26. Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
Noah
T he best part about Lennon’s kitchen cabinets is that the hardware is not covered in paint. I had little home renovation experience before this, but I’m happy to say that I skipped the bad landlord stage of the process.
The hardwood creaks behind me, and I turn around to find Lennon standing there in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Her Christmas-themed socks poke out from inside her winter boots, and I chuckle. “A little early for Santa socks, don’t you think?”
Lennon frowns. “By the time I finished my laundry, I didn’t feel like matching all the socks. These, for very obvious reasons, were already matched and in the drawer.”
My smile widens. “I’m sure nobody on the plane will even notice,” I say, my smile widening. I nod toward the cabinets, their new, dark green color contrasting with the white tiled backsplash. “It looks good,” I point out.
Lennon steps forward, wrapping her arms around my waist, and I pull her closer. “Yeah, I had some help.” She smirks, her green eyes bright as she looks up at me. “I’ve been sleeping with some guy in exchange for favors.”
I fake disgust before pulling her into my chest, my arms firmly wrapped around her shoulders. “Some guy is getting his hands on my girl?” I say. “How dare he.”
My girl .
My chest tightens. When I broke things off with Alexis, I had decided that I wasn’t cut out for relationships. I’ve been running ever since–throwing myself into frivolous encounters and my job. But after seeing Lennon in my parents’ house, watching how she fit in with this thing I’d imagined but given up on–
“He’s really quite good at what he does.” Lennon scoots backward to lift herself up onto the counter, pulling me forward until I stand between her legs.
“Yeah?” I ask, leaning forward, my lips just inches from hers.
She tugs at the collar of my sweatshirt, pulling me in until her lips meet mine. Her kiss is leisurely–exploring as if we have the rest of our lives to taste each other.
My hands tug at her hips, pulling her into me as my tongue traces the seam of her mouth. She whimpers, her hands tugging at my hair, my jeans–anything to get closer.
I break the kiss. “We’re going to miss our flight,” I say.
“You nervous?” Lennon tilts her head to the side, one corner of her mouth turned up.
“Are you? ” I ask.
She lets out a breath. “Yeah, actually.” Groaning, she hops off the counter. “Plus, Griffin is out of town, so Ellis is all sad even though she doesn’t want to admit it. I had ice cream delivered to her house last night when she was doing her weird complaining without really complaining thing.”
I chuckle. “Can’t she just hang out with Cass?”
“Well, yeah. But I’m a fucking catch. I don’t blame her for being sad in the absence of my presence.”
I kiss her temple before walking down the hall and picking up her bags at the door. Lennon follows. “You’re right,” I toss over my shoulder as we descend the very sturdy porch steps. “You are a catch.”
Lennon’s childhood home is much larger than I originally expected. The manicured lawn is apparent even through the dreary late fall season, and it matches the other houses on the street in a way that makes me positive these people are part of an HOA.
Based on what I know about Lennon’s father, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the president.
“Shit your pants yet?” Lennon asks, and I laugh.
“Not even a little.” I loop my hand through hers as we walk down the path to the house, our rental car parked in the driveway.
The mudroom is silent when we enter, the only sound is the blare of the television from a room over. When we follow the noise to the living room, nearly spotless save for the blond guy on the couch.
“Devon,” Lennon says, and he turns, a wide smile on his face.
“There she is! Thought you weren’t coming this year.” Devon stands, wrapping Lennon in a hug before his brown eyes flick to mine.
She pulls away, somewhat stiff. “I tried to get out of it.” When Lennon turns, she smirks, her shoulders visibly relaxing while Devon holds a hand out.“This is Noah,” she supplies.
“Lorelei said you were bringing a friend.” We clasp hands, shaking before separating. “Nice to meet you.”
“Boyfriend, actually,” Lennon corrects, and I can’t say I don’t like the word on her lips. I like it too much, in fact.
“Lennon’s given me the rundown on everyone. You’re married to her sister?” I glance around the room, noting the lack of family photos on the walls. In fact, the interior of the house matches the exterior. Somewhat cold, very much ready to be on the market at the drop of a hat.
It’s strange that Lennon said she spent her whole childhood in this house.
Someone walks in from behind us, and by her facial features alone, I can tell it’s Lennon’s sister. Lennon’s smattering of freckles are absent, but the red hair and bowed mouth give her away.
“You must be Noah!” she says, reaching out for a handshake. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was making some kind of business deal with these people.
“That’s me,” I say, and Lorelei tucks herself under Devon’s arm.
“Well, what do you know?” she starts, glancing between Lennon and me. “It turns out the English Professor traveling to meet the entire family in Minneapolis isn’t wildly out of the realm of possibilities .”
“Things change,” Lennon offers before looking back toward the door. “We should probably get our bags.”
When she turns, I follow Lennon until we walk out the door and into the brisk air. Popping the trunk to the rental car, I grab both her suitcase and mine. “Not so bad,” I say, before slamming the trunk closed.
Lennon leans against the side of the car. “ Those aren’t the people who raise my blood pressure.”
I step closer, both bags in hand, as I peer down into her eyes, searching for an ounce of the confidence I usually find there. I don’t want to see her light dimmed. “I bet I could raise your blood pressure if you gave me a chance.”
Lennon laughs, planting a kiss on my lips before retreating toward the house. “You are infuriating.”
“That’s not what I was talking about.”
When we re-enter, her mom is waiting in the mudroom to greet us, followed by Lennon’s father. I can’t help the way I’m judging everything about the guy. After hearing him on the phone–learning the things he’s said to Lennon, I find it hard to like him.
The button-up he wears sits smooth over his chest, starched and pressed so that no wrinkles remain. There’s nothing particularly warm about Mr. Yarrow, and I hate it.
“Lennon,” he says, and his tone sounds official–business-like.
“Dad, this is Noah. Noah, Dad. Glad that part is done.” Her body is rigid next to mine, and I hate the way it makes me feel. I reach for her hand, and despite it all, she takes it. Her dad’s eyes flick to our interlocked fingers.
“I thought you said you were bringing a friend?” he asks.
“Boyfriend,” Lennon corrects.
Her dad grunts, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “Pretty recent, I suppose.” He turns toward me, his cropped hair graying beneath the harsh lights of the mudroom. What fucking lightbulbs do they use in this house? “You like football, Noah?”
“Not particularly.”
Lennon tries to hold in a laugh, and it eases something inside me. “He’s more of a soccer guy,” she interjects.
Lennon’s dad places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing harder than necessary. “No worries,” he says. “Why don’t you come and watch some football with us while the girls catch up.”