CHAPTER 7. Noah #2
I stop and force myself to look at him. His expression is careful, guarded in a way that makes my heart ache. There’s no trace of last night in it, no sign of the man who pressed me against the wall and kissed me until I forgot how to think. He just looks worried.
“Of course,” I lie. “Everything’s fine.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can see that in the faint crease between his brows. But he nods anyway, letting me have the lie.
“Okay,” he says. “If that changes, I’m here.”
The simple offer tightens my throat. I nod too fast and turn away, climbing the steps to the cottage before I burst into tears or do something equally embarrassing.
Inside, the smell of coffee and eggs fills the air. Maya is already at the table talking with Dad, and Mom is just setting down a plate of cut fruit. They all look up when we walk in, and I force a smile onto my face.
“Good morning, everyone,” I say, hearing a chorus of replies as I cross the room to give Dad a quick hug. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
“Thanks, son,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “Nice to see you up early. It’s beautiful out there.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, though my head is somewhere else entirely.
Connor steps forward and offers my father his hand. “Happy birthday, sir.”
Dad waves off the handshake and pulls him into a brief hug instead. “Thank you, Connor. And for God’s sake, call me Daniel.”
Connor smiles, but there’s something tight in his expression, a tension that wasn’t there yesterday. I don’t know if anyone else notices it, or if I’m just too aware of him now.
“Where are Brad and Maria?” I ask, mostly to fill the silence as I pour myself coffee from the carafe on the counter.
“They’re still asleep, I think,” Mom says. “They didn’t call it a night until three in the morning.”
“They were really drunk,” Maya says with a chuckle, buttering her toast. Then she looks up at me. “Where are Rick and Cassidy?”
I cringe inside.
“They’re sleeping in,” Connor says smoothly, saving me from having to answer.
“Right,” Maya says, probably taking that as code for them being hungover.
“What do you boys want for breakfast?” Mom asks, already moving toward the stove. “The cooks made scrambled eggs, omelets, and oatmeal.”
“I’ll have scrambled eggs, thank you, Caroline,” Connor says.
Mom smiles at him, then turns to me. “Noah?”
“I’m not really hungry,” I say, taking a seat at the far end of the table.
“Nonsense,” Mom says, her tone sharpening. “At least have some eggs.”
I sigh, with zero energy to argue. “Okay. Thanks.”
Connor pours himself coffee too, then sits down beside me, but shifts his chair a few inches away, careful to leave space between us. The distance feels painfully deliberate.
Dad and Maya start debating how many eggs you’d actually need to eat to get forty grams of protein at breakfast while Mom sets a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me and another in front of Connor.
The sight of food makes my stomach turn, but I pick up my fork anyway and push the yellow heap around without taking a bite.
Connor starts eating too, though without much enthusiasm, and he’s so quiet all of a sudden that I can’t stop wondering if it’s because of what happened between us last night.
Is this what it’s going to be like now? Weird and strained every time we’re in the same room?
What if he already wants out, but feels too guilty to back out after promising to help me?
Connor catches my eye and gives me a questioning look, and that’s when I realize I’ve been staring at him.
I look away so fast it’s almost violent, and that’s when I catch Mom watching us, suspicion building in her eyes.
I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she steps back, her mouth flattening with concern.
She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to my moods, and I can tell she’s onto something.
“Is everything alright, Noah, sweetie?” she asks, her voice a little too casual.
I stab at my eggs without looking up. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”
She goes silent for a moment.
“You boys seem quiet this morning,” she says a beat later, topping off her coffee. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” I say too quickly, a trace of irritation slipping through. “I’m just tired.”
Mom lets out a sigh—the kind that says she doesn’t believe me, only hasn’t decided yet how hard she wants to push. “Alright, sweetheart. If you say so.”
I force myself to take a bite of eggs, but they taste like nothing. All I can think about is Connor sitting beside me, stiff and withdrawn. My stomach turns, and I set my fork back down.
There’s another pause, but not for long.
“Did you sleep okay?” Mom asks, still not letting it go. “Those beds are too soft.”
“The bed was fine,” I mutter.
“Very comfortable,” Connor adds, though without much enthusiasm.
Mom nods, but keeps watching us, still not satisfied with our answers. Something’s off, and Caroline Caldwell has never met a personal boundary she didn’t want to bulldoze in the name of maternal concern.
“You know,” she says, sliding into the chair next to Connor, “when Noah’s father and I started getting serious, we fought all the time. Little things, stupid things. But we always talked them through.”
Beside me, Connor goes still, clearly uncomfortable. I just sit there, feeling my frustration start to climb.
“Mom,” I say with barely contained annoyance, “nobody’s fighting.”
“I’m just saying,” she goes on, like I didn’t speak, “it’s perfectly normal for couples to have disagreements. Especially when you’re still getting to know each other.”
Dad looks away from whatever he and Maya were talking about and turns to Mom. “Caroline, leave the boys alone. If they say it’s fine, it’s fine.”
Mom huffs. “I’m just trying to help. Noah is clearly in a bad mood, and Connor’s quiet too.”
I let out a groan and press my fingers to my temples, trying to stave off the headache building behind my eyes.
“We’re not fighting,” Connor says, his voice soft. “It’s just an early morning after too much wine, right, Noah?”
Well. That’s a painfully honest way of putting it, all things considered.
“Yup,” I say, as a dull throb begins to spread through my head.
Dad chuckles. “Yeah, there was definitely too much wine last night.”
Mom studies us for another second, then nods and gets up, obviously not buying it. She heads into the kitchen area to switch on the electric kettle. Knowing her, I can tell she’s just trying to keep herself busy so she doesn’t say what she’s actually thinking.
Dad seems to catch that too and gets up after her, subtle about it but clearly picking up on her mood. The second they’re both out of earshot, Maya looks between Connor and me.
“You two are being weird,” she says bluntly. “Did you actually fight or something?”
“Not you too, Maya,” I say, glaring at her.
“Sorry.” She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “Just checking.”
Connor’s knee bumps mine under the table—an accident, I think at first, until the faint pressure stays there.
It’s so slight I almost convince myself I imagined it, but when I glance at him, there’s something in his eyes.
Concern, maybe. Or apology. Whatever it is, the knot in my chest loosens a little.
A few minutes later, Dad comes back to the table. “The Scotts want to go kayaking this afternoon,” he says. “Weather’s supposed to be perfect—sunny, but not too hot. How about we all go?”
“Sounds good to me,” Maya says.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, barely listening.
Maya arches an eyebrow at me. “Weren’t you and Connor planning to go hiking?”
I completely forgot about that, but the idea of hiking alone with Connor after last night suddenly feels painfully awkward.
“We were,” Connor says, and I think I hear the slightest edge in his voice.
I shrug, avoiding his gaze. “It’s fine. We can go kayaking with everyone instead.”
There’s a pause before Connor says, “Actually, I could use some fresh air. Maybe we could do a short hike and join everyone for swimming and hot tubs later?”
I look at him, and there’s something soft in his eyes. His expression doesn’t give much away, but the pressure of his knee against mine increases for a second before easing away.
Right. He wants to talk to me in private.
I cringe a little, already imagining how that conversation might go.
“Yeah, cool,” I say, while my heart kicks hard against my ribs.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Mom says, coming back from the kitchen looking visibly more relaxed. “The ridge trail must have lovely views in the morning. You could take some beautiful pictures too.”
I don’t argue, because a small stab of sympathy hits me all at once. She’s probably not trying to be annoying. She’s just scared I’m going to die alone. Which, honestly, I probably will, but that’s a problem for future Noah.
Breakfast drags after that, but my mood lifts just enough that I manage some eggs and fruit, and when I get up for more coffee, I refill Connor’s mug too.
By the time he sets his empty cup down and suggests we head out for our hike, I’m quick to agree, and Mom immediately insists on packing us water bottles and protein bars for the trail.
The moment we step outside, I feel like I can breathe again. The air has warmed a little, but it’s still crisp, carrying the smell of pine and damp grass. Connor walks beside me with his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Sorry about Mom,” I say once we’re far enough from the house. “She can be a lot.”
Connor shrugs. “It’s okay. I think she’s just worried.”
I nod, my stomach twisting at the cool neutrality in his voice.
“Is that the ridge trail?” he asks, pointing toward a narrow path in the distance that disappears into the trees.
I shrug. “Probably.” Honestly, I’m so wound up I don’t really care.
Connor nods. “Alright, let’s go.”