Chapter 8 Secrets Revealed
Secrets Revealed
Noah
I glanced at my phone once again to double-check the time before I knocked on the door.
Seven on the dot. My parents had instilled in me the absolute fact that neither lateness nor being early were socially acceptable.
Frankly, I was floored that my mom abhorred lateness—the woman did like to make an entrance—but I stopped trying to analyze them ages ago.
I hated that so many of their lessons were still internalized, but it was what it was.
I rang the doorbell, trying to clock the feeling shooting through me.
It wasn’t fear, not nerves, but… maybe… anticipation?
Was that it? I looked up at Jules as she opened the door.
Her brown hair was up in a messy pile on the top of her head with a few pieces escaping down her neck.
She looked cozy—that was the best way I could describe her.
She wasn’t dressed up and shouldn’t be for an impromptu meal at home.
Her loose cream sweatpants were topped with a matching sweatshirt.
She had on fuzzy socks, and I had a strong desire to curl up on a couch and pull her into my lap.
Like that was an appropriate thought. I worked to clear my mind.
“Hey,” Jules said, a flush working its way up her neck already. She stepped back, allowing me to come in. “Thanks for coming.”
“I feel like I invited myself,” I admitted as I stepped in, then followed her through her open living room into her kitchen, noting that I could see my place through her back windows.
I was surprised I hadn’t noticed her sometime over the past few weeks.
She said she’d moved to Highland Falls two weeks ago.
The Wilsons had lived in this house since I’d moved to town, but they’d headed to Florida four weeks ago to be closer to their son, who’d moved to somewhere on the Gulf.
It hadn’t even occurred to me to wonder who was now in their place.
“You absolutely did not,” Jules said as she opened the top of her Crock-Pot and stirred something inside.
Had she said it was chicken? Smelled awesome regardless. My mouth watered.
“I told you that you could stop by for your taxes, and you messaged to invite me to dinner. Not your fault I’d already started dinner.”
Something winding its way around my legs drew my attention. I looked down to see a gorgeous long-haired cat. He, or she, was mostly white with a touch of gray. When he looked up at me to vocalize his need for some attention, I was mesmerized by his blue eyes.
“Who is this?” I asked, bending to run my hand down his back.
Jules laughed from her spot in the kitchen. “O’Malley. He can’t handle not being doted on by all.”
“As he should be, gorgeous boy.” I placed the bag of drinks on the counter.
“At any rate, back to whether or not I was too pushy I’ll just say I’m grateful for the invite anyway.
” I paused, wondering if I should say anything or not.
Fuck it. “I felt like we got off on the wrong foot and wanted to make it up to you.”
Her head shot up from the Crock-Pot to meet my eyes. “What?”
O’Malley took off to hop up on the raised platform or couch thing off the kitchen.
I turned back to Jules and shrugged as I pulled cans out of the bag.
“I felt like you were pressured by Lou to do my taxes, and I know you felt bad about that even though it wasn’t on you.
Wanted you to know that I was happy to get to know you without her interference. ”
“Oh,” she said, her eyes going back to the contents of the Crock-Pot. “So you wanted to make sure we could be friends without my aunt setting up a playdate?”
Playdate. I coughed back a laugh at that comment while working to ignore the word friends and how it felt wrong somehow. It was all I had time for right now, so it would have to be fine. “Umm, sure.”
Jules’s eyes met mine, then looked to the cans I’d put on the counter, and she let out a small gasp of surprise. “You brought Shacksbury’s rosé cider? How did you know?”
I looked from the cans to her growing smile, the lightness in her eyes.
I could get addicted to making her react this way.
“I wish I could take credit for whatever I did here, but honestly, Ivy loves this stuff. I stock it at my place because it’s hard to find locally and I’ve grown to like it too. Wanted to see what you thought of it.”
Jules beamed at me as she gestured to the drinks with a relaxed vibe that I definitely hadn’t seen from her yet.
Was it because she was in her home? Because we’d met a few times?
“My best friend in Chicago is Kylie. We were just talking about when she could come down and she joked that I’d have to find this cider.
Once we found it last fall, we became obsessed with it, and I didn’t know if it was available here. ”
I shot her a wink. “I’ll have to let you know the secrets spots to buy it.”
A flush reached her cheeks, but she nodded. “Please do.”
I passed her a can as she grabbed two glasses for us. She poured the rosé in hers as I grabbed a beer, leaving her more of the rosé while making a mental note to pick up some for her when I restocked for Ivy. “Tell me about the goodness that is in your Crock-Pot, Jules.”
She took a sip and closed her eyes for a moment, savoring.
I took her in, thinking this was only the third time I’d seen her—the brewery, my backyard, now here.
The vibe that poured off her was welcoming and open, giving me a strong desire to get to know her better.
Yeah, friends would work. Something about her made me want to ensure she felt at ease when she was around me.
Jules put her glass down and then grabbed a spoon and turned to the pot I hadn’t noticed on the stove.
“Nothing too exciting, I promise,” she said as she lifted a lid and stirred.
“I love to make burrito bowls, you know, like Chipotle. I don’t know what they do, but for my version I make what I call salsa chicken in the Crock-Pot.
It’s just chicken, my mix of taco seasoning, a jar of salsa verde, and the juice of a lemon.
That does its thing all day, then you shred.
I put it on top of cilantro lime rice”—she pointed with her spoon at the pot she’d just stirred, then her spoon moved to point at another small pot—“and pinto beans. Top with guac.” Another gesture to a bowl on the counter near her fridge.
“Cheese and sour cream if you want.” She paused, biting her lip as she did some kind of mental inventory before she added, “I think I have lettuce too if you like.”
I watched as she moved around her kitchen, pointing out all the food like it was nothing, but to me it was more.
I knew she hadn’t made this with me in mind, but it wasn’t as if my parents ever cooked a meal for me.
Hell, they often couldn’t even be bothered to be home for dinner.
Luckily, for most of my childhood they’d employed Mary.
She’d made up where they lacked. But having Jules make me a meal felt nice even if it hadn’t been planned. “This is awesome, Jules.”
She moved from one thing to another, light on her feet as O’Malley wound around her legs in a dance they were clearly practiced in. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she murmured as she met my gaze.
“It is to me. Let’s just say my parents weren’t the type to nurture through food or otherwise, so besides the staff my parents paid while I was growing up and Ivy once we were in college, no one has made a meal for me.”
I grew up lonely, eating on my own while they were at one function or another, feeling fine to leave me with the staff as they went about their lives, unburdened by their only child.
I’m sure if I thought about it for any time, I could point to that as to why I wanted to spend every moment with Addie that I could because I hadn’t had that.
Hell, a good therapist could absolutely point a clear connection to my rushed decision to upend my life and head back here to be with Addie when I realized she was going to grow up without me as a support system much like I had with my parents.
I’d been born to privilege but had missed out on a lot and couldn’t have my own child experience the same.
I didn’t think that desire was all that unique though.
Doesn’t everyone want to do better than what had been done to them?
I realized Jules hadn’t said anything as my brain had taken me down memory lane.
Too deep for our third time meeting? Maybe.
I wasn’t a big fan of small talk, preferring to actually get into deep conversations, but I knew not everyone was the same.
Maybe I needed to steer us back to some lightness?
“At any rate, the bowls sound delicious. How can I help?”
She was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Noah. I want to know more about these parents that didn’t cook for you, but I’m currently starving. Bowl assembly and then get into it?”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
An hour later, after we’d eaten an amazing dinner with O’Malley visiting us on his own timetable, then heading off on his own once again, we’d shared the bare bones of our childhoods.
Jules knew that I didn’t have contact with my parents, and I could never measure up to their beliefs in what I should have been.
I knew her parents were kind but absent-minded and that her mom had a flair for the dramatic.
I was wandering her living room while she got her kitchen in order just behind me.
I’d tried to help, but she’d insisted she wanted to box up lunches for the week and then was going to let the rest of the dishes soak.
The past two hours had flown by as I found that we had a startling number of similarities, from the little TV we did watch, to music, to a fondness of concerts at small venues, to the fact that we both loved nonfancy food: tacos, pizza, burgers being the favorites.
And while I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t attracted to the woman, I could easily see a friendship developing. For now that was more important.
Browsing her bookshelves on a far wall, I noted that she had a mixture of what looked like cozy fiction, some mysteries, a lot of romance, and a plethora of what appeared to be books about writing.
Interesting. I wondered if she wanted to write something or if they were left over from some class she’d taken in undergrad.
I picked up a book with a green cover that was book one in a series called Sleepy Valley.
Checking out the shelf, it seemed Jules had several in this series by an author named Jules Jenkins.
I flipped over the book to read the description on the back.
Something dropping pulled my attention back to the present, and I looked up see Jules standing a few feet away, her phone at her feet.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked, looking from her phone to her face, which wasn’t flushed at all but paler than looked normal. She seemed frozen. “Jules?”
She looked at the book in my hand, then back to me. “Umm.” She cleared her throat and seemed to sway on her feet.
I took a few steps toward her, then gently tugged her toward her couch, pushing her to sit before she fell.
I scanned the area for her water, saw it on the island and headed across the small space to grab it, then moved back to her before she could speak.
I sat down on the opposite corner of the couch from her and turned to face her.
“Jules, you good? Feeling off?” She’d been fine moments ago; I wasn’t sure what changed.
Then I noted that her horrified expression seemed to be focused on the book in my hands.
I looked at it again, then back to her. “Is there something wrong with this book?” I asked quietly, not wanting to spook her but at a loss as to what was going on.
Jules looked up from the book to meet my eyes, her own watery. Well, this was a hell of a way to end what had been a great evening, making the woman cry. I put the book down between us, wondering what I had done but not wanting to do anything more to hurt her.
She took a deep breath and seemed to gather strength from some internal well before reaching out to take the novel in her hands, gripping it tightly.
“Noah, I know we don’t know each other well, but I need to tell you something because the universe is clearly giving me some signs today that this secret needs to come out.
” Her gaze drifted away from me to the windows as she spoke, as if whatever she had to say was too much if she was looking at me.
I noted internally that Ivy would be a big fan of Jules listening to the universe but didn’t speak so she could have her space to figure out what she wanted to say.
She took her time, relaxing her grip to allow her finger to almost reverently run over the author’s name on the cover.
When she did it again, I took a second glance at it.
Jules Jenkins. I met Jules’s gaze once more and then snagged on the author’s first name. Jules.
I met her anxious but determined expression. “Um, do you know this author?” I asked as gently as I could, my gut telling me the answer before she could speak.
She took a deep breath, then gave me a slow nod before whispering, “You could say that. She’s me.”