Chapter 1 #3
“Deeply,” Noah agreed, slipping an arm around Ella’s waist from behind.
Lara’s gaze dropped to his hand on Ella’s hip, then lifted just as quickly. “I should let you sleep.”
“It’s only ten,” Ella said.
“I know, but I’ve used up all my charm. Anything after this will be socially unsafe.” Lara touched the doorframe, then seemed to remember herself and stepped fully into the room. “Thank you. Both of you. Truly.”
Noah squeezed Ella’s hip once. “You’re family, Lara.”
Lara’s eyes flashed to his.
The words landed hard. Ella could see that they did, and she was glad Noah had said them. Some people needed to be told they were not as alone as the day had made them feel.
“Get some rest,” Ella said.
Lara nodded. “I will.”
In their own room, Noah closed the door and stood with his back against it for a moment.
Ella pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it toward the chair. It missed and slid to the floor.
“You okay?” she asked.
Noah dragged both hands through his hair. “I hate him.”
“Evan?”
“No, the ghost who put her belongings in a hallway.”
Ella made a face. “Fair.”
“She didn’t deserve that.”
“No.”
“She can be difficult, but not—” He stopped himself. “I don’t even mean difficult.”
“I know what you mean.”
“She’s intense. She protects herself by acting like nothing matters, and then she chooses people who don’t notice when something does. Evan always seemed like that to me.”
Ella sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you ever tell her?”
“Once.”
“And?”
“She said I disliked him because he wore loafers without socks.”
“You do dislike that.”
“I’m a man of nuance.”
Ella smiled, but Noah did not smile back.
He came to stand between her knees, looking down at her with a crease between his brows. She reached up and smoothed it with her thumb.
“She’ll be okay here for a few days,” Ella said.
His eyes softened. “You didn’t have to say yes.”
“I know.” She hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and tugged him closer. “I like Lara. And she needed a place. We have one.”
“It’s still our house. I don’t want you to feel like I made a decision with my face.”
“You do make a lot of decisions with your face.”
“That’s because my face is expressive and wise.”
“Your face once convinced me we should buy a broken espresso machine at a flea market.”
“And after only ninety dollars in replacement parts?—”
“It still doesn’t work.”
“I believe it still might.”
Ella laughed, and Noah finally smiled.
Then his expression went serious again. He cupped her face in both hands. “Thank you.”
The way he said it made her chest ache.
She turned her mouth into his palm. “You’re welcome.”
He kissed her gently at first, then less gently when she rose into him.
The house was quieter than usual around them, but not unpleasantly.
Just aware of another person sleeping down the hall.
That happened when people stayed over. You lowered your voice.
You closed doors softly. You remembered the walls were not quite as thick as you usually pretended.
When Noah reached for the hem of her camisole, Ella caught his wrist and glanced toward the hallway.
He paused, then understood and gave a rueful smile. “Right.”
“Guest.”
“Family guest.”
“Even worse.”
He dropped his forehead to hers. “I can be quiet.”
“No, you cannot.”
“I can try.”
“You once knocked a lamp off the nightstand.”
“I was enthusiastic.”
Ella bit back a laugh and kissed him again, softer this time. “Tomorrow.”
He sighed tragically and rolled onto his back. “The sacrifices I make for friendship.”
“You’re a humanitarian.”
“I’m a saint.”
She turned off the lamp and curled into him in the dark.
For a while, she listened to his breathing settle.
Beneath it, the house made its usual night sounds: a tick in the radiator, a faint creak from the hall, the muffled hum of the refrigerator downstairs.
Once, she heard water run in the bathroom across the hall.
Lara brushing her teeth, maybe washing her face. The sound was brief and ordinary.
Still, Ella lay awake a little longer than usual because the house felt different with someone else inside it.
That was normal, she told herself. A guest changed the rhythm. The knowledge of another person’s sadness down the hall changed it too.
Noah shifted in his sleep and pulled her closer.
Ella let the thought go.
In the morning, she woke to the smell of coffee.
For one disoriented second, she thought Noah had actually gotten up early enough to make it. Then she opened her eyes and saw him beside her, face half buried in the pillow, one arm flung toward her side of the bed.
The clock read 6:45.
Ella slipped out from under the covers carefully, washed her face, and went downstairs in yesterday’s leggings and Noah’s old college sweatshirt. The house was pale with early light. The kitchen, which she had left clean enough but not perfect, looked cleaner than she remembered.
The sauce pot was washed and drying beside the sink.
The wineglasses had been put away.
The dish towel she normally left looped through the oven handle was folded into a neat rectangle on the counter.
Lara stood by the coffee maker in soft black pants and an oversized cream sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. She turned when Ella entered.
“Oh,” Lara said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. I usually get up around now.”
“I made coffee. I wasn’t sure where you keep filters at first, but then I found them in the drawer under the mugs. Which makes sense. Very intuitive kitchen.”
Ella smiled. “Thanks.”
“Also, I cleaned the pot from last night. I couldn’t sleep, and it was just sitting there.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But if I sit still too long, I start thinking, and nobody needs me doing that that before seven.” Lara reached for a mug, then paused. “Is this one okay?”
It was Ella’s favorite mug. Blue ceramic, slightly uneven, bought on a weekend trip to Maine with Noah. Lara held it by the handle, eyebrows lifted in question.
Ella had the oddest impulse to say no.
Not because Lara had done anything wrong. It was a mug. Guests used mugs. Ella was not a dragon guarding ceramics.
“Of course,” she said.
Lara filled another mug and handed it to her. “Milk?”
“A splash.”
“I guessed. Noah takes his black when he’s pretending to be tough, but with milk when he’s tired.”
Ella laughed. “Accurate.”
“I’ve known him too long. Sadly, this has left me with useless information.”
“You should write it down,” Ella said. “Publish a field guide.”
“Noah Greenwood: A User’s Manual.” Lara considered this. “It would be a short book.”
“But thorough.”
“Very thorough.”
The conversation was easy. Pleasant. Lara asked if Ella had slept. Ella asked if Lara had. Lara made a face that answered without self-pity.
“I’ll call around today,” Lara said, leaning against the counter. “Apartments. Friends. Something. I don’t want you to think I’m settling in.”
“We don’t think that.”
“I know. But I’d hate me if I were you.”
Ella frowned. “Why?”
“Husband's friend appears at dinner, cries into pasta, occupies guest room, drinks coffee in your kitchen.” Lara lifted one sleeve of her sweater. “Objectively annoying.”
“You are not annoying me.”
Lara’s smile was small. “You’re very kind in the morning. That’s suspicious.”
“I become meaner after emails.”
“Good. Balance.”
Noah came in ten minutes later, hair rumpled, T-shirt wrinkled, looking betrayed by consciousness.
Lara took one look at him and reached for the coffee pot.
“Milk,” she said.
“Black,” Noah muttered.
“You look like a Victorian orphan.”
“Milk,” Ella said.
Lara poured milk into a mug and passed it to him.
Noah accepted it without noticing the small domestic choreography of it. Ella noticed only because it was funny, the way Lara had the mug ready before he admitted defeat.
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.
“Your masculinity remains intact,” Lara assured him.
“Barely.”
Ella smiled and leaned back against the counter, watching them bicker lightly. It was nice, she thought, to see Lara less shattered in daylight. Still wounded, yes. But upright, capable of joking. Capable of drinking tea in their kitchen as though the world had not entirely ended.
Noah met Ella’s eyes over the rim of his mug.
Thank you, he mouthed.
Ella shook her head slightly, but she was smiling.