Chapter Seventeen Noah #2
“Well, I’m certainly going to let you buy me cookies more often if it means I get kissed like that.
” She clears her throat, then steps back, thrusting the cat my way.
“Okay, you take Pork. Sit on the couch with him and Beans will come out swinging—literally. I’m going to finish up in here and get the garlic bread in the oven.
Then we can eat. I can’t have you in here because I’m about two seconds away from ripping my shirt over my head and throwing myself at you like some sex-crazed lunatic. ”
“And if I don’t take the cat?”
“Noah . . .” She groans, and I laugh, taking the kitten anyway.
She’s right. We don’t need to get carried away, not when dinner smells so damn good.
Odette ushers me away, and I head into the living room.
It’s a small space, but it’s nice. Far more modern than what I have, that’s for sure.
The walls are light gray instead of my deep tan ones. The furniture is crisp and new versus my dated styles, which stopped being cool when my parents were born. And unlike mine, there isn’t a single scratch along the dark hardwood floor.
It’s everything I wish I had the time to make my house.
We’re three weeks out from the wedding and the barn might be done, but now I have to focus on the coop, all the mowing that needs to be done again, and putting a few finishing touches on everything so Odette can set up for the guests.
After that, the goal is to start on the iceplex we’re getting close to closing the deal on.
Maybe one day I’ll find time to remodel my house and turn it into something that will make Odette feel more at home when she’s over there.
I settle onto the fluffy black couch with Pork and wait. It takes a few minutes, but I feel it—Beans.
She paws at my ankle. It’s gentle at first, then it turns violent.
“Ouch!” I scramble to get out of the way.
“What?” Odette calls from the kitchen.
“Nothing!”
I bend in time to see the calico cat slide back under the couch.
“Why, you little . . .”
She pokes her head back out, and I swear she narrows her eyes at me.
Go ahead and say it, the look says. Call me a name. I dare you.
I don’t dare.
Instead, I scoop her up before she can run away again, ignoring the claws she digs into my hand.
“Be nice,” I tell her, and she calms down a little, looking up at me in wonder. “Be gentle.”
She stops fighting me as I settle her onto the couch, her long tail thwacking against the cushion as she sits and stares up at me like she’s confused by this stranger in her home.
That’s when she notices Pork.
I hold my breath and wait. They size each other up, uncertain if they’ll be friends or foes.
Beans takes the first step, inching closer. Pork looks back at me in a silent Can we trust her?
“Go on,” I encourage.
Slowly, they make their way toward each other, and after a few minutes, they’re batting at each other playfully and wrestling like they’re old friends.
Now that I know they aren’t going to fight, I push off the couch and walk around, taking in the little details of Odette’s place.
Trinkets sit along the mantel over the fireplace, from a jewelry box with a ballerina mid-spin to a plastic ring that looks like it came from one of those quarter machines at the grocery store.
Succulents that are lush and lively and pictures—including ones of my sister—line the floating shelves.
And there’s even a small shelf full of Blu-ray, mostly romantic comedies and TV show box sets.
I grin when I see she has most of The X-Files in her collection.
A laptop sits closed on the coffee table, a stack of papers beside it. They look like legal documents of some sort. Likely contracts for her business.
Sitting near the bottom of the pile is a piece of paper that looks like it’s been crumpled up and flattened about fifty times over. Curious, I tug it free.
Every inch of it is covered in writing. Different colors. A few doodles. It’s a mess to try to decipher, but I give it a go anyway.
Dress—White with a deep V. That’s marked out and replaced with Mermaid. That has a scribble through it with Suit??? beside it.
What is all this?
I keep scanning the page. Among the items crossed out I recognize a few song titles, foods, countries, and . . . are those themes?
Cream puffs
Lemon tarts
Mini donuts
Pizza bar TACOS??
Medieval
Princess
Rustic romantic
There are so many different types of flowers listed, color combinations, and random words scattered in the margins that make no sense.
Paper cranes
Fairy lights something more rustic
Fall
Apricot and buttercream Cream Cheese!!!!
It almost reminds me of . . .
“It’s a wedding wish list.”
I look up from the page to find Odette leaning against the wall, watching me. A simple blue apron covers her black leggings and Taylor Swift T-shirt. It makes me think of my sister’s CD I “borrowed” all over again.
“It’s like a Pinterest board come to life.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to describe it.”
“It’s yours? For your wedding?”
She nods, padding farther into the living room.
“Yep. I’ve had it since I was twelve years old and first fell in love with weddings.
I mean, of course, I gave up on that dream a long time ago when I realized just how cruel the Chambers curse truly is, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away. It was a lot of work for younger me.”
Since she was twelve?
Hell, I hadn’t even had some of my hockey equipment that long.
Some guys play in the same pair of socks or use the same pads throughout their careers because they’re too superstitious to break in new ones.
Carrying around the same sheet of paper for that long seems about the same as that. It’s some serious dedication.
Was Ezra right? Am I a dumbass for believing that Odette—a fucking wedding planner—doesn’t want to get married? She might say she doesn’t want to, but how could she not if she’s still carrying this old thing around?
Does that mean . . . does this thing between us mean more to her than she’s letting on? Is she playing some sort of long game, hoping I’ll change my mind about where I stand on marriage?
And why doesn’t the thought of that terrify me as much as it should?
She grabs the paper out of my hand, her eyes scanning the page. I’m not sure if she notices the sad smile playing on her lips, but I sure do.
“You know what? It’s time. I’m getting rid of this once and for all.”
She wads it up, then tosses it. For the life of me, I can’t understand why I hold my breath as it soars through the air, dropping right between the cats, who immediately start batting at it like it’s a yarn ball.
“Oh, goodie. A new toy!” She scratches behind Beans’s ears, then Pork’s. “You two seem to be getting along.”
I clear my throat. “Yep. Sure are. Beans got me on the back of the leg, but I handled her real quick.”
“I’m sorry. She can be rotten sometimes.”
I lift a shoulder. “It’s no big deal.”
Odette gives me a look at my favorite saying, a coy smile on her lips. “Come on. Dinner’s ready.”
I grab her outstretched hand, letting her pull me toward the kitchen.
But just as I round the corner, I can’t help but look back at the crumpled-up piece of paper . . . or think about how badly I want to pick it up.
“This might be the greatest meal I’ve ever had, and I am fucking sad that I can’t eat another bite.”
Odette smiles, clearly quite proud of herself. She should be. I’ve never had spaghetti this good before. And her garlic bread? Fuck, I could eat that with every meal.
“I’m glad you think so. Next time, I’ll make Italian sausage affogato. It’s my favorite.”
“Next time,” I echo, already dreaming of it.
She sips her wine, then spins her glass between her fingers.
Pork and Beans run around the kitchen floor like they’ve been doing since we sat down. We tried to get them to separate and chill, but it’s like they were meant to be together, not wanting to let the other out of their sight.
“Do you know what I just realized?” Odette says. “You get up at what—five thirty every morning?”
“Around there. Why?”
“Then why’d you have me show up so early that first morning we worked on the farm together?” She gasps. “Oh my gosh. You didn’t think I was going to show up.”
“Nope.” I pop a piece of bread into my mouth even though I swore I couldn’t eat another bite. It’s just too damn good. “And you almost didn’t, so I was almost right.”
“Almost doesn’t mean crap and you know it. You hoped I wouldn’t show up, didn’t you?”
“Well, you are kind of distracting.”
She raises her brows. “Oh?”
I roll my eyes. “Please. Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Showing up to the barn every day with those tiny shorts. Which I get. It’s hot as hell out. But, fuck, it was brutal as hell watching you and not being able to touch you.”
She smiles. “You had a crush on me.”
“I did not,” I refute, though it’s pointless. My red cheeks give me away. “I’m a grown man. I don’t have crushes.”
“Except for on your younger sister’s hot best friend.”
Just like that, all the lightheartedness is sucked from the room.
It was the one reminder we didn’t need tonight—that we’re hiding this from Izzy.
Odette slings back the rest of her wine, and I take a long pull from my cider, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“You know—”
“Ezra said—”
We start talking and stop at the same time.
We both laugh lightly. Politely. Awkwardly.
I don’t like awkward, not with her.
She motions for me to go first.
I sigh. “Uh, Ezra thinks we should tell Izzy.”
Her eyes widen. “Ezra knows?”
“Did you forget he caught us making out in the hallway?”
“Oh.” She casts her eyes down. “I, uh, yeah, I suppose I did.”
“Oh, I didn’t, darlin’.”
Her blues find me again, and this time there’s no shame, only heat as she remembers that kiss.
I shift in my chair, ignoring my cock stiffening in my jeans. “Anyway, he thinks we should tell her. Do you?”
“I mean . . .” She exhales shakily. “I don’t know. We’re just having fun, right?”
Right. Fun. That’s all this is.
“Yeah.” I nod. “That is what we said, right?”
“Right.”
“Right.”
She laughs, then slumps forward, banging her head off the table once, twice before sitting up. “I hate lying to her, though. Don’t you?”
“I never have before.”
She nods. “Me either. So maybe . . . maybe we tell her?”
“And maybe she won’t care?”
She winces. “She once said that the idea of us was gross, so maybe she might.”
“What? She did? When?”
“When we were sixteen and I told her I had a crush on you.”
I can’t help but grin. “You had a crush on me.”
“I did not. I’m a grown woman. I don’t have crushes.”
“But you did. When you were a teen.”
She narrows her eyes. “Like you didn’t know.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. Truly.”
She looks surprised by this, then shrugs.
“Well, whatever. Yeah, I had a crush on you and yes, I told your sister about it. She didn’t like the idea, so I doubt she’d like it very much now, either, especially with her wedding three weeks away.
She has enough on her plate, so let’s not say a word, okay? ”
It’s the same thing I told myself earlier. There’s no reason for Izzy to know about this now. Or ever maybe.
“Okay.”
“Besides,” Odette says, “once the wedding is over, I won’t be hanging out at the farm every day, so there’s really no reason to keep doing this.”
Of course I’ve thought about this ending. How could I not with the potential fallout with my sister?
But I guess I never really thought about giving it a definite date. I knew this would come to an end eventually. I just never thought about when.
After the wedding makes the most sense, though. She’ll move on to another wedding at another venue, and with any luck, I’ll have my hands full with the iceplex. We won’t have time to keep seeing each other.
I rub at my chest, a dull ache forming.
Huh. I’m sure it’s probably from all the overhead hammering I was doing this morning before my shift in the taproom. We’re still juggling things a bartender short with Sophie still being out to help her grandmother recover from her fall.
That has to be what it is.
“After the wedding, then,” I say, tipping back the rest of my cider.
“Good. Now that that’s settled . . .” She rises from her chair, grabbing her plate. “Stevens family dinner rules? You wash, I’ll rinse?”
“Deal.”
We clean up the kitchen, put away the leftovers—not that there are many—and make quick work of the dishes.
Odette sets a bowl out for Pork slightly away from where Beans has hers, and the cats go to town on the wet food.
“They work well together,” she says, resting her head on my chest as she watches them.
“They do. Wonder if they have the same mama cat. Maybe that’s why they’ve bonded?”
“Maybe. Or who knows—it could be true love or something.”
“True love? That sounds awfully optimistic for someone cursed with failing love.”
She snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I guess it does.” She peers back up at me. “Race you to the couch?”
“Last one in owes the other an orgasm?”
We take off at the same time, but there’s no keeping up with someone who played professional hockey. I beat her by a long shot, and she pouts as she settles beside me, breathless.
“No fair.”
“Sorry. Rules are rules.” I kiss the side of her head, and she curls her legs up under her, snuggling against me in her favorite spot. “But don’t worry, I’ll collect later. I’ll let you get your Mulder fix first.”
“He is hot . . . for an old guy,” she teases.
I don’t get jealous of her words, mostly because it’s me she’s holding on to and not him.
I don’t collect on my winnings either. We spend the night watching TV. No sex, no fooling around. Just us.
And it’s not until I’m falling asleep in her bed that I realize that’s just as good, if not better, and that nights like these are quickly becoming a favorite of mine.
Ezra was right.
I am in over my head, and I’m not so sure I want a way out.