Chapter 36 Noah #2
“Yup. And that’s how War met Josie. He and Ava officially adopted her last year.”
“That’s so incredible.” She ducks her head and wipes at her cheeks. “I’ve met them a few times, but I never knew that story. Thanks for sharing it with me.”
“Of course.” I clear the emotion from my throat and squint at the pad in front of her. “So what kind of design are you thinking?”
She gives me a look that says Like you actually care.
The truth is I do. If Sienna is involved, then I’m interested.
Rather than tell her that—she won’t believe it anyway—I arch a brow and wait her out.
Eventually, she relents and turns the sketchpad around.
The woman she’s drawn is curvy, her dress cutting across one shoulder and tightening at the waist before flowing to the floor.
“This is one option.” She goes on to explain how the lines of the top and the way the dress is cut should accentuate her sister-in-law’s figure while drawing attention away from the parts of her body she doesn’t love.
Damn. Sometimes I forget how much effort women have to put into a night at a gala like this one.
And even before the woman slips the dress on, there’s another person designing it with her insecurities in mind.
She shows me a wrap dress next. This one has an oversized bow that ties at the waist. The shantung fabric, she explains, won’t show every dimple but rather hang elegantly, creating cleaner lines.
The shimmery shantung she has in mind would cause the dress to look deep purple from one angle, a deep magenta from another, and a deep pink from a third.
Honestly, that one sounds like a winner to me, but she’s not done. The next dress is a halter. The top is black, and the bottom is made with the same shantung fabric as the previous dress.
All are considered ball gowns, she explains, and her plan is to make all three so Liv can try them on and pick the one she likes best.
“So you cut the fabric and just sew it together?” I probably sound like an idiot, but this is my introduction to fashion. I guess I have a lot to learn.
Sienna laughs. “Yes. My friend Cat owns Jolie magazine. She has an entire crew of tailors on staff. I’ll give them the designs and the fabric, and we’ll work on it together.”
“That’s so cool.” The statement is pitiful, really. But I don’t have the words to describe how impressive she is. “I want to watch that. Bet a lot of other people would want to as well.”
She laughs again. “Yeah, it’s like someone could create a whole show about it.”
I drop my head back with a groan. Shit. I forgot. “I never watched.”
She bites her lip and nods. “I figured.”
But now I want to. God, I want to watch every second of it.
It should have been the first thing I did once I realized who she was.
“Bet you Ollie would love it.”
Her cheeks go pink. “Don’t force your son to watch my show. And don’t go thinking that you have to either.”
“Have to? Please. It’s the next best thing to having you on FaceTime.”
She ducks, hiding a smile. “Ready for the game tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’m also ready to get home.”
“Miss Ollie?”
My chest constricts. I miss you is what I want to say. But if I tell her that, I’ll scare her off. So I nod and leave it at that.
“How’s the hockey studying going?”
She shrugs. “I had a documentary on before you called. Figured I could listen while I worked.”
“You’ll be an expert by the end of the season.”
“Better be, or Ezra will have my head.” Her shoulders sink. “The dick had the audacity to ask me if I’d taken up nannying since I was hanging out with Ollie in Orlando.”
“Asshole,” I mutter through my teeth.
I’m a level-headed guy, and I’m always good with management, but Ezra has been an absolute prick to Sienna.
I’d be pissed that her brothers haven’t spoken up for her yet, but I have a feeling she has told them to keep their mouths shut. She wants to prove she can do this, and she thinks that means she has to handle everything without backup.
“Can I ask you something?”
Sienna laughs. “As my father always says, you just did.”
“What happened in Paris?”
Right before my eyes, all the joy drains from her expression and her shoulders tense. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Please,” I say, infusing as much sincerity into my voice as I can. “I want to know you. I’ve missed so much—”
Her eyes cut to mine aggressively, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to shut me down.
Before she can, I barrel on. “And a lot of that was my fault. I should have spoken up sooner. I would have if—”
I squeeze my eyes shut and roll my neck. I can’t find it in me to bring up what I saw the night I finally found her. The other guy doesn’t matter. Previous relationships don’t matter. It’s obviously over with him or she wouldn’t have let me touch her.
I clear my throat. “The point is, I should have been there for you. And I want to be now.”
Head lowered, she focuses on her drawing, though the pencil in her hand doesn’t move.
“They took everything,” she says so quietly it’s hard to make out the words.
“Everything I worked for, everything I am.” She looks up, pain and devastation swimming in her watery eyes.
“But they didn’t take this.” She nods at her drawing.
“I’m only now realizing that. I’ve been so angry that I couldn’t see what I still had. ”
My chest aches and my hands itch to hold her. “You’re incredibly talented.”
She gives me a tentative smile. “For most of my life, it was the only thing I was good at. But I’m finding new things, and I’m rediscovering my love for old ones.”
This time the words don’t feel so sad. And they don’t feel like they’re only about her career.
“I hope you do.”
With a shake of her head, she pulls her shoulders back, clearly ready to move on, and launches into a recap of the documentary she had on when I called.
That conversation evolves into one regarding the teams I’ve played for through the years, which morphs into a discussion about the places we’ve traveled and our favorite foods in each location.
When she yawns for the third time, I realize we’ve been on the phone for three hours.
“You should get some sleep,” I tell her as a yawn sneaks up on me too.
“Shit, you’ve got a game tomorrow.” She straightens and gathers her pencils into a neater pile. “I’m the worst owner ever, keeping you up all night.”
I bring the phone close to my face, ensuring she’s looking at me. “I’d fight the sun with you every night, butterfly.”
“Noah,” she chides, her attention darting away, like she can hide from me.
“Good night, Sienna.”
Two days later, that conversation runs on repeat in my head. And when we touch down in Boston, all I want is to see her.
I’m praying to the elevator gods as I step into the building, hoping the doors will open and she’ll be there.
Ollie FaceTimes me as I step out into the hall, so I deviate from the plan and unlock my door so I can talk to him about his day.
The whole time, I leave my door ajar, certain I’ll catch her coming home.
When that doesn’t pan out, and after I’ve said good night to my son, I stalk down the hall and knock on her door.
Screw serendipity. I’m making my own luck.