” Noah asks, cutting in.
“What do you mean, sautéed? Like, banana pancakes?”
“Those are the super-healthy ones, right?” Naomi asks.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Let me make you two something different today.” Noah looks at me through thick lashes, his head tilted to the side.
“Naomi, does the thought disgust you, or should we give it a try?” I ask, turning to look at her.
“I’m a light eater. So, why not?” she agrees.
“We do have toast,” Gene cuts in, looking a little disgusted at the idea of sautéed bananas.
“And jam?” Naomi asks, her eyes lighting up.
And I know that I’ve lost her. Gene gets up and puts more bread in the toaster as Noah cuts up bananas, throwing them into a pan with maple syrup, cinnamon, and water.
I watch the bananas caramelize as I pour both Naomi and myself a coffee. When I set them down onto the table, she’s already started eating her toast, which has a thick layer of butter and jam on it.
“This is such a relaxing morning,” Naomi says, taking a sip of her coffee, her eyes rolling back.
“That’s nice to hear,” Gene says, fully engaged in the conversation.
“My house is utter chaos. My little brothers run wild in the mornings. It’s like they wake up and have two bowls of sugar before anyone notices.”
Gene chuckles. “Children are like that. They’ve got unlimited energy.”
“Where do you think it goes?” I ask, sitting down at the table with them.
“You’re young,” Gene says, waving his hand in the air. “You’ve got that energy. I suppose, as you get older though, it moves inward, toward more mental pursuits.”
“Oh?” Naomi asks, intrigued.
Noah sits down at the table, bringing over the bowl of sautéed bananas.
“Yes, we old people take our youthful excitement and burrow it inside ourselves. I think we start believing that, as we age, it will slowly disappear.”
“That’s a little tragic,” Noah cuts in. He scoops out the bananas, putting some on everyone’s plates before loading down his own.
“It is. Though for special occasions, I think that energy seeps out. For example, when doing crosswords or reading a good book,” Gene says.
His eyes are sparkling, but his face remains unmoved.
“I see what you did there.” I laugh.
Because those are two of Gene’s favorite things. And they aren’t the most obvious choices when it comes to inducing energy and excitement.
Though for him, they probably do.
Noah’s lip pulls up, his cheek rising into a one-sided smile. It extends even further to his eye, causing it to crease at the corner.
“Well, what’s the verdict?” I ask, looking between Naomi and Noah, who have both tried the bananas. I poke mine with the fork, examining it.
“It’s really nice,” Naomi admits. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if it would remind me of baby food, but it doesn’t.”
“You’ll like it. I promise,” Noah says, watching me tentatively.
I take a bite, chewing the banana. And Noah’s right. It’s actually really good.
I take another bite, letting the caramelized maple syrup melt in my mouth.
“Wow,” I admit, looking up at him. “So, so good.”
“Ugh,” Gene says, a little disgusted, looking between the three of us. “The amount of sugar in that, it just can’t be healthy.”
Noah conceals a smile as he takes another bite.
I’m delicious.
Statistics
“Well, that was a different morning,” I say, sitting down in my chair in class. I let my backpack slip onto the floor next to me, not bothering to get out my textbook.
“It was,” Noah answers, but he seems distracted.
I watch him fumble with his tie like he’s about to undo it, but he just ends up pulling at his collar.
“You all right there?” I ask.
Because he looks uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” he says, rotating his neck. “But this shirt’s a little tight.”
“Undo it.”
Noah turns toward me, his lips falling into a flat line. “It’s against the dress code.”
“Come here,” I say, waving him toward me.
Noah sucks in his cheeks but finally leans closer. I put my hands onto his tie, lifting it up.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t answer him.
Instead, I loosen his tie, unbutton his collar, and then retighten the tie to hide it. “There,” I say, nodding my head.
Noah’s hand instantly comes up to his neck, patting across his tie down to his chest. “That is better,” he says with a look of surprise.
“I know.” I grin at him.
“I would have never thought of that,” he says, like he can’t believe I just came up with such a brilliant solution.
“I’m a problem
solver.” I shrug. “Anyway, how are you feeling?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how are you?”
“Good, thanks,” he replies easily.
“I’m trying to ask you how you are. Not how you’re doing. I can see that you’re good. But, like, how are you? How are you feeling? Are you stressed? Excited? See what I’m saying?”
“You want to know what I’m thinking,” Noah says, his eyes on me.
“Yeah, I do. Or, well, feeling.”
“About what?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. He brings his hands up to his tie, fussing with it again.
“About life,” I say, a little frustrated. Because this wasn’t supposed to be so hard. “Look, you’re not that great with change. And last night, I was thinking of how it has to be hard, having Mia gone. And that I’m here. And that I had a girl in our class sleep over. It’s a lot of different things to absorb.”
Noah looks over at me, his lip twitching. “You’re worried that I’m not happy with you?”
“I didn’t say that,” I reply, my eyes wide. “I definitely didn’t say that. I’m just asking how you’re doing.”
“You’re worried about me feeling overwhelmed?” His brown eyes flick up at mine.
I nod.
“You care a lot about me, don’t you?” he says, pulling his lip between his teeth.
“Noah,” I breathe out, wishing for once he would just answer my question.
I don’t want to go diving into our emotions and the psychology of why I asked what I asked or what it means.
I just wanted to check in on him, to know how he’s feeling.
That’s it.
“It wasn’t meant to be a big deal. I just asked a simple question. If you don’t want to answer it, fine.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling defensive.
“I like having you around,” he finally says. “I do miss Mia. But I wouldn’t change anything. Having you here is good.”
“So, I haven’t completely infiltrated every part of your life?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.
Because those are the words he used to describe me when I first got here.
I remember he was so upset.
Apparently, I was everywhere, single-handedly taking over every part of his life.
And he was kind of right.
“Of course you have,” he says, glancing over at me with a grin. “But I think I’ve gotten used to it.”
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