Chapter 15
Lily
It’s just past noon when I hear the door open.
“It’s just me!” Noah tosses through the door.
After breakfast and after I paid her, Ms. Sullivan returned to her chair to read while I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen—never said I was an organized cook.
I also threw my clothes from yesterday in the wash, along with a few of Ms. Sullivan’s items that needed washed.
From what I gather, the cleaning lady that comes once a week also tackles the laundry, but I figured since I was tossing only a couple items in anyway, it would be a good idea to get a full load’s worth.
Especially since most of my clothes are in the back seat of my car.
Which is why, when Noah strides into the living room, I’m grateful to see him.
“What are you doing here?” his mom asks.
“Took half the day off work so I could take Lily to check on her car in the shop.”
I slap the three-year-old Cosmopolitan magazine I’m flipping through closed and toss it beside me on the loveseat. “I didn’t ask you to do that. You didn’t have to do that.”
I cross my arms and stand as he comes in to sit on the couch next to me. He smirks as our roles reverse, but it falls immediately when he notices my shirt. His shirt.
He blinks, then stammers, “We need a diagnosis on your car. I’m sure you have the diner to get back and forth to.”
I cringe. Yep. I do. Luckily, I don’t have to work for the next two days, but if my car is in the shop for longer, or if it’s too expensive to fix it, I don’t know what my plan will be.
“Want to go?” Noah asks, peering up at me. The light from the wide sliding glass doors to the left of the couch hits his eyelashes. They’re longer than I realized …
What the hell? It’s ridiculous to be mesmerized by a man’s eyelashes, but there’s something about how he asks, “want to go?” that softens his face.
Angry with myself, I snap back. “No.”
He leans back, spreading his arms over the back of the loveseat, seemingly unfazed, and I wish I could reach out and slap my tone down a few notches.
“I mean … no, I don’t want to, but I have to. I need to grab some clothes and things out of my car.”
I need to do more than that, though. I need to check in with Mitch and pick up my paycheck if I have any hope of paying for this tow and the work being done to my car. Whatever that work may be.
“We should go then,” Noah says, standing to look at his mom who’s sitting there with a smug look on her face. “Need anything, Mom?”
She shakes her head.
“We’ll be back in a bit.”
“Take your time, I’ve got to finish this book.” She raises the book from her lap, the corner pulling the knit blanket with it, and Noah scrunches his nose at the cover.
I follow Noah into the kitchen, but pause, moving to the cabinet to grab a glass to fill with water. I add some ice from the freezer and march straight back into the living room to leave the water on the table next to Ms. Sullivan. She eyes me suspiciously, yet I shrug.
I don’t say anything as I turn to leave and put my still-dirt-caked boots on by the front door. Noah watches me, eyes flicking toward the living room.
By the time my boots are on, Noah has the front door open, and we make our way down the steppingstones. How Ms. Sullivan gets down these for doctor’s appointments is beyond me. Or better yet, how does Noah get her down these steps?
I follow Noah, his typical uniform replaced by dark wash jeans and a plain-long sleeve shirt the color of slate rock.
His broad shoulders stretch the fabric, the material pulling just enough to garner my attention.
Each step he takes, his muscles shift subtly, and it’s almost unfair how every line and contour is highlighted in the high-noon sun.
Max barks from the back of the truck, and I roll my eyes. A sly smile creeps into the corner of my mouth when his nose sticks out the cracked window, sniffing and licking the air.
“So how did you sleep last night?” Noah asks.
“Fine.” I don’t mention the episode in the shower, nor do I admit how easily I sank into the dip of his body imprint, how it anchored me through the panic. That would be awkward.
“That good, huh?”
I stare after him, and when he reaches the passenger door, he opens it for me.
Normally, I’d fight him on the whole chivalrous gesture, but honestly, I’m exhausted from little sleep and making deals with Ms. Sullivan this morning.
So, I hop in, instantly earning myself a sniff from Max, whose tail won’t stop its constant thumping against the seat.
I turn toward him, and he looks at me with those warm, liquid brown eyes, wide and intensely staring at me—he’s impossible to ignore.
“Hello to you, too,” I say, as Noah walks around the front of the truck toward the driver’s side.
He’s distracted by something that came through on his phone, so I raise my hand and offer Max an under-the-chin scratch. It’s quick, but his eyebrows arch slightly, his expression cutting through any resolve that I have to remain “not a dog person.”
“Don’t give me that look.”
The door opens and Noah climbs in, dropping his phone into one of the cupholders.
Max nuzzles his shoulder, and Noah gives him a couple of pats to the top of his head. “All right, Max. Platz.”
He whines but spins around and lies down.
“Figured we’d start at the mechanic shop and go from there. You good with that?”
I nod as Noah starts the truck and backs out of the driveway.
The drive into town isn’t too far, but those first five minutes of silence are brutal. Max pants in the back seat, and I focus on the passing scenery. However, my thoughts oscillate between the man next to me and his mother back home. I worry my lip.
Am I expected to take care of her? I should’ve never taken Noah up on this offer. I’m used to staying in my car—I don’t need any handouts. Though, the bed last night was heavenly once I finally fell asleep.
“What do I need to know for your mom? I’m not a nurse or anything.” The words blurt out of my mouth. My mom always said I had half the conversation in my head before actually saying anything out loud.
Noah takes his eyes off the road briefly to study me.
“Just being there helps. Knowing she isn’t alone in that house all day, every day.
Encourage her to take her medicine in the morning, and if you don’t mind checking each evening to make sure all her pills for the day are gone.
Help yourself to anything in the fridge, and if you make something see if she’s willing to eat with you.
I’ll make sure a nurse comes by once a week to check in on her oxygen and vitals—I don’t expect you to do any of that. ”
I internally snort remembering this morning’s omelet and medicine negotiations.
“Thank you.”
My head snaps to him, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, fisting the wheel.
“Thank you for being willing to stay with her. I know it’s probably the last thing you want to be doing, and I don’t expect you to stay locked away in the house for her sake.
Go hiking, out with friends, er … datesorwhatever.
” He strings those last few words together so fast, he bulldozes past them.
“Fortunately, I don’t have any friends, nor do I date, so hiking and work would be about the only things I’d pop out for. If my car was actually functional.”
“Not interested in getting to know some people around Pinebrook?” Noah curiously glances at me, eyes flicking over my face as if he’s gauging my expression.
Why does he care?
“I’m not exactly dating material,” I say.
I don’t look like the girls men usually gravitate toward.
I’m not exactly the kind of woman they want to bring home to meet their mom.
I spend my days content to wander the wild and drown in my own words.
Dyed hair and a nose ring aren’t what parents want for their sons.
Besides, it’s not just my outside that disqualifies me, it’s the ugly, dirty inside.
“I find that hard to believe.”
Squinting, I try to find the joke in there somewhere, but his expression is eager, unwavering, and his gaze is soft. Does he mean that? Because …
“Believe it.”
Noah only shakes his head before turning onto a side street I recognize as one of the many that crosses with Main Street.
A garage-like building comes into view on the left, utilitarian and rough looking if the graffitied doors are any indication.
Its weathered metal facade shows streaks of grime and rust …
or maybe that’s grease? The artwork obscures dented large roll-up doors, and above the entrance, a cracked sign is so faded I can barely make out the word Tommy’s.
I glance at Noah to find him already looking at me with a sorry, but that’s all we got kind of look, and silently hope this guy isn’t a hack mechanic and I’ll find my car in a million pieces.
Noah pulls in front of one of the closed doors and shuts the truck off while Max paces in the back seat. Back and forth between each window, he paws at the doors.
“Nein, Max. Tommy always gives him a treat when we come here.”
“You come here a lot?”
“Tommy is a good buddy from my high school days,” he says, shrugging.
We climb out of the truck, and I move toward the garage bay. Noah lets Max out, and he barrels toward me, nosing me in the ass before bolting into the bay.
“Damn dog,” I mumble under my breath.
Noah chuckles behind me, his warm breath skating up my neck, and I purposefully avoid turning back even though I really want to see his face.
A neon sign that flickers the word OPEN buzzes above the entrance, and Noah brushes past me when I hesitate from going in. He places a hand on my shoulder and offers me a smile, the warm pressure of his fingertips seeping through my skin and straight to tug at something in my belly.
Is he trying to be reassuring? Or does he want to touch me?
I roll my eyes at myself, shaking off the ghost of his lingering touch.