Chapter Twenty-Five
NOAH
“Y eah mate, then you can ask her.”
Michael looks down as he takes in my advice. The poor guy is thoroughly overwhelmed, and I know he’s just trying to prove himself—to his father and to the woman he got pregnant—but someone had to slap a little sense into him. Proposing to her, especially when he thinks she’ll say no, is a crazy step. Sure, he means well, but it’ll do nothing but make a tension-filled situation worse. I feel bad being the one to break it to him, though.
Sullen, he mutters a thanks and a goodbye before scooping up the paperwork and leaving me alone in my office. The preparations for the hotel build are well underway, and although we’ve lost a good chunk of our grassy field the cellar door is as busy as ever. The sound of glasses clinking, children giggling and customers chatting drowns out the sound of excavators and men in hard hats shouting directions.
The actual job site is far enough away from the main building that we should be able to continue serving boozy brunches and decadent lunches even through the height of the build, but I’m cautious. I’ve had faux hedge backdrops made to block the view of the site and have a strict embargo in place so no work will take place on the days we have weddings or events booked. One couple had to change their ceremony location to ensure their photos won’t feature a background of heavy machinery, but thankfully the bride was as far from ‘zilla’ as they come. She understood completely and is now excited about being the first couple to get married by the small creek running along the lower perimeter of the property.
All that to say, things at the winery are continuing to go well.
Which is more than I can say about my personal life.
Amira was increasingly distant as last night wore on, and the only person talking on the drive home was Ella. She wouldn’t shut up about the bride’s brother. It would have had me grinding my molars if not for the distraction it provided. Ella was either blissfully unaware of the thin ice wall between Amira and I, or she was doing her best to avoid catastrophe.
We didn’t speak as we got ready for bed, and for the first time in weeks we fell asleep with our backs to one another. When I woke this morning, Amira had already left for her shift at the boutique.
I’d only planned to be at the winery for my meeting with Michael, but the thought of returning to Amira’s apartment is making my neck itch under the collar of my black business shirt. The thought of giving it all up and returning to my grandmother’s house—my house, I suppose—is even worse.
I’m stuck between one shitty situation and the next, and despite all the advice I had for Michael, I have no idea how to make it better.
Keep showing up. That’s what I told him. Show her with the little things and give her gentle reminders every day.
But none of that feels right for Amira. Our problems are entirely different because she’s not afraid of me letting her down. She’s afraid of doing that herself. And how the fuck am I meant to make her see we are worth the risk?
My computer screen starts to blur, and I rub my eyes with my thumbs. Damn things feel like they are getting worse. With a sigh, I try to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me. The timeline Michael and I went over for the build is straightforward enough, but now I have to calculate if it will disrupt sales through the busy summer season. We can keep the construction as separate as possible to the main area, but most people don’t want the steady beep of trucks reversing or droning of power tools in the background of their mid-week lunches.
No matter how hard I try to concentrate on the calculations on my computer screen, they continue to blur. Begrudgingly I pull my glasses back out of the drawer I stashed them in when Michael arrived. They’ve been helping, but I still feel awkward wearing them. Still hate the feeling of them sitting across the bridge of my nose.
Now though, they barely make a difference in my focus. The spreadsheet still bleeds into an unreadable mess because my mind is elsewhere.
I told Michael I know what it feels like when things go pear shaped, but it’s so much worse than that. I know because it’s happening, right now, with Amira. Hope is bleeding out of me faster than I can contain.
For weeks now—months even—I’ve been clinging to the thought that Amira and I could become something. But my grip is failing and it’s time to face the truth.
No matter how much I care, how many times I tell her the way I feel has nothing to do with her family, I can’t convince her it’s real. Or more specifically, I can’t convince her what she feels is real.
I thought she wanted to try, but I don’t think that anymore.
She doesn’t want to fall in love, and she never wants to get married. Nothing I can do or say will change that about her. And it would be unfair of me to keep pushing for those things.
My eyes begin to sting. I push my glasses up to press my fingertips into my eyes before any tears can fall. It’s not that bad, I’ve been madly in love with her when she didn’t feel the same once before. I can do it again. Knowing we were so close to being something still slices me open and leaves a throbbing pain behind my sternum.
I take a handful of long deep breaths, rapping my knuckles against the desk while I compose myself. As the squeezing in my chest begins to settle a lone tear escapes through my fingers and trickles down my cheek. It’s salty as it hits the corner of my mouth, and I bat it away.
“Boss?”
Fuck . The very last thing I need to add to all of this is my employee catching me crying at my desk. I pull my glasses back onto the bridge of my nose, hoping they hide any remnants of tears or puffiness.
“I heard knocking, thought you might have needed something?”
Finally looking up, I find Kylie’s head poking in through a small gap in the sliding doorway. Her hair is a few shades lighter than when she started, but she still sports the same red lipstick and long side braid. Since starting a few months ago, Kylie has hit the ground running and after fast becoming one of our best waitresses, I promoted her to the position I once pretended to have. She knows the wine menu back to front, always finds something to do during our quieter moments, and regularly picks up shifts whenever we need the extra help. We needed someone like her, and the events run a hell of a lot more smoothly with her at the helm. No more calling Cassidy at the last minute for a flower delivery, no more near double bookings we have to scramble to accommodate. She’s switched on more than I could be when I was juggling as much as I was.
“I was just … doing a breathing exercise.” I admit, figuring there’s no point trying to make up some other excuse for knocking. “Everything okay out there?”
“Yeah, all good. Most of the lunch crowd has left, we’re just cleaning everything to prep for dinner. Not too many bookings tonight, being a Sunday and all.” She pulls the door open a little more, hesitating before taking a step into the office. Once in the room, she closes the door, but remains standing.
“You can sit,” I offer, stretching a hand across the desk for her.
With a shy smile, she takes a seat, crossing her legs and holding her hands in her lap. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” Shit , I hadn’t meant to say it out loud and immediately try to back track. “Sorry, yes. With the winery, everything is fine. The build is underway and any disruption to normal trade should be minimal. It’s fine.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a but?”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. Not really the kind of stuff you talk to your employee about.”
“Something you talk to a friend about?”
“Yeah, something like that …” I trail off, because although she’s offering an ear if I need it, I still don’t think I should be dumping all my emotions onto her. We get along fine, but I’m still her boss. None of our conversations have gone beyond wine pairings or simple small talk.
“I know you’re my boss and all, but I’m here, yeah?”
I give a sharp nod and tap my knuckle against the desk. “Thanks Kylie.”
After Kylie left my office with a knowing scowl earlier, I’d begun to pack up, but the thought of returning back to Amira’s apartment held me back.
So, I sat in my office as the dinner guests began streaming in. I checked in with the kitchen crew and made an appearance as the cellar door team packed up for the day. I pottered around until every last guest had paid and left, and then I stayed to help clean up after what turned out to be a relatively busy evening.
Anything to delay going home and facing the harsh reality of dragging my suitcase back down all those damned stairs.
I keep the radio off the whole way home—although I should probably stop calling it that—letting the low rumble of tires fuse with the thumping in my ears until I’m not sure which is which. The lights in the stairwell are blinding through my hazy eyes, which only makes the inky darkness of the apartment more intense.
Kitch panics at the sound of me opening the door. She clatters as she jumps down from, I assume, her climbing tree and hides from the unknown danger. The inflatable Santa Amira set up on the balcony sends a soft white glow through the apartment, casting long shadows from every corner. Feeling my way along the hallway, I drop onto the couch. I kick my shoes off and twist my body to lay with my head on the armrest.
This weekend really went from good to worse, and I have no idea how to come back from here. Amira and I were making ground, and yes it was a rocky path for her, but I really thought we were trudging uphill. One night with her extended family and overbearing father and it feels like she’s been shoved down the path and tumbled all the way to the bottom again.
Realising there’s no threat, Kitch emerges from under the couch, leaping up to rest on top of me. Her gentle purring massages its way into my chest, easing a little of the sharp stabbing. I pet her, giving myself time to breathe and relax, even though it won’t do anything for my raging headache or hurt feelings.
I don’t know how to make Amira realise what we have is more than circumstantial.
Pulling the pillow from underneath my head I hold it over my face and scream. Not enough that any of the neighbours might worry, but just to get some of this frustration out. Kitch paws at my chest, nuzzling under the pillow I’m holding until her whiskers tickle my chin.
From across the room, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my jacket. Laziness tells me to ignore it, but an uneasy feeling washes over me. What if it’s Amira? What if something is wrong? She should be home from the boutique by now. I’d assumed she was just out with her cousin, since Ella’s missing too. But what if …
As the thoughts begin to scramble I leap from the couch and race to the dining table. My foot collects the leg of Amira’s favourite red chair, and I topple over it, throwing my arms out just in time to break my fall. Pain shoots through my wrist and I let it out with a shout. My phone vibrates again though, and my mind is fixated on worst-case scenarios, so I shake my wrist vigorously while reaching for my jacket with the other hand.
I find my phone at the same time the door to the apartment slams open. Hastily, I read the notification on the screen as hurried footsteps clatter down the hall. Scowling at myself for being so panicked over a stupid marketing text message, I throw my phone on the table.
“Noah?”
I laugh, the sound near maniacal as Cassidy drops down beside me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” I groan as I pull myself to stand.
From the kitchen, Callum throws me a bag of frozen peas. “Your wrist looks swollen already,” he states when I catch the bag and look at him with raised eyebrows. “And I don’t need to know what caused it.”
“I tripped.” The ice-cold bag feels good against my throbbing wrist. I sit in the chair that caused my doom, resting my arm on the table and holding the peas on the swelling bruise.
Cassidy sits opposite me, glancing between me and her boyfriend. Her eyes are narrow as she leans back in the chair and crosses her arms. “We were down this way for pasta and we … got distracted so came past Callum’s old apartment.”
“Nup.” I lean my head so my shoulder blocks one ear and stick a finger in the other. “I don’t want to know what that means. Please never elaborate.”
Joining us at the table, Callum moves a chair to sit as close to Cassidy as possible. The legs scrape along the floor but even the high-pitched screech can’t stop him from gazing at Cassidy like she is the brightest star in the sky.
I’m happy for my cousin, truly, but the last thing I need right now is such an open display of affection. I want to tell them my wrist is fine and send them back across the hall. And then I’m going to play the loudest club anthem playlist I can find just to make sure I don’t hear any of their ‘distractions’.
“We heard your moaning and thought someone had broken in,” Callum says.
I shake my head, but before I can graciously wave them away, Cassidy clears her throat. “Why are you here?”
“I …” I hesitate, because Cassidy is Amira’s best friend. Doesn’t she know? Didn’t Amira tell her? When the line between Cassidy’s brows grows thick, I suck in a deep breath. “I live here.”
“I thought …” Her voice is low and gravelly, but sharp like a punch until she cuts herself off by slapping her hand over her mouth.
Callum smirks. “For how long?”
“Almost two months.” It feels longer, and somehow it also feels like it’s only been a few days. Living here has become so natural I can’t imagine going back to my giant old house that has never felt like home.
“That’s not … never mind … why were you sitting in the dark?”
Shifting in his seat, Callum places a hand on her leg and it makes me want to gag. “I think you know why, Rogue.”
“Why?” I look between them, wondering if they know something I don’t.
“Have you spoken to Amira today?” I can practically see everything ticking over behind Cassidy’s eyes.
Standing, she flicks the switch so we are no longer sitting in Santa’s barely there glow. Now she can see me properly, I shake my head, dropping my gaze to the table.
“Oh,” she says as she sits back down. Her voice drops down an octave and she reaches across the table to press her hand against my arm. “Fuck that’s cold,” she yelps, pulling her hand away when it brushes against the bag of defrosting peas.
“It’s helping though.” Wincing, I flip it over, repositioning it on the section of my wrist that feels the most swollen.
“The bag, or not talking to Amira?”
Although she jests, there’s an undercurrent of care in Cassidy’s tone. One that reminds me just how fortunate I am to be as close to her as I am.
“I’m assuming she spoke to you though?”
Cassidy drops her head, shaking it slightly as she begins to play with the ring on her thumb. “I only found out today. Our shifts never line up because when one of us isn’t at the boutique the other one has to be. And now we don’t live together it’s … well it’s been really shit. I feel like a terrible friend for not knowing.” She squeezes her eyes shut as a small hiccup cuts her off. “And a terrible cousin.”
“Hey, I could have told you too. It just kind of happened. She asked for my help and what could I say but yes? So, I moved in.”
“Of course you moved in.”
Callum reels back. “What do you mean of course he moved in?”
“Noah’s been in love with Amira for years.”
“I’m not in—” I don’t finish the sentence, not when I know it’s a lie. Maybe I’d never quite put as many words on it, but there’s no denying I’m in love with Amira. It was the sole reason I’ve been so pliant every time she asks me for help. Every time the little tale grew bigger, I twisted myself around a little tighter. Hoping something real might come from it all.
And it nearly did. “Even if I had a selfish motive for going to the weddings and meeting her family and moving into this tiny apartment. It doesn’t matter. She made it clear what she wanted, and I shouldn’t have let myself get my hopes up.”
“Did she tell you what she wants?” Cassidy asks. Beside her, Callum fidgets in the chair.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, trying to force the word out through the pain. “She said it was all fake. Just a show for her family. She said all the rest didn’t matter because we wouldn’t be here without that lie as our starting point.”
Callum holds his hands in front of his face, palms out. “Do we want to know what the rest is?”
“No more than I want to know what you guys were so distracted by that you couldn’t last the extra ten-minute drive home.”
“Got it.” He claps his hands before reaching over to place them in Cassidy’s lap.
“It doesn’t matter now anyway. I freaked her out when I was talking to her father. Right when I thought we had a chance at being more, I scared her off with the thought.” Giving up on the ruined peas, I gingerly peel my hand out from under it and rub my wrist. “I wish I knew how to convince her we are worth more than what her family expects us to be, but she’s terrified of letting herself down. She built all these walls to keep her father out of her love life, but it feels like they are so tall I can’t scale them, and she won’t open the gate to let me in.”
Finally deciding Cassidy and Callum are no threat, Kitch emerges from under the couch. I watch as she weaves between their legs, ultimately deciding to paw at Callum’s calf. He freezes, staring down at her. “I’m not really a cat person,” he grunts.
Cassidy leans down to scoop Kitch onto her lap. The old cat doesn’t put up a fight like the last time they met, instead curling under Cassidy’s arm.
“I never thought she’d end up with a guy,” Cassidy muses as she strokes Kitch’s back. “She was always fighting against her father’s expectations to find a man and get married, I figured she’d counted it out so completely that when she finally found her person it would be a woman.”
“She didn’t think she would end up with anyone though. She joked that if she ever did, she hoped it was with a woman, just to rub it in her dad’s face, but she never thought it would happen. She rebelled against the idea for so long.”
“So now,” Callum says, leaning forward to drop his elbows on the table. “Not only has she found someone she can see herself spending her life with, but it’s a guy? She’s inadvertently proved her father right.”
“Oh.” I speak in unison with Cassidy as we realise Callum has well and truly nailed it. No wonder Amira is freaking out.
Shooing Kitch off her lap, Cassidy stands and places a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “Can I say something really on the nose?”
“What?”
“Talk. To. Her.” She claps with each word, punctuating her sentence by leaning over the table to poke me in the shoulder.
“For what it’s worth, I feel bad for telling you that once.” I glare at her and nod my head towards Callum. The irony is not lost on me how precisely the tables have turned. “And I’ve tried. But she closes up whenever we get remotely close to figuring out what we are.”
Callum stands too, and they end up arm in arm, staring at me across the table. “Do you think you need to not live together? Like, is that making it harder for her since she can’t get away?”
I go to rebut, wanting to explain away Callum’s reasoning, but I can’t. Not when deep down I know it’s the only solution here. “I don’t want to, but I haven’t been able to come up with any other ideas. Hence the dark.”
I don’t want to go back to living on my own, not when I’ve grown so accustomed to having people around when I get home from a long day at the winery. But the more the idea stews in my mind the more right it feels.
If I packed up all my things and went home, where would that leave us? Ella knows most of the truth anyway and given her own escapades I think we can trust her not to tell any of their family. Amira said fake is easy because the boundaries are clearly defined, but they’re not. They crisscross and squiggle their way across an invisible field and living together, sharing a bed, we’ve bounced our way between them so much that I don’t know where the goalposts are any more.
As Callum and Cassidy see themselves out, I head to the bedroom with every intention of pulling out my suitcase and beginning to pack my things. The bed is too appealing though. Amira’s plush purple sheets and fluffy hotel-esque pillows call my name. And my wrist still throbs. I couldn’t even get a suitcase down the stairs if I tried.
So, I strip down to my boxers and curl under the covers one last time.