by Melissa West
Taking a long breath, I told myself to calm down, these were just feelings. Nothing serious. And this was a meal, nothing more. Something I’d done with tons of guys before Noah.
But as I glanced over at him while he talked to his little brother, with the most genuine smile I’d ever seen on his face, I thought maybe there were no guys quite like Noah. Which brought on a fresh wave of nerves, because while I felt an amazing connection to him, I knew I shouldn’t. Distance aside, there could be no worse match for me than Noah Hunter.
Plus, he left that night without even a good-bye, and though he’d said he was sorry, there had to be a reason he could leave so easily. He’d also agreed it was just a one-time thing. But then he’d said he thought about the night, said it consumed him. Consumed him! Didn’t that mean something?
I cursed myself. Why do I care?
I eyed him again, my body warming even though he wasn’t touching me, and regardless of what I told myself, I couldn’t deny that I had feelings for him. My whole life I’d followed the path my parents wanted for me. Even in choosing the Met, it was an easy, respectable option. Every guy I’d ever dated had been a successful businessman, lawyer, or med student.
But now, I was here in Cricket Creek, helping plan a wedding and pining over a bartender. My father would die. Nothing about this matched what I’d always wanted for my life, and yet…I’d never felt happier.
“You have a nice smile.”
My gaze dropped to Jonah, walking between Noah and I. “Why, thank you. You do, too.”
His face lit. “Sierra once said she liked the way I smiled.”
“Sierra?”
At that, the boy seemed to realize what he had said. “No one.”
We reached the parking lot of the bar, and Noah went to the passenger side of the Jeep, opened the door, and helped Jonah into the back.
“I can sit back there if you’d like.”
Noah turned toward me. “I don’t think so. I want you beside me.”
My heart stilled, and I started to smile, when he added. “I don’t trust a woman in my space unless I can see her.”
“Hey!” I pushed his chest, and he laughed.
“Just calling it like I see it. Put you back there and there’s no telling what you’ll find.” He winked and nodded to the passenger seat. I slipped inside and had to repress a sigh. A scent that could only be defined as Noah washed over me, all soapy nature—just the way my sheets had smelled the morning after he left. It was pure man, and I found myself wishing I could bottle the stuff so I could smell it again and go back to that night.
“You okay?”
“Me?”
“Your eyes were closed.”
I glanced over at him, and if not for the darkening sky, he would have been able to see the blush on my face. “No, they weren’t. I was blinking.”
“For several long seconds?” he joked. As he started the Jeep and backed up, a Beatles song filled the air.
“What? A girl can’t blink for too long in your presence?”
“If that’s what you were doing.”
“It was.”
He shrugged and bit his lip as he peered over, fighting a smile, and God if it wasn’t the most adorable thing I’d ever seen in my life. “Whatever you say, City.”
Needing a distraction, I pointed at the radio. “Beatles, huh?”
“Let me guess? You’re a Lady Gaga kind of girl.”
“Please.”
“Really now? Okay, I’m listening.”
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t listen to music, and avoid the look I was sure to get the moment I confessed the truth.
“I’m waiting, here.”
“God, you’re pushy.”
“Don’t say God.”
I cringed and peered over my shoulder at Jonah. “Sorry about that.”
“You should apologize to God.”
Noah’s grin could have brightened the night sky. “Yeah, Grace, you should apologize to God.”
I glared at him, then tried a sweet smile at Jonah, but he was still staring at me, waiting for my apology. I closed my eyes and put my hands together in a classic prayer pose, then bowed my head to them. “Dear God, I apologize for saying God. Amen.” I peeked at Jonah. “Was that okay?”
“You could pray to him, too, if you wanted.”
I opened my mouth to reply, when Noah saved me. “Remember, little man, prayer’s a personal thing. I bet Grace prays all the time. Don’t you, City?”
“Absolutely.”
“What do you pray about?” Jonah asked.
“Um…world peace?”
Noah broke into fits, and I shoved him again. “Hey, I can pray about whatever I like.”
“You’re right, you can.” Then he peered at me again. “And sometimes if we’re lucky, those prayers are answered.”
I swallowed hard, unsure what to make of a statement like that. Did he mean me? Or was that just one of those blanket statements people made?
But before I could dwell on it, he cleared his throat and focused back on the road. “So, music preference?”
“Oh, that again.”
“Are you really refusing to tell me?”
“That depends. Are you going to laugh?”
“I make no promises.”
“Then you can forget me telling you.”
He tossed a hand. “Fine. I’m hooked now. I need to know.”
I released a long breath and peeked at him. “No laughing.”
“No laughing.”
“All right…I like country.”
A laugh broke from his lips, before he caught it and tried to swallow it back in a fake cough. “Country.”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Like what kind?”
I shrugged. “Mostly newer stuff. Sam Hunt, Georgia-Florida Line. Chris Stapleton. I like ‘Tennessee Whiskey.’”
Noah went silent as he turned left down a long gravel road and pulled into a carport, then shut off the ignition. “‘Tennessee Whiskey.’” The words were almost more to him than me. “You know, every time I think I have you figured out, you throw something at me and I’m lost all over again. You fascinate me.”
He stepped out, and I did the same before he could come around and I would be forced to be close to him again. I wasn’t sure I could keep myself from leaning in closer, so eager to test if these tiny comments were a sign that he was as drawn to me as I was him, or if they meant nothing. Maybe Noah talked this way to everyone.
I helped Jonah out of the Jeep and reached inside for his backpack so I could hand it to him. But when I turned around to pass it over, Noah stood there instead, his focus trained lower, clearly checking out my assets.
I bit my lip. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Slowly, he glanced up and took a step toward me, like he couldn’t help himself. Another step and his warm breath hit my face, his hand gliding over mine, sending a surge of tingles from my hand to my toes. I tilted my head up, half expecting—okay, one hundred percent hoping for—a kiss, but instead he took the backpack from my hand. “Thanks.” Then he stepped back and motioned to the house. “After you.”
For a moment, I could only blink in response, my body too keyed up for me to do anything but make a fool of myself, my mind too fuzzy to speak. If I spoke, I’d confess every thought I had about him, all of them inappropriate for Jonah’s ears. I needed to stamp out this crush, fast, before I accidentally handed over my heart for good.
As though he could sense the change, Noah stopped at the door into the house from the carport, his brother already inside, and turned around, his arms outstretched to grasp the doorjamb, showing off all those muscles that had held me so closely just weeks before. Weeks. Was that right?
“Has it really been weeks since our night?” I asked.
“Our night?”
A tinge of embarrassment worked through me, but with the dark as my veil, I didn’t feel the need to fake like it never happened, like
we were strangers, when to me we were so much more.
“That’s how I refer to it. You know, in my head.”
“I like it.”
My gaze flicked to his. “Has it been weeks? It feels like…”
His eyes held mine. “Days.”
“Noah, can we talk about—”
“What are y’all doing out here?” Jonah ducked under his brother’s arm. “Dinner’s ready, right? I’m starving, and the Braves are on in a few. Can we eat in front of the TV?”
“No.”
“But the Braves are on.”
“Table or you don’t eat.” Parental Noah took shape before me, and I wondered again how a relationship would work between us, when we were at such different points in our lives.
Jonah groaned, and I offered him an apologetic smile, before he disappeared back inside.
“And hey, set the table,” Noah called. “We have a guest.”
My chest warmed as he looked back over at me, full of silly feelings that I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t seem to turn them off. “Now it’s my turn to tell you not to laugh. I did the Crock-Pot thing for the sauce. We always get home late from Jonah’s practice, so this saves some time. I just need to boil the noodles.”
I tried not to laugh and failed. “You have a Crock-Pot?”
“Come on, everyone who’s anyone has a Crock-Pot.”
“Is that right?” I followed him inside, careful to stay close enough to inhale that faint all-Noah smell. “You’ll have to show me how these magical appliances work.”
“Let me guess. You’ve never cooked a day in your life. Have your own cook and all, huh?” He started to laugh, until he caught the look on my face. “Shit. You have a cook.”
I tried to shrug it off, but I could feel the unspoken questions hitting me, one after another, so instead of trying to deny it, I dove headfirst into the truth.
“I had a cook, a nanny, a butler. A chauffeur. Now ask me which one I saw more often, my cook, or my father. Ask which one remembered my birthday. Ask which came to the hospital when I had my tonsils removed.”
To avoid the pity oozing from him, I walked past the mudroom off the carport and immediately into the kitchen, where the most delicious smell hit my nose, causing my stomach to rumble. “Wow, that smells amazing.”
Noah entered the kitchen, grabbed a box of noodles, and went to work boiling water on the stovetop. “My mom’s recipe.”
I nodded, unsure how to reply, and focused instead on the rest of the house, so I wouldn’t risk asking questions that he wouldn’t want to answer.
The house itself boasted an open floor plan, with the family room directly off the kitchen and a small dining area between the two, with a table that had a bench on one side and two chairs on the other. There was no formal dining room that I could see, and I would have bet I was the first “guest” they’d had recently. Maybe ever. It made me wonder if this had been Noah’s parents’ house, left to him after they died, or if he bought it himself later. I suspected the latter. From the stone fireplace with a giant TV over it to the neutral wall colors and basic, almost rustic general decor, the house felt as though a woman had never lived in it. Certainly not a mother. Then again, Noah could have painted, remodeled, or removed all the things that reminded him of the home where his folks had once lived and raised him.
“You’re thinking again.”
I smiled a little. “I’m one of those people who never stops.”
“And what are you thinking right now?”
I opened my mouth, ready to tread carefully into the topic of his parents, when Jonah appeared from a hallway to my left. “Time to eat?”
“You still need to set the table,” Noah said, as he dumped the noodles into the boiling water and went over to stir the sauce in the Crock-Pot
“I can set it, let Jonah rest after his practice.”
“You don’t know where anything is. Jonah can do it.”
I smirked. “So little faith. Let the master give you a lesson.” I stepped back into the kitchen, taking in the stainless appliances and distressed-wood cabinets. Everything had a custom-built feel to it. “Did you put these in?” I asked as I ran a hand over the cement countertops.
“He built the whole house,” Jonah said with obvious pride. “The whole thing.”
I turned around to look at Noah. “Seriously?”
“Well, I had help. I didn’t do it on my own.”
“He drew the plans and everything.”
“Impressive.”
Noah shrugged it off like everything else. “You know what they say about necessity.”
“No, I can’t say I do.” Still trying to make this new side of Noah fit in my mind, I went over to the cabinets beside the refrigerator and opened them. Sure enough, the plates were all stacked neatly inside.
He stepped up behind me, then reached around to help grab the plates. “Necessity is the mother of invention. You do what you have to do, figure out what you don’t know.” His arm brushed mine, and I thought about how this explained all those rock hard muscles that felt so earned instead of simply made in a gym.
“So you built a house.”
“We needed something…different. But nothing too big, and budget was a thing. Always a thing. I used to draw a lot, so I started checking out floor plans, but nothing felt right.”
“So you created your own?” I couldn’t keep the awe from my voice. Few people in my life were true doers. My father would have hired someone to draw the plans, then fired said person if they weren’t exactly as he’d envisioned.
“Necessity.” Noah placed the plates on the table and then set the spaghetti in the center. “Did you wash up?” he asked Jonah, who sighed heavily before rushing back down the hall.
“His nightmares were worse in our old house, so I needed something new. Something with no memories.” It was then I noticed how uncomfortable Noah was acting, and I wondered if he ever spoke about the difficulties of raising Jonah, knowing he would never fully fill the gap in the boy’s heart from losing his parents.
“I’ve never met anyone like you.”
Instead of responding, he scooped out a mound of spaghetti and plopped it on my plate. “I forgot the bread. I always forget the bread.”
“I don’t really eat it, so it’s fine.”
“Too high in calories to maintain your figure?” he teased, his mood lighter.
“My mother used to tell me that bread equaled cellulite. She never allowed it in our house. I guess some things stick.”
“It sounds like things were intense at your house.”
I thought back to my upbringing, and though there were times where I wished I could be someone else, live more freely, my parents gave me a great life. “Define ‘intense.’ I can’t complain. My friend Lauren will be the first to tell you that there are children in villages in Africa who would kill for my life. People in the world without water, without shelter. I’ve never wanted for anything.”
“Except love.”
I glanced up.
Noah finished making his plate and sat down across from me. “Seems that’s a pretty big thing to live without, if you ask me.”
Jonah returned, saving me from responding. Because Noah was right. I’d never thought about it that way, never spoke of love, but I could count on one hand the number of times in my life that my father had said he loved me. And though my mother said it often, the words were spoken in passing, no care in her tone, no depth. Twenty-four years old, and I was just realizing the horrible truth—my parents didn’t love me. At least not in a real, tangible way.
I sucked in a breath, and Noah peered over. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Thankfully, Jonah was a talker and soon set in to telling me all about his world. Baseball practices and games, how he hurt his arm, Boy Scouts, and how close he was to getting a new patch. Finally, we finished eating, and he asked if he could go watch the rest of the game before bed. Noah agreed and started cleaning off th
e table.
“His arm—that’s why I had to leave you that night. He fell, and I had to go. He needed me.”
The care in his voice made me wish I could wrap my arms around him, tell him that I forgave him, that it didn’t matter now. “I see that. You’re great with him. I can clean up if you want to go watch the game.” I grabbed two plates and started for the sink, my heart heavy over this boy losing his parents, this man filling a role that should never be his responsibility.
“Lindy told you about my parents.”
I turned back to face him. “What makes you think that?”
“You keep looking at Jonah like he’s an orphan. But he’s not. He has me.”
“I know that, but what about you? When are you going to start living your life? I mean, this house is amazing. You could be an architect.”
“This is my life. For the next ten years, Jonah’s all that matters to me. His life, his future.”
“Of course, and I think that’s wonderful of you. But what about your life? Your future?”
“What about it?”
I set the plates on the sink and went back to grab more, unsure if I should keep talking. He took care of Jonah, and clearly did an amazing job, but who looked out for Noah? Had anyone ever asked him what he wanted for his life? Someone should.
“It just seems a little…”
“What?” Noah stopped cleaning and faced me, his expression unreadable.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s probably not my place, but…”
“Just say it.”
“Sad. It just seems sad. Don’t you want more?”
“I learned a long time ago that wanting more gets you nowhere. It’s best to find contentment where you are. Appreciate what you have.”
My over-opinionated mouth spoke before I could order it to remain shut. “You can appreciate what you have and still strive for more. It’s not a slap at your life to want more for yourself.”
Immediately, Noah’s face hardened. “What exactly do you feel is so wrong with my life? You’ve known me, what, three weeks? And of that you’ve been around me all of three days. Suddenly you’re an expert on what I want?”