Chapter 6
The following morning, Noah woke up to the sun stabbing through the window and right into his eyeballs. The stitches at his hairline itched like crazy, and his head pounded. Probably because he hadn’t slept well since the accident over a week ago now.
With a groan, he sat up and shoved his fingers through his hair to hold his head on to his neck.
On the floor lay Holmes. He didn’t lift his head, but watched Noah with forlorn eyes. Noah’s heart ached for the old guy. The death of Sassy Pants had been a blow to the whole family, but Holmes had taken it the hardest. “How about breakfast?”
Noah asked. “Scrambled eggs? Sorry I can’t add bacon. The vet told Katie it was bad for you. He also said you have to stop begging the neighbors for treats, which we know you’re still doing since you haven’t lost weight.”
Holmes huffed out a sigh and closed his eyes.
Noah’s heart cracked. “Okay, fine, if you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll use the fake butter spray in the egg pan.”
Holmes didn’t budge.
Noah squatted low and hugged his favorite old man. “I’m sorry.”
He caught a glimpse of the time and sucked in a breath. “What the—ten a.m.?”
He’d never slept past seven a day in his entire life, and even as he thought it, his phone buzzed an incoming call from his mom.
“Where are you?”
she asked.
Oh shit. He’d promised to go by the shop and pitch in today. Just the thought made him feel as trapped and claustrophobic as the time he’d gotten stuck in an elevator for six hours, but he knew his place in this family—back up his sister as needed, back up his mom as needed, while having no needs of his own.
How was it that no matter how far he took his life away from here, it still came back to him like a boomerang? “I’m sorry, I overslept. I’m getting ready now.”
“You never sleep in.”
Her voice softened. “Are you not feeling okay? Is it your head? The doctor said you’d be fine.”
“Yes, and you agreed, because I, and let me quote you, ‘have the hardest head on the planet.’?”
“Well, not the hardest,”
she said, affection creeping into her voice. “That honor belonged to your father. You take after him, you know.”
He hated to believe he was like his old man, but the truth was, the apple never fell far from the tree, no matter how much he’d like to think otherwise.
After three years, one would think it’d make the heart grow fonder, but the truth was, his dad had never forgiven him for even the smallest of transgressions, which was hard to forget. Aaaaaand it was far too early in the day to be dealing with emotional shit. “Give me twenty,”
he said, and staggered into a very hot shower.
He dressed in two seconds, his most immediate need being caffeine, and lots of it. Stepping out of the bathroom, he promptly tripped over Holmes. “Come on, buddy,”
he said. “I’ll let you ride shotgun.”
And then, in a hurry, Noah scooped him up—and nearly staggered under the weight, which he didn’t mention. Halfway down the stairs, he heard Olive on a call.
“It’s not about the beer,”
she was saying. “It’s about getting the locals into your bar and grill for the food and the beer, but wanting them to stay because they feel like they’re part of the establishment. You do that by, one, buying better chairs and, two, teaching them the ins and outs of brewing. You can hold competitions for homegrown, then have a party at the end where you name the winners. You can even offer a deal to sell first place’s beer for a limited run. Sell tickets to a lottery to give someone the chance to create a specialized beer that you put on your menu— Yes, I know it all sounds expensive, but if we do it right, with some press and social media blasts, you’ll have everyone in town showing up to be a part of things.”
Smart, Noah thought, turning the corner into the living room, stopping short at the sight of Olive sitting on the floor, using the coffee table as her desk while on a video call.
Without taking her eyes off the screen or stopping talking, she waved a hand at him out of view of the camera.
Message received. She’d like him to go far, far away.
So of course he didn’t. He couldn’t help it; she brought out the contrary in him. Always had.
“Name me one person in all your entire providence who doesn’t like beer or competing,”
she said. “Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
Noah grinned.
This earned him a second go-away wave.
Since he couldn’t think of a single time she’d ever done as he’d asked, he stayed where he was, still cradling Holmes like a baby. Mostly because, while being amused, Noah was also fascinated at the image she made. She’d always been a contradiction of terms. Cluelessly sexy and smart as hell. Silly and serious. Timid and stubborn.
And same as back then, he loved to watch her.
Holmes licked his chin, and Noah gently set the dog on the couch before turning back to Olive.
She’d created a whole setup behind her. Dragged some potted plants to frame the wall, all the lamps in the house placed in a semicircle at her sides for lighting, and presumably not in view of the laptop she was speaking to.
And that wasn’t the only smoke and mirrors she was pulling off. She’d done her hair and makeup and wore a silky forest green top, from the waist up looking so elegant and sophisticated, she could’ve walked right off a TV set. It was almost intimidating how good and put together she looked.
Almost.
Because as he walked by, carefully avoiding the camera, he caught sight of her baggy sweat bottoms and bare feet—although her sparkly deep blue pedicure and the delicate little silver ring around her second toe definitely belonged with her top half.
Business on top, party down under.
Laughing to himself, he moved toward the kitchen, winking at her when she glared at him. He filled Holmes’s bowl, then poured a coffee, added enough sugar and cream to turn the concoction into a dessert, and set it on Olive’s makeshift desk while still staying out of camera range.
She drank from it gratefully, or so he assumed since she never took her gaze off the laptop. He glanced at Holmes and stilled.
First of all, the old man was . . . smiling? And second of all, just between the dog’s front paws sat the tiniest gray-and-white kitten Noah had ever seen. The little thing had its eyes closed in ecstasy as Holmes cuddled it close. Noah couldn’t be positive at this distance, but he was pretty sure he could hear a very light rumble of a purr. “What the—”
Olive waved him away. On par. He headed back into the kitchen for a straight black coffee, then leaned in the doorway to stay for the rest of the Olive Show as he drank, taking a moment to text the family thread.
Either one of you got a kitten, or I’m seeing things.
Katie got back to him first.
Just how hard did you hit your head?
A moment later, his mom texted.
If she’s gray and white and precious, then it’s the stray Adele and I have been feeding. She’s been going back and forth between our houses. We’re calling her Pepper because she’s feisty. Don’t let her up on the furniture. Katie hates fur on the furniture. And WHAT’S TAKING YOU SO LONG TO GET HERE?
Noah looked at the kitten, indeed on the furniture, being cuddled by Holmes, who’d taken an interest in exactly nothing for months. The dog rubbed his huge head gently against Pepper’s cheek, while the kitten sat there, eyes closed, looking joyous. He texted his mom back.
Sure. No furniture. Got it.
His mom called him. “Seriously. Hurry up!”
“I’m hurrying.”
“Good. Oh, and I know I said I wouldn’t, but a woman named Misty is going to call you. I met her at the library. She’s single and sweet. Take her out. And before I forget, don’t touch the cookies I made last night. They’re for a bake sale and I don’t want to have to make another batch.”
Oh, he was going to eat the cookies. Every last one of them. And then possibly change his number and not tell a single soul. He took another look at Olive, who was smiling at her screen. Once upon a time, he’d considered her one of his closest friends. He’d cared about her, far more than had been good for either of them.
Now here they were all these years later and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze off her, looking and sounding a million miles away from the woman he’d known.
And yet still a million miles from who he was and what he wanted, which was no strings and, most especially, not love.
His phone vibrated an incoming call from a number he didn’t know. This happened occasionally, it was probably a work call. “Turner.”
“Uh, is this Noah?”
an unfamiliar woman’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh, hi. I’m Misty.”
Well, hell.
“Your mom suggested I give you a call. She said you were in town for a bit and looking for things to do . . .”
He turned to face the doorjamb he’d been leaning on and lightly banged his forehead against it a few times. “I’m so sorry, Misty. But I’m actually super busy with . . .”
With what, genius? “Work.”
“Your mom said that you’re off work, at least for the next few weeks . . .”
For good measure, he hit his head a few more times. Thanks, Mom. “Listen, she means well, and I’m sure you’re amazing, but the truth is, I’m not interested in dating right now. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She sounded amused, thankfully. “My mom insisted I call you as a favor to her friend. But if you don’t mind, it’d be great if you took the fall for the lack of a date happening.”
With a sigh, he went into the kitchen, grabbed the tin of cookies on the counter, and moved back to the doorway to dig in.
“Sounds good,”
Olive said, eyes on Noah. “But something’s come up and I’ve got to go— Yes, thank you.”
She disconnected and pulled out her earphones. “Do you happen to have a home remedy for Slow Death by Work Annoyance?”
He offered her the tin of cookies, chuckling when she took one for each hand, but waited until she’d eaten them both before asking, “Better?”
She nodded and gave him her fake smile. “Sure. Thanks.”
He lifted his free hand in a surrender gesture and turned to go.
“It’s just that this client . . . they’re Gen Z. I told them I was older than Google and they thought I was joking. And when I said I was serious, that anyone born before 1998 was older than Google, they were horrified at how old I must be.”
He turned back. “Well, you are thirty now, so—”
“Ha.”
She gestured for another cookie. “They said they didn’t want cheugy or high key. And I have zero idea what either of those things are.”
“Did you admit that?”
“Hell no.”
He let out a short laugh. “Cheugy’s something not on trend. And high key is the opposite of low key.”
“And you know this how?”
“You’re not the only one dealing with Gen Zers,”
he said. “I’m one of the oldest on my team.”
She laughed, and the sound did something to him. While he was still trying to understand what the hell that meant, she stood and stretched.
“Nice work uniform,” he said.
She looked down at herself and shrugged unapologetically. Another thing that was new. She used to worry about what people thought of her. Especially him. That wasn’t ego, it was just truth. He’d cared what she thought too. A whole hell of a lot.
“I got Joey to school for Katie, who’s at the hospital,”
Olive said, finishing her second cookie. “I thought I was alone in the house. In all the years I knew you, you never slept in. And did I just hear you turn down a date with a woman named . . . Misty?”
He grimaced. “My mom’s relentless.”
She snorted. “Poor Noah Turner, having to chase them off, just like in high school.”
“Hey, remember when I was your fake boyfriend? Maybe you could be my fake girlfriend. I mean, you do owe me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re way past the statute of limitations.”
She looked him over. “You look terrible.”
“Aw, thanks.”
“No,”
she said. “You’re squinting, you’re pale. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine.”
Every time she’d seen him, he’d had a ballcap on. Well, with the exception of when she’d caught him getting out of the shower, but she’d not been looking at his forehead then . . . In any case, he wasn’t wearing a ballcap now, just bedhead, and he knew his mistake the minute she headed right for him, not stopping until they were toe to toe. In her bare feet, she had to tilt her head back to see his face.
“It’s nothing—”
he started to say but lost all the air in his lungs when she reached up and ran a finger just beneath the line of stitches high on his forehead.
Her eyes, accusatory, flew to his. “Katie told me you were fine, but you’re favoring your leg, and you have stitches.”
He shrugged. “The head’s just a minor thing. I did sort of reinjure the leg, but it’s nothing.”
He held out the tin again. “More?”
She took another two cookies but couldn’t be sidetracked. “What else?”
“What else what?”
“What else is injured?”
When he didn’t answer right away, she let the silence stand. It was a tactic he’d used often on the job, a weighted silence designed to make the other person fill the empty air. He was absolutely not going to fall prey to it. Not even a little bit. “I’m fine,”
he said, and wanted to kick himself.
Her eyes, those stunning deep green eyes, never left his. “You never used to lie,”
she said. “About anything.”
“I’m fine.”
“Say it one more time and maybe I’ll believe you.”
He sighed. “It’s true. I’m not cleared for work yet, but I’m—”
He broke off when she raised a brow. “Getting there. Everything is healing on schedule.”
“And here?”
She put her hand on his chest, over his heart.
The genuine concern in her eyes brought him back to that long ago summer before the accident, when they’d been so close, and he forced a smile. “Worried about me, Oli?”
She stilled for a beat, while he did his best not to kick his own ass for using his old, affectionate nickname for her. His only excuse was that he was even more tired than he thought.
“Just because we’re . . . whatever we are, doesn’t mean I’ve ever stopped worrying about you,”
she said quietly.
He looked into her eyes, letting them tell him what she was really feeling. Wistfulness. Sorrow. Neither of which made sense. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
Her eyes skittered away. “What happened to leaving the past in the past?”
“Hard to do when the past is standing right here in front of me.”
And she wasn’t just standing there, she still had her hand on his chest. Plus, she smelled good, which was killing him. She was killing him. “What would your boyfriend think of you touching me?”
She yanked her hand back but didn’t speak.
Apparently, sometimes a silence could speak for itself.