Chapter Four Odette #2
Guess he’s not that grossed out after all.
“Leaving already?”
“Just got to grab some tools.”
His brows crush together. “Tools?”
I don’t answer him as I pull out of his grasp and open my trunk, then reach for the toolbox I stashed away last night.
I’m unsurprised when Noah bursts out laughing.
“You can’t be serious.”
I shove my shoulders back, determined to be unbothered by his laughter. “Oh, I’m very serious.”
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me, Odie. No. You’re not bringing those.”
“And why not? Because they’re pink?”
I hold up the hot-pink box I bought when I got my first apartment.
The last thing I wanted was to wait around for some maintenance guy who would just mansplain everything to me if something ever went wrong.
So I went out, bought a toolbox, and learned to fix things myself.
This thing has never let me down in all the years I’ve had it, so you bet I’m using it to help fix this barn too.
“Yes! It’s ridiculous. Besides, I have tools you can use.”
“I prefer mine.” I slam my trunk closed, then march past him, toolbox in hand.
I glance over my shoulder when I realize he’s not following me.
“Well, are you coming, Noah? I thought we had a barn to rebuild.”
He rolls his eyes with a sigh, then shakes his head, muttering something as he takes three long strides to catch up with me.
I ignore him until we reach the barn. He pulls open the door, and I see that the state of it is far different from how I left it yesterday.
“What the . . .” I glare up at him. “Did you start without me?”
“Yes. I wanted to get the hard shit out of the way.”
“Hard shit? So you mean stuff you deem hard for me?”
He huffs. “No, Odie, I mean stuff that was hard for even me. Ezra was out here helping me last night. We were inspecting things, and I was already up on that godforsaken rickety old ladder, so I figured why not do a few things that only I can reach anyway?”
When he puts it like that, it makes sense.
Still, he’s trying to exclude me, and I hate being excluded.
It makes me feel like a little kid all over again.
Like that annoying little sister who is always trying to tag along and get everyone’s attention.
But I’m not his little sister. Not by a long shot.
Noah said I could help, so he should let me help with everything, even if my tools are pink.
“Fine. I just . . . don’t exclude me because I’m small compared to you, okay?
That’s not fair. I’ll let you know if I feel like I can’t handle something.
And stop being an ass about my pink toolbox.
This thing helped me redo the wiring in my bathroom a few weeks ago when the breaker kept popping every time I plugged my hair dryer in.
I finally got sick of it and redid the whole thing. ”
“You redid the wiring? Can’t you call maintenance for that?”
“Sure, but I’m a strong, independent woman who can figure it out for herself. One trip to the hardware store and a few YouTube videos later, I learned everything I needed and didn’t have to wait around to let someone in. It was a win-win.”
His jaw has slackened, eyes wide with surprise, and that’s fair.
I’m sure I don’t exactly give off Ms. Fix-It vibes, considering I wear heels 99 percent of the time and am almost always dressed up.
It’s not that women in heels can’t fix things, but still.
I understand societal norms, and I don’t fall into that category.
I reach up, pushing Noah’s jaw shut with a single finger. “Better close that before you let a fly in.”
My finger lingers longer than it needs, and Noah lets it, not moving away from my touch.
When I finally pull it away, the fight in him is gone, but the tension in the barn definitely isn’t. If anything, it’s higher than before, but there’s something entirely different about it.
I shake it off and give him my back, needing a moment to gather myself without his prying eyes.
What the hell even was that? Why did I keep touching him for so long? And why didn’t he move away?
I sit my toolbox on the ground and open it to retrieve my pink gloves. After slipping them on, I get to work moving the debris he has gathered.
Noah instructs me to make a pile near the door while he starts stripping more rotted panels off the wall.
We work together in silence for a long time. I have no idea how long it’s been, but it’s long enough that my stomach is growling, and the sun is blasting into the barn, making it warm enough to feel sweat beads rolling down my back.
“Break?” Noah asks.
I nod, looking at the pile with a frown. “Yeah, but just a short one. I still have a lot to do.”
“Doesn’t help that I keep adding to the pile. I’ll take a break after lunch to help you get this moved. Good thing is the tow truck is coming tomorrow to get the tractor out of the way. We’ll have more room to work afterward.”
“Wait. You’re getting rid of the tractor?”
“Uh, yeah.” He scratches at his scruff, which, while it could use a trim, is still too good looking for its own good. “What else am I supposed to do with it?”
“Keep it.”
“What the hell for? It’s old, and it doesn’t work.”
“So? You could use it for photos. It gives the farm a nice rustic feel. People love that kind of thing.”
He ponders that for a moment before nodding. “All right. I can see that. So where do I move it?”
“Could you put it next to the barn?”
“Yeah, I suppose that would work.” Another scratch at his scruff, a move that’s always signaled uncertainty for him. “You sure it won’t look tacky out there? Like we’re trying too hard with this whole farm-aspect thing? Because I’m not a farmer. I’m a hockey player. Or at least I was.”
He says that last part quietly, like it’s still something he’s getting used to.
I’m sure he is, considering the game was part of his life for so long.
If I suddenly lost my business, I’d feel like I was missing a limb because I’ve been working on this for so long.
I bet that’s how he feels about the game he gave so much of his life to.
“Playing or not, you’re still a hockey player. You’ll always be the one who not only captained a team but also scored the game-winning goal in double overtime against Detroit to lift the Cup.”
He grins just thinking about that career-defining moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I am. Just like I’m right about keeping the tractor and moving it to the side of the barn won’t look tacky.
And it won’t make you look like you’re trying to play Old MacDonald either.
You’re paying homage to the original purpose of the land, like you’re paying homage to your love of the game by naming the cidery Stick Taps, giving hockey term names to all your ciders, and your decor—even if it is hideous for weddings.
” He narrows his eyes at the dig. “Besides, the kids will love it. You could even put a scarecrow or something behind the wheel. Dress it up to match the holidays. Oh! Like big, cute eyelashes and heart eyes for headlights for Valentine’s Day. ”
“Absolutely no to the eyelashes and heart eyes.”
Dammit. I knew I’d pushed it too far.
“But the rest?” I ask.
He grunts, but it’s not a no. In fact, I can tell he actually likes the idea, since he doesn’t argue further.
As he passes, he kicks at the pile of wood and old roof tiles and heads toward the door. “Come on. I’ll make us lunch up at my place.”
“You’re cooking?!” The words come out a squeak, halting him in his tracks.
My stomach revolts at the idea, remembering the last time he made food for his family—and me, since the Stevens clan can’t shake me, being they’re like my second family at this point.
It was so bad that we ended up throwing it away and ordering pizza.
Sometimes he’ll help his dad at the grill, but that’s under careful supervision.
He shoots me a look that says watch it loud and clear, and I hold my hands up.
“I’m not saying a thing,” I promise as I follow him out of the barn, all the while thinking about what I have stashed away in my purse. I usually keep an emergency granola bar in there because I’ve been known to get hangry. And when it happens, it happens fast. It’s best to be prepared.
“Shit,” Noah mutters, coming to a sudden stop, and I nearly run right into him.
“What’s wrong?”
“You mind driving? I forgot I told Ezra he could use my truck for . . . well, whatever it is he does.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. No problem. I’m over here.”
I lead us to my BMW, which could use a wash, pulling my keys from my pocket and unlocking the car as we go.
I cringe when we approach it. There’s a mess of clothes in the back seat, a few purses, and I don’t even know how many pairs of shoes from on-the-go outfit changes when rushing to meet clients and for when I have to get event-ready on a time crunch.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, Noah won’t notice them.
“Probably going to be a tight fit for you,” I say as I climb inside, flipping the visor down and checking my hair. It’s a mess after hours of hard labor. And no wonder Kai let me in this morning. I’m pretty sure I still have yesterday’s mascara smeared under my eyes.
I wipe my face as I continue. “You’re tall, and I’m pretty sure the seat is pushed back as far as it goes.
At least, I assume. I have no idea. I’ve never actually sat over there before.
I just—” I glance over to find Noah staring into the car but not getting in so we can go.
“What are you doing? Get in. I’m starving. ”
“On second thought, I think I might walk.”
“What? Why? Why are you . . .”
His eyes darting downward have my words fading away because right there—right in plain sight with no mistaking what it is—is a pair of panties.
My panties.
So much for him not seeing the clothes.
I snatch them off the seat and stuff them into my purse.
Not that it does any good. The damage has already been done. Noah has already seen my underwear.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble, refusing to look at him as he slides into the passenger seat.
Just as I suspected, he barely fits. His knees are tucked against the dashboard, and his neck is slightly bent as his head brushes the roof. He looks ridiculous, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel—absolutely mortified.
We’re silent as I fire up the engine and drive us to his place just up the road.
For the entire ride, I pray a pit opens up and swallows us whole. Anything to escape the awkwardness because Noah Stevens just saw my underwear.
My best friend’s older brother. The man I’ve been crushing on since I was a teenager.
And they were my favorite pair.