7. Seven
Seven
Lennon
“ A ny updates?”
I make my way to the rug sprawled over the wooden floors of my living room, sitting down with my almost empty second cup of coffee.
There was no way I could sit in here and watch Noah work, talking about fairies and cookies. He showed up wearing another one of his stupid knit sweaters, his glasses, and an expensive-looking watch. I damn near buckled at the knees.
“Well, you’re missing the part that keeps animals out,” he answers. “So, that would explain the noises you said you were hearing.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re bats. I’ve googled everything there is to know, but I’ve been too afraid to look.”
He turns around, an irritating smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And that’s why you’re making me do this?”
“First of all,” I start, “I’m not making you do anything. And second of all, yes.”
He huffs a laugh, bending down to grab the flashlight on the edge of the fireplace. I want to question his aversion to denim, and then I think better of it. Whatever he’s doing–it’s working. His ass looks great, and I begin to question why I believed it made him look too polished–too perfect–to begin with.
Noah flicks on the flashlight and crawls into the fireplace, pointing the light upward.
I set my mug on the rustic coffee table and lean forward to get a better look. “See anything?”
“No, I just–” There’s a pause. “Oh, shit.” He’s out of the fireplace in an instant.
“Oh, shit?” I ask just before hearing something flutter somewhere in the brick chimney.
Noah backs up, nearly tripping over me when I see it–the black thing flying out of my fireplace. “Oh, shit!” I yell as my stomach bottoms out. I’m running to the other room, vaguely aware of Noah swatting at the thing as it circles my living room.
I need to think–I need to do anything other than flee the premises and prove that I’m not cut out for the task I’ve taken on.
A cast-iron skillet sits on my stove, clean and at an adequate temperature for me to pick it up.
Frantically, I carry it into the living room and hand it to Noah, who is understandably yelling as he tries to do something with the creature now loose in my new home.
“Take this!” I yell, handing him the skillet.
“Goddamn it. Could you have picked a heavier piece of cookware?”
The room has descended into chaos, and my heart is pounding faster than the hooves of a horse at the Kentucky Derby.
“Want me to go back in the kitchen and find one?”
Noah grips the handle, keeping his eyes on the bat that’s now screeching. “Never mind,” he says. “Can you open a door? I’ll try to herd him out.”
I duck, trying to dodge the flutter of wings. “He’s not a cow!”
“Lennon!”
The assertiveness in his voice pushes me to action as I run to the mudroom, quickly opening the door while Noah swats at the thing–something the bat does not enjoy.
It flies down the hallway to the kitchen, both of us on its tail.
“The sliding door!” I yell, hoping he can herd the thing there.
Noah grunts, ducking behind the counter when the creature swoops lower. “A little busy,” he says before bouncing back up.
I race to the door, bumping my hip into the small breakfast table and knocking over a vase of flowers before grabbing the handle.
The slide of the door feels like hope just as Noah sprints in my direction, frying pan held high and brow furrowed.
He dodges the shards as the bat flies out, and I slam the sliding door, rattling the entire house before the dust finally settles.
Or glass, I should say, because the broken vase fragments litter the floor. The kitchen is a minefield, but at least there are no more bats flying around.
I look up, panting. “Was that the only one you saw in there?”
Noah places the pan on the floor, his hands on his knees, as he tries to catch his breath. “How am I supposed to know?” He looks up at the ceiling as if he’s praying to whatever god will listen. “Holy shit.”
My eyes flick to the blooming spot on his sweater, the darkened hue near his wrist.
“Are you–” I squint, making sure my vision isn’t failing me. “Noah, are you bleeding?”
He looks down. “What?”
Careful of the glass, I pad in my socks over to him, ripping the arm of his sweater higher until it’s pushed above his elbow. There, on his forearm, is a long scratch and two small dots.
“Oh my God, do you even feel that?” I’m careful not to press on it, wondering how he didn’t notice that the damn thing bit and scratched him.
“You know,” he says, his nose wrinkling. “Now that you mention it, that kind of stings.”
“We need to clean it. You probably have rabies or something.” I wince. “You probably need to be seen by a doctor.”
“First of all, I don’t have rabies.”
“That we know of,” I interrupt, one corner of my mouth lifting. My fingers are still on his arm, the heat settling into my bones.
“That we know of,” he says, matching my smile with one of his own. “Second of all, you’re probably right.” His smile falls, and there’s a brief pause. “And I feel sick.”
He sways a little, his face pale as I move to catch him, certain that if he goes down, I’ll be unsuccessful. “Yeah, okay,” I say in a rush. “Come on, Batman. Let’s go.”
“Why don’t I just drop you off at the front, and I’ll go park.”
I circle the parking lot again, desperate to find a spot. I don’t know if the lot is just small, or if mercury is in retrograde and that’s why everyone seems to be injured.
Either way, there are no spots save for the ones miles away from the door.
“Sure,” Noah says.
Save for Noah’s subtle pallor, nobody would suspect a bat had just flown from a chimney to bite his arm. He looks as if he might throw up.
I glance sidelong at him again, hoping that vomiting isn’t in his future. I don’t feel like cleaning out my car so soon. “You doing okay?” I ask, tone gentle.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s fine.” He clears his throat, resting his head on the back of the seat as I throw the car into park by the doors.
“Listen,” I start, turning to face him. The guilt is there–slowly simmering and reminding me I’m the one who asked him to help. “You don’t have to clean out the fireplace for me. I can hire someone.”
The small smile he cracks settles something in me. “You would hire someone besides me? I’m clearly the most qualified for the job. Great with chimneys, in fact.”
I laugh, realizing that despite the circumstances, I’m quite enjoying myself. Seeing him less polished–more relaxed–only serves to increase my interest. I might actually enjoy getting to know him–spending time with him.
“Bats probably complicate the situation. I’m sure you’re fantastic with chimneys, but I think it may be better if you stick to toilets from now on.”
Noah chuckles and gets out of the car, leaving me to navigate the parking lot of doom for another ten minutes before I settle on a very long walk to the front door as opposed to waiting for a spot to open up.
When I get into the ER, Noah is nowhere to be found.
I walk up to the desk. “Did Noah Ashwood already go back?”
“Excuse me?” The brunette looks up at me over a pair of quirky glasses–red and green–like a watermelon. “Can I ask your relation?”
Fuck.
They won’t let me in if I’m just a–
What am I even?
“His wife,” I answer as she runs a pale hand across her keyboard.
Oh God . I could have settled for cousin. What the fuck am I doing calling myself his wife in order to get into an Emergency Room with him?
His ride would have been a better description.
I swallow, my cheeks burning hot. No. Not his ride.
Without looking at me, she types something into the computer. “He just went back. I can have someone walk you, if you’d like.”
My foot taps nervously on the floor–keeping time with the rapid pace of my heart. I hate lying, but I’m in deep, so I might as well own it. “That would be great.” I glance around the waiting area. “The parking lot was really full for it to be so empty here.”
There’s one woman sitting in a chair across the room with her legs crossed and reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose. I strain my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what she’s reading before I’m interrupted by the receptionist again.
“It’s been pretty dead today.” She offers me her first smile, and it stretches across her face as if she’s trying it on for the first time. “Our parking garage is under construction. It moved everyone to this lot. I find it keeps some of the more–” She pauses, trying to find the right word. “Ridiculous cases away.”
The doors open, and she gestures toward the nurse waiting–a petite woman who looks much friendlier than the receptionist. “She can take you on back.”
When the receptionist explains who I am, calling me the wife of room 156, the nurse's face falls for a moment. Her dark eyes drag to me as a friendly smile returns to her face. “Right this way,” she says.
I walk just behind her–too nervous to make small talk for fear I’ll ruin my cover.
She gestures to the door, her warm brown skin glowing like the smile she wears. “You’re husband’s in here. Should be quick, considering what happened. We’re just waiting on the doctor.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying to match her tone and failing miserably. I crack the door open and poke my head in. “Hi,” I say, before glancing at the nurse behind me. “Honey,” I add–just for good measure.
Noah’s face twists into confusion.
The nurse clears her throat–her friendly demeanor turning uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you and your wife for a moment. The doctor should be in soon.”
“Yes, thank you!” The words come out in a rush–a desperate attempt to keep Noah from contradicting my lie.
I move to the chair next to the bed and chuckle. “Nice gown,” I say.
Sterile equipment and an overwhelming amount of white decorate the small room in the ER. The receptionist had been right, everything seems relatively quiet today. I tap a finger on the metal arm of the uncomfortable chair to burn off some energy.
He doesn’t smile. His brows furrow, and he leans in–lowering his voice. “Wife?” he questions.
“Shut up,” I respond. “They’re going to suspect something, and the receptionist asked my relation.” I wave a hand. “I had to think of something quickly.”
“Lennon–”
“I didn’t think they’d let me in!” My voice comes out defensive–loud–squeaky.
Noah laughs–the sound burrowing beneath my skin and soothing like a balm. I don’t normally question my actions this much, but something about how relaxed he’d been at my house–his proximity–it’s all working together to mess with my mind. “Of course they’d let you in,” he says, shaking his head.
I wince, glancing at the door before back at him. “I wasn’t taking any chances.” The fear of the doctor coming in grips me, and I scramble–convinced we need to be putting on a convincing show. The best way for me to get over any weirdness is to really lean into my decisions. “Act loving,” I demand.
Noah deadpans. “No.”
“Oh, come on.” I push back in the chair casually as a memory flashes, unbidden, in my mind. “It’s not like I’m asking you to casually make out with me.” I roll my eyes for emphasis, and there it is. The sting that returns. The reason, presumably, that I’ve become more nervous in his presence–less sure of myself.
Noah runs his tongue along his teeth before responding, and I can’t help but think about what it would be like–to kiss him. I bet he’d be good at it–an expert, really.
“I was flirting with the nurse,” he admits, and I laugh, tipping my head back.
“No, you were not!”
“It’s not funny.”
I smile then. “Yes, it is. That poor girl.” I can’t help the small thread of discomfort that rests heavily in the pit of my stomach. I’m just reminded of the rejection.
Noah will flirt with the nurse he just met while sitting in a hospital gown, looking equal parts hot and ridiculous. He throws himself at women–tons of them.
Not me.
I fight the urge to grimace. I’ve never been known as someone who cares–never let it show, at least, and I’m not about to start now.
“Well, you’ve ruined my chances,” he says, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.
“Oh, please.” I tap the arm of the chair, keeping a grin on my face. The sterile scent of the hospital doesn’t exactly say romance . It seems like the worst place to pick up a woman. “Your chances were already ruined.”