5. Five
Five
Lennon
W hen the sound of gravel and the flash of headlights force me to look up from the puzzle sprawled across my living room floor, I make my way to the large window and watch Noah get out of his car.
“Who’s that?” Eloise asks from her spot on the ground. “Also, this puzzle has too many pieces.”
“Just someone who is going to fix the toilet, and I think it’s time we make some cookies anyway.”
Ellie pops up, knocking over the box on her way to join me by the window. She presses her nose to the glass, and we watch together as Noah strides to the door.
He’s dressed professionally–as always–looking like a dark academia wet dream. It’s insulting how he just walks around in trousers and a sweater, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and exposing toned forearms. Honestly, I’m trying like hell to find something–anything to dampen his appeal. The black hair styled lazily in combination with the glasses ? God, do I have a glasses fetish?
While I’m a little more curious about Noah Ashwood, considering he walks around looking like that , it still doesn’t change the fact that he ruined my date–no matter the reasoning. I’m set on digging my heels in and hating him a while longer.
When he knocks on the door, I turn to Ellie. “Why don’t you head to the kitchen? There’s a stool in the pantry, and we are going to need that.” I tap my chin, ignoring the second knock on the door. “Oh! We will also need the eggs. Do you think you can be super careful? It’s a big job.”
“Auntie Lennon, I’m almost six. I can carry eggs.” Rolling her eyes, Ellie skips down the hallway, leaving me to answer the door.
The brisk air floats in with the scent of his cologne. He smells like tobacco leaf and vanilla with a mix of rum. It’s exactly what you’d expect an English professor to smell like.
He fits the part. That’s for sure.
“Hey,” I say, my tone dead and my face flat. “Toilet first. I’m babysitting.”
His eyes widen. “Babysitting?” he questions.
“Ellis deserved a night off. Her aunt needed some help.” I shrug. “Eloise isn’t so bad. I kind of like her.”
“Auntie Lennon!” Eloise yells my name from the kitchen. “I just didn’t crack any eggs. I told you! I told you I can carry eggs.”
Noah fights off a grin, holding the strap of his leather bag. “Auntie Lennon.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve helped out.” I point at him–glaring. “Toilet.”
“Of course.” He strides around me–giving me another long drag of whatever intoxicating scent he’s wearing.
I absolutely must be ovulating. This is an insult to women.
“Where’s the bathroom?” His eyes scan the entire entryway, dress shoes scratching across the rustic wooden floors, before his eyes catch on the incomplete puzzle sprawled all over the hardwood in the next room over.
I shut the door behind me, rushing past him and leading him to the half-bath tucked in the hallway on the way to the kitchen, and as expected, little feet sprint toward me, Ellie’s grin contagious as she practically vibrates with excitement.
“Do you have any apples?” she asks.
I don’t look back at Noah, though Ellie glances his direction–just briefly. “Apples?” I question.
She stands on her toes, pointing to a tooth and wiggling it dramatically. “Mommy said when she was little, she lost her first tooth because of an apple.”
“And?” I tilt my head, encouraging her to continue.
She points harder at her mouth. “See! I have a tooth to get rid of.”
Noah clears his throat. “You could always tie a string to it. Tie the other end to a door and slam it shut. That thing will come right out.”
Ellie looks horrified, and I toss a glare over my shoulder. “What is wrong with you?”
“You’re just the toilet guy,” Ellie asserts, crossing her arms, and I’ve never felt more pride save for the moment I bought this house.
“Yeah, Noah. You’re just the toilet guy.”
I send her back into the kitchen, turning to show Mr. Toilet Guy exactly where he will be working for the better part of the evening.
Rude? Maybe.
But the idea of calling a plumber gives me a visceral reaction.
“There it is.” I point to the toilet, my tools still sprawled across the tiled floor. “Just one of many renovations I’ll be working on over the next few months.”
Noah drops his bag just outside the door before standing next to me and making me realize just how small this bathroom is. The urge to get away is strong.
I can’t be this close to him while under the influence of whatever cologne he has. “Fixed a lot of toilets in your day, Professor Ashwood?”
Noah smiles again, and for what it’s worth, his movements seem confident as he bends down to assess the damage. How tall is he again? He pulls on the handle, and absolutely nothing happens.
His lack of response is unsettling.“What did you think? I lied? I told you it doesn’t work.”
“I’ve never fixed a toilet,” he admits, and I blink, wondering if I heard him right.
“Then why are you here?”
Grabbing his phone out of his pocket, he unlocks it just to pull up the same fucking video I had been watching earlier.
Irritation zaps the horniness right out of me. I’m cured. “Fucking fantastic.”
“Should you be cursing while babysitting?” he questions.
“Should you be telling small children to yank their teeth from their mouths with string and slamming doors?” I bite back.
Noah shakes it off, standing and wiping his hands on his trousers. “To answer your question,” he begins, our height difference now way too apparent. It sends a little buzz through my body. Goddamn it. “I’m here to talk to a pretty girl, of course.”
I frown, and if a frown could be loud, mine sure as hell is. This cannot be happening. He probably wants in my pants, and I have a five-year-old in the kitchen getting into who knows the fuck what.
So, while I may also want that, I’m busy, and I’ve heard too many things about Professor Ashwood to allow something so disastrous to occur.
“You’re supposed to be here to fix a toilet,” I say, reminding myself that based on all descriptions of Noah’s extracurricular activities, he’s probably a petri dish for every STD on the market currently.
“I’m figuring that part out,” he responds.
I scoff, squeezing past him and making my way to the door, waving a hand.
“I already feel bamboozled.” And I certainly cannot stay in the same room as him. “I’ll leave you to it. Come find me when you’re done. We will be in the kitchen. Baking peanut butter cookies.”
I scramble away to find Ellie sitting on the counter, an open jar of peanut butter in her lap and a spoon caught in a death grip as she confidently eats from the jar.
“Well,” I start, gently taking the spoon from her hand. “This jar of peanut butter is now yours.”
“Does that mean I get to keep all of the cookies?”
I smile. “Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t dare offer these cookies to anyone else. They’re for you and you alone, my dear.”
She’s beaming, and I refrain from explaining that she just contaminated the entire batch by double dipping and claiming the peanut butter all to herself. I’m sure her aunt won’t mind. I’ll just send the batch home.
My mind drifts to the very real presence of a man in the other room, and I try to stay focused on my task–give the child overwhelming amounts of sugar and games–save Ellis from another late night before work.
It all proves near impossible with Noah under my possibly leaky roof. I’m just stressed. Old houses, brisk autumns, and shitty heating are getting to my brain and my ovaries.
“It flushes.”
I look up from where I sit on the couch, feet propped on an ottoman, giving me some distance from Noah. Ellie crashed after way too many cookies and a helping of chocolate milk before B stopped by to pick her up.
Needless to say, Noah’s toilet repair skills could use some work. If I were paying him by the hour, I’d believe he were intentionally screwing me over.
Not so. He just sucks at home repairs, but the toilet flushes, so I refuse to complain.
Thank fuck.
Neglecting to set my e-reader aside, I look back at the text on the screen. The male main character just called the female main character prissy , and somehow, someway, it read like a compliment. A very hot compliment.
Noah shifts his weight to the other foot, wringing his hands briefly before clearing his throat. “You said we could talk.”
I glance up. “Isn’t that what we are doing?”
Do I want more information about the cursed patio argument and the ruined romance I was living out in real time? Yes.
But what I want more is for Noah to work for it.
What it is, I don’t have the slightest clue.
Without another word, Noah drags himself from where he stood to the spot right next to me on the couch. The brown leather creaks when he leans back and props his feet up, making himself comfortable.
He glances at my book.
“What are you reading?”
I quickly press the lock button and throw the thing to the side as if that will save me. “You poke your nose in my love life, and now you’re out here sticking it in my hobbies? Could you be any worse?”
I swear he winces before a smile replaces the expression.
“I just want to know what you read for fun. If I were to guess, I’d bet on something violent. You don’t come across as one of your standard Pride and Prejudice women.”
I turn my nose up at him. “So what if I am?”
Noah raises his eyebrows. “I would be very surprised.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
Our faces are close–so close I can see the small lines at the corners of his eyes when his smile widens. I also watch them smooth out with that same smile drops from his lips. The soft lights of my new living room highlight the golden undertones of his skin. I can’t help staring at him. Noah Ashwood is objectively beautiful.
It’s ridiculous.
“You owe me an apology,” I say, hoping my tone sounds clipped.
“I do.” His words melt over me like warm caramel.
God . I need to get away from him.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head on the back of the couch, trying to retreat without making it obvious. I wince. “How did you know he was married?”
“Lennon.” I can hear the sympathy in his tone, and I don’t dare open my eyes. “It’s complicated. I know his wife.”
My brows furrow. I’ve heard plenty of stories about Noah, most of them through Ellis. I know how he spends his free time, and I know he is the direct inverse of Griffin.
The man can commit to nobody.
Realization dawns on me, and hot fury works its way up my throat. “Oh my God.” I finally open my eyes. I can’t believe I sat on this very couch convincing myself that Professor Ashwood could be anything more than an absolute rake.
I thought that learning to fix my toilet meant something. That an apology could mean something. I thought–
I stand up, placing the ottoman between us. “You slept with his wife, didn’t you?”
Noah chuckles, and I don’t know how he can remain so calm. “Technically, yes.”
Disgust burns like the fiery pits of hell.
“For fuck’s sake, do you have any morals at all? Here I thought you were coming to help me out as a way to make amends.” I’m pacing. It’s the only way to ease the anger.
“I was engaged to her, first,” he admits, and the room goes quiet—my thoughts right along with it.
I stop pacing, turning to face him fully with my hands on my hips. The entire conversation is giving me whiplash. “I beg your finest pardon? What is this? An episode of Jerry Springer?”
Noah runs his fingers through his already mussed hair. He’s no longer smiling, and I get the sense that I’ve made him uncomfortable. “I don’t really talk about this.”
I scoff. “You literally showed up here to talk.”
“Fine. Yes. You’re right.” He gestures for me to sit back down, but I can’t bring myself to move. Not until I have answers.
“While I was finishing up my doctorate, I was engaged for a brief time.” He looks embarrassed, and something about that tugs at whatever sympathy I can give. “I’d dated a girl, Alexis, all through high school. Close to graduation, my last one, I’d found a wallet on our nightstand.”
Shit. This is not the story I was expecting.
“Checked the driver’s license, and it did not belong to me or my fiancee. Long story short, they got married a year later. So, a little over three years ago.”
Oh my God. She cheated on him, and I went on a date with her now husband. I suppose karma has a way of making its rounds. “Ouch,” I say.
His dark eyes meet mine. “Yeah, ouch.” It almost seems like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t, and I’d hate to press for too much.
His confession explains his willingness to chase off my date last spring. In fact, Noah Ashwood was actually saving me from myself.
I still can’t help but wonder why he did it. It seems like this Alexis was getting what she deserved. No need to spare me. It was a first date. A damn good one, but that is neither here nor there. Especially now.
I wasn’t exactly emotionally attached to the guy.
“It would be rude of me to ask more questions, but I’m kind of wondering what the other details are here.” I lift a brow in challenge, and for what it’s worth, Noah doesn’t balk.
“Anxious to know more about me?” The corner of his mouth ticks up. “That’ll cost you,” he says, and his expression settles something in me.
I can only do so much serious conversation.
My eyes land on the cold fireplace across the room. It’ll make for a great addition to this front seating area in the wintertime. Hell, it would be great to have it up and running now, and I wonder if Professor Ashwood is as good at chasing bats as he is at fixing toilets.
I turn back to Noah. “You could fix my fireplace in exchange for another conversation. Hasn’t been usable in a while.”
He chuckles, and the sound burrows beneath my skin and makes its home there. “That sounds like you might be getting the better deal.”
Without warning, my lips tug up at one corner. “Maybe.”
“I’d love to fix your fireplace, Lennon.” He stands, rounding the ottoman until he stands directly in front of me, his gaze warm and inviting. “When would be a good time?”
That buzzing sensation returns, and I can’t keep my eyes off his mouth as I replay the way my name rolled off his tongue. “You’re going to actually fix it?” I ask. There has to be some kind of catch here.
Maybe Noah really wants in my pants. If not, this is incredibly odd behavior.
He may have just confessed some emotional trauma from his past, but the way he’s looking at me—
“Sure,” he says. The word rests between us, and it feels like an invitation. I can’t think with him this close to me–can’t think when he stares at me with his dark brown eyes or when he shows up out of nowhere fixing things and asking to talk to me.
The house is quiet as Noah remains motionless, neither of us moving, and I’m fully aware of how close we are standing. His eyes briefly flick to my mouth, and while the man seems to have some red flags–his promiscuity, his traumatic past, his lack of denim when it comes to pant choices–I can’t help but think red flags have all sorts of uses. For instance, they can mark holes in a round of putt-putt.
I do love putt-putt.
Damn. What has gotten into me?
“Make out with me.” The words leave my lips faster than my mind can keep up.
Noah’s eyes widen.
Awe shit. Shit. Shit.
“What?”
This train is quickly derailing, but I started it, and I’m willing to follow it all the way down. “I said make out with me.”
Noah swallows, his gaze resting on my bottom lip like he wants to drink it. Or maybe not, because the next word out of his mouth has embarrassment warming my cheeks.
“No,” he says.
I lift my chin, trying to hide my discomfort. “Why not?”
He blinks, looking almost as if he’s in pain. “For starters, weren’t you just babysitting a child?”
“She’s not here. I spent the better half of an hour making up stories about the house, then B picked her up. I figured you’d heard, but apparently not. So–”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. I just–”
I’m being rejected by a man who sleeps around more than a cat next to a window on a sunny day. This is quite literally the worst moment of my life.
“I can’t make out with you, Lennon.”
I’m certain I didn’t read him wrong. All the signs were there.
Weren’t they?
“Okay,” I say in response.
I turn on my heel, exiting the living room and plowing my way through the house to the bathroom. I will just make sure the toilet works and then dismiss him.
My mind is racing. I asked him after he confessed to me that he was engaged and she cheated . Could I be more of an asshole?
Normally, being an ass wouldn’t bother me. I’ve accepted my personality and all its faults. I’ve accepted the fact that I absolutely do not think before I speak, and that’s just how things go, but regret winds its way around my throat–making it tight.
My eyes sting, and I am thankful I hear his footsteps stop in the hallway. Thank fuck he didn’t follow me into this bathroom.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to check out the fireplace,” he says just before the front door clicks shut.
I take deep breaths, digging my nails into my palms. There is no way that man will be over again tomorrow, that’s for damn certain.