Chapter 18
Noah
I watch Colton for a moment without his knowing. He’s talking to Louise Harper at the front counter of her sandwich shop, a smile on his face. The same smile he wears anytime he’s talking to anyone and everyone who’s not me.
A flicker of something hot and tight curls in my chest, but I force the sensation away.
I’m long past letting Colton Darling hurt me in any fashion.
Pushing the door open, I step inside the shop. Colton’s gaze flicks in my direction, his smile slipping immediately. The expression that takes over his face isn’t the scowl I’m so used to seeing but something more…hesitant. Fearful, almost.
Does he think I’d share our little… secret around town? I’d never out him like that. But, of course, Colton doesn’t know the first thing about me.
“Louise,” I greet, giving the owner of the shop a smile as I step up to the counter beside Colton. She’s bagging up his sandwich.
“Well, hey there, Noah. How’ve you been?”
“Just fine, thanks. August and Benson doing all right?”
“My boys are healthy as horses,” Louise answers. She raises her voice to add, “Of course, it’d be nice if my oldest called every once in a while.”
I’m fairly certain Benson can’t hear his mother from across state lines, but I offer a sympathetic nod regardless.
“Auggie working today?” Colton asks.
The door to the back swings open, and August himself steps through, his hair, like Louise’s, unmistakably ginger. “I am,” he says, shooting Colton a quick smile before aiming a glare his mother’s way. “And we talked about shouting our family business inside the shop, remember?”
Louise pshts her son. “Colton and Noah are practically family.”
I raise a brow. I know Louise and her sons have always been close with the Darlings, and Remington and August are good friends. But me? I certainly don’t fit into the equation. Not the way Colton does.
“Uh-huh,” August says mildly, transferring some baguettes onto the sandwich-assembly counter. “Well, if it were your choice, you’d have everyone in town officially adopted, and then we’d be out of business.”
Louise cocks her head. “August, honey, what makes you think I wouldn’t charge family?”
August looks as if he’s trying not to roll his eyes, an indulgent smile on his face as he disappears through the swinging door at the back of the shop.
Louise passes Colton his sandwich. “That boy,” she says, sounding both fond and exasperated. “Such a pessimistic type. Now, you enjoy your lunch, Colton. Noah, what can I get for ya?”
Colton walks out of the shop without so much as a glance in my direction, and I relay my lunch order to Louise, my mind already on the rest of my afternoon. My schedule is packed, but I’m glad for it. It means business is good.
Idly, I wonder about Colton’s appointments for the day before dismissing the man outright. No need to be thinking about my competitor’s workload. Probably time I run another ad in the paper, though.
When I step outside, ready to get a move on, I come to a dead stop. Colton is standing a dozen feet away on the sidewalk, looking as if he’s waiting. For me .
“Yes?” I ask cautiously.
His eyes dart around, and I nearly laugh. If he’s going for sneaky, he’s failing rather spectacularly. I take a few steps closer as Colton licks his lips.
“Were you following me?” he asks, voice low.
My head rocks back, my incredulity surely showing on my face. “Really, Colt? You think I have nothing better to do than wait around until I spot you and—what?—trail in your wake so I can find out what your sandwich order is?”
Not that I need to. I already know it’s roast beef.
The man is criminally predictable.
Colton scowls, looking down at the ground, his hat hiding his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think that answer upset him.
Except hold up… Did it?
Did Colton… want me to be stalking him?
“Colt,” I say, taking another step closer. He bristles. I can see it in the way his shoulders tighten, even before his eyes flash back up to mine, defiance there.
“Don’t,” he says, tone hard. “I don’t want you around, King.”
“That so?” I say flatly, crossing my arms, my sandwich bag dangling from one hand. “Never would’ve guessed.”
If we were any younger, I’m positive Colton would stick out his tongue. As is, his lips purse, but he looks…off. Not his usual angry self where I’m concerned. And he’s still not leaving.
I take another step closer.
“Are you mad that I didn’t check in…after?” I ask, keeping my question vague for Colton’s benefit. No doubt he wouldn’t want me saying anything more revealing here, even with the sidewalk empty apart from us.
“What?” he sputters, blinking rapidly. “No, that’s not… No . I don’t want…that.”
“’Kay,” I say slowly.
He peers at me, cheeks flushed. “We’re not…” He flicks his hand through the air, not finishing his sentence, but he doesn’t need to.
No, we’re not anything.
“In that case,” I say evenly, “I have work to get to. Nice talking to you, as always.”
Colton doesn’t say anything as I turn to go. No snappy retort. No final word or parting growl. And that, more than anything, convinces me something is wrong.
I spin back, but Colton is already walking away.
Shit .
With a frustrated growl of my own, I turn and head toward my truck, trying my very best to put Colton out of my mind. The man doesn’t give a damn about me. So I don’t know why I even care if he’s not his usual scowling, chipper self.
I plunk down behind the wheel of my truck and groan, setting my sandwich on the seat beside me. I care because this isn’t business. It’s one thing for the man to hate me for doing my job and doing it well. It’s entirely another if he’s struggling because of whatever the fuck sparked off between us.
Not that there’s an us .
I curse every deity I can think of as I pull out my phone.
“Fuck,” I mutter aloud. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I send a text.
Me: It’s okay to admit you liked it.
If I know anything about Colton—which I’m frustrated to say I do—he won’t respond well to consideration. He’s already shown me as much.
Better to get his ire up a bit. Then he might let something slip.
His response doesn’t surprise me in the least.
Colt: I did like it. Just not you.
Well, don’t I feel the love.
Me: Keep talking like that, little Colt, and I’ll put you on your back the next time I see you.
He takes longer to respond this time. I check the clock, but if I eat while I drive, I’ll make my next appointment just fine.
Three pings come through rapid-fire.
Colt: There won’t be a next time.
Colt: And you can’t say shit like that.
Colt: Jesus.
A smile curls my lips.
Me: Would you rather I put you on your front instead?
I can practically hear Colton’s outrage, and I chuckle to myself. Am I an asshole for provoking him? Probably. But he still hasn’t told me to stop.
Colt: You’re such a dick.
Me: If you want my dick, Colt, baby, all you have to do is ask.
I freeze, staring at the text I just fired off. The fuck ? Baby? Really? I wish I could snatch the word back before Colton has a chance to see it, but it’s too late now.
At least it doesn’t mean anything. He has to know that.
My heart pounds as I start my truck, tossing my phone beside my sandwich on the passenger seat and cursing yet again.
Colton isn’t wrong about one thing. There shouldn’t be a next time.
The only problem with that is I’m not nearly done with the man. I want the pleasure of seeing Colton down on his knees. Want those scowling lips wrapped around my cock. I want to know if he’d let me fuck him. Want to witness him helpless and pinned, begging me for things he’s too scared to admit he wants in the light of day.
I want to ruin Colton goddamn Darling.
Thoroughly.
Irreversibly.
And then, maybe, I’ll be able to let go of this anger I’ve held on to for far too many years. It’s well past time I put Colton Darling behind me. For good.
I unwrap my sandwich once I hit the road out of town, the mountains stretching in my rearview. Their peaks are still white with snow that probably won’t melt until June, even though the ground down here is fully thawed, spring well underway and color sprouting from the dirt.
The memory of flower crowns flits through my head, the accompanying pang expected.
Walter said he wonders what his life would have been like had he not chosen such a solitary existence. Have I been doing the same? Not truly putting myself out there for fear of losing what I might gain, the same way I lost my parents?
They weren’t perfect, but who is? The important part is they always tried. They showed their love—to me, to each other—in little ways and big. And I took that for granted as a child, as, honestly, any child ought to be able to.
Admitting I want that for myself, to share love and life with another person, isn’t easy. But I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me desperate for what my parents had.
So why the fuck am I messing around with Colton Darling?
Why is it so hard to stop?
My phone finally pings as I’m turning onto the dirt drive for my next client. It’s an exercise in restraint not to check my messages right away. But I keep my hands on the wheel, navigating past the open metal gate and over potholes and muddy tire tracks. I get a couple waves from the farmhands as I park near the barn. Looks like they’re rounding up sheep for shearing.
As I’m reaching for my phone, it starts to ring. My pulse picks up, and I answer immediately, assuming it’s Colton.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Noah King?”
Disappointment hits at hearing the stranger’s voice, but I do a quick mental recalibration. Of course Colton isn’t calling. Why would he?
“That’s me,” I answer. “How can I help you?”
“I just got a horse from auction,” the guy says, sounding young, “and he’s got a bad shod. The other farrier…Darling? He can’t come until next week. Can you fix it sooner? I really don’t wanna let this horse loose until he’s got new shoes, but he’s getting real antsy in his stall.”
For the first time in— Christ —ever? I feel a twinge of guilt about the idea of grabbing a client out from under Colton. But this is business, and I’m available to help when Colton isn’t. So I put my personal feelings aside, confident Colton himself would have no problem whatsoever doing the same in my shoes, and answer.
“I can be there tomorrow afternoon if that works.”
“Oh, thank you,” he says around an exhale. “I’m Gabriel, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” I say with a chuckle. “All right, lemme just take down your address…”
Once I have Gabriel all set and on my calendar, I swipe over to my text thread with Colton. The last message I sent, goading Colton to ask for my dick, is still onscreen, that baby glaring at me. His response is simple and concise.
Colt: Never gonna happen, King.
I let out a slow breath. Now why the fuck does that feel like a challenge?
Work is waiting for me, and there are a million things I should be more focused on than feeding this preoccupation with Colton. But I can’t quite resist sending off one final text.
Me: We’ll see, little Colt.