Chapter 32 Noah
thirty-two
Noah
Chloe seats us at a very private table, “the nook of The Nook,” and I look into Willow’s eyes as we clink our glasses of expensive Bordeaux.
Her discreet floral fragrance (rose? lilac?) spirals around me, drawing me closer.
No matter what happens next, this will forever be the scent of happiness.
She spent an hour in the bathroom getting ready, and although she’ll never be more beautiful than all messed up from sleep in the morning, I have to admit the shine of her lush brown locks, the glow of her skin, the sparkle of her jewelry, all make her heart-stoppingly, head-spinningly gorgeous.
All I want is to cup her nape in my hand and pull her in for a kiss.
I almost do, but then she breaks the connection, eyes blinking, a tremor on the surface of her wine betraying she’s unsettled and struggling to keep it together.
Chill, Noah. You have all dinner to get your point across. This is about romancing her, not jumping her bones.
“You look beautiful,” I say. So lame.
She murmurs “Thank you,” with a small smile and maybe even a slight blush.
I thought I had a plan. I’ve been turning this evening over in my head the whole day at the store.
While she was unpacking flannel shirts, humming along to “Down With Disease.” Then singing the whole lyrics to “If I Could” while rearranging our different grades of maple syrup in hay-filled wooden cases, sprinkling individually wrapped maple candies around.
“Any idea when and where Phish are playing next?” Nice. Make it seem casual but bring it back to a moment when we shared a connection.
Looking at the menu, she answers right away, “Down south for now, Upstate New York in a couple of months.” Her eyebrows narrow, as if she’s hesitating between the cod with braised bok choi and the gnocchi with locally foraged mushrooms.
Me? I’m stricken. By how she knows about all of Phish’s upcoming concerts. By our familiarity—how she answers without looking at me. It’s almost as if we’re an old couple already, in tune with each other. I’m not sure I like it this early in what I’m determined to make a relationship.
Lowering her menu with one finger, I force her to look at me.
“What?” she asks, an adorable smile on her face. “This menu is… awesome.” She takes my finger in hers to halt my interruption, and all I can think about is how soft her skin is and how I want this moment to last forever. How I want my whole fucking life to be like this. Easy, playful, sexy.
“Listen to this: ‘Sustainably farmed in Vermont and humanely harvested locally, these chops melt in your mouth. Served with a generous side of Cortland apples sauteed in ghee and lightly deglazed in apple cider vinegar. Suggested pairing: Make it classic with a Finger Lakes Riesling or keep it focused and hyperlocal with a Stillpoint hard cider.’ I think I’ll have that. ”
She finally looks up at me, then looks down at our clasped fingers, hardly blushes, then clears her throat and sets her menu down.
Then, instead of letting go of my finger, she intertwines our hands, her silk touch keeping me captive.
“How about you?” she asks. “I think you’d like the flank steak.
It’s marinated in olive oil and…” She continues, but only her melodic voice makes it to my consciousness—the lyrics are lost to me.
I don’t need to know what the menu says.
If my wife thinks I’ll like it, then I most certainly will.
I’m hooked on the fact that our hands are now rested on the table, although we’re secluded enough that no PDA is warranted—not that it ever was the point of this outing. Further, I’m drawing circles inside her palm and she’s letting me, and not only that but are those tiny goose bumps on her arm?
“Right?” she says, startling me. Then, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Sounds great.”
She removes her hand, folds our menus together, and rattles out our order to Chloe.
“So Phish…” I start once we’re alone again. “We’ll go, obviously.” I want to tell her we’ll make a weekend out of it. Maybe a weekend date. One room or two?
Maybe reading my mind, she picks up her glass of wine, leaving the other hand on the table—a temptation too hard to resist.
I place a finger on the inside of her wrist, marveling at the soft beat of her pulse.
I’m not going to talk about last night. Of course I’m not. But we should address the cupid in the room. I’m going to retrace our steps a bit, do what I should have done days ago.
“Remember that first evening, the day we got the puppies?” Her pulse accelerates under my fingers. I didn’t mean to do this evaluation of her feelings by reading her pulse, I swear I didn’t, but it’s brilliant. She definitely remembers.
I hesitate only briefly. “Was it my imagination or did you… did we…” Fuck. Why is it so hard for me to tell Willow that I wish we hadn’t been interrupted? That I want to know if she feels the same way I do? “When Lane came in, were we about to—”
“Oh my god aren’t you two just a-do-ra-ble,” Cassandra coos as she walks to us, beaming.
“Our love birds…” She leans toward us and grabs our hands.
“I am so happy that you are finally together.” She turns to Willow.
“Did you tell him how long it’s been?” Willow turns crimson, her gaze darting between Cass and me.
Ignoring Willow’s embarrassment, Cass turns to me. “This woman has been crushing on you for…everrrrr…” she says, dragging the word out.
My eyes must be bugging out of their sockets because she continues, “I know, right? It’s like… how? How did you not see that? What took you so long?”
Well… what does she mean, forever? And crushing? What is crushing, specifically?
Cass laughs and turns to Willow. “I’m glad you didn’t follow your friends’ advice and move on, sweetie.” She grabs our hands and lays them on each other, the way they were just a minute ago. “Tenacious, this one,” she says and leaves.
“She was kidding, right?” I ask under my breath. Because if she wasn’t, what kind of a fucking moron am I?
Adorable guilt is painted all over my wife’s features.
Well now, this changes everything.
I’ll think about what kind of a fucking stupid idiot I’ve been later. Now’s not the time for introspection.
Willow goes to pull her hand from under mine but I clasp her wrist, feeling her fast pulse under my fingers. “How long has it been?” Maybe it’s recent. That would make it… passable. “Since Colt and Kiara’s wedding?” I’m a pretty good dancer. Maybe that did it.
She chuckles sadly. That would be a hell no.
Way longer than that.
Fuck! Her wrist beats like a trapped animal under my grasp. I let her go, vaguely ashamed, and steeple my fingers. “Please look at me. And please tell me. How long?”
She shakes her head. “Umm…” She shrugs, stifles a chuckle, looks everywhere except at me.
“When did it start?” And how could I have missed this?
“You weren’t supposed to find out—ever.”
“What the actual fuck, Willow.”
“I know—I’m sorry,” she stammers.
I am, officially, the biggest dick ever. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”
She smiles softly.
“What?”
“You’re cursing,” she explains, and she looks positively entertained by the fact. “Remember, you said—”
“Oh I remember all right.” The memory of us in the study, going over that stupid spreadsheet, her teasing me because I wouldn’t use the F word, me telling her I cursed in the right circumstances—sex might have been hinted at. “Consider this foreplay, then.”
Her chest rises and falls, breath coming in shallow pants.
I flag a server and hand her my credit card. “Abby, something came up. Bag our order, take my card. I’ll pick everything up later tonight.” Then I take Willow’s hand, and when she twines her fingers with mine I almost roar.
Once outside, I pull her to my side as she sets a hurried pace toward Lilyvale. “You have some explaining to do.”
“No-I-don’t,” she quips, wrapping her arm around my hips like she’s done a dozen times now—and now I know why she was so good at it. She wasn’t faking.
Neither was I. “What did Cassandra mean by crushing on me?”
“Noah, please,” she breathes.
“Careful. You’re even sexier when you beg.”
She looks around as if someone could hear us. As if I wasn’t growling right against her ear.
I give her earlobe a nibble as we turn from Elm street onto Callaway Drive.
She hisses, throwing her neck back. “Ah,” she coos, wrapping her hand tighter around me.
“How long has it been? Tell me.”
She hastens her steps. “No.”
Okay. I’ll pick this up later. “Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?” I murmur against her neck. She almost trips, would have if she weren’t so glued to me.
“Home,” she says, and I love the way it sounds in her mouth. I love that home is the same place for her and for me. “There’s too much happening right now.”
I open the front door. “I disagree. There’s not enough happening.” Then before she can step inside, I scoop her up and carry her over the threshold. She twines her hands behind my nape, and we pause for a moment. Eye to eye, no talking.
I’m carrying my bride into my family home. Lilyvale is eerily silent for several beats. Willow’s irises darken, my heart threatens to escape from my ribcage, and we’re in a time warp—what seems like an eternity stretches, lasting forever yet way too short.
The grandfather clock starts its seemingly endless striking, and I kick the front door shut.
The puppies start on their puppy barking but that doesn’t stop me. I carry my wife up to our bedroom.
Setting her on her feet, I lock our door. She backs up a few paces, and says, “What is happening right now?” Darts her tongue out, the little tease.
Closing the distance, I cup her nape in my hand. “Let’s find out.” I skim her lips with mine, my dick straining in my pants. “You don’t want to tell me how long you’ve been crushing on me—fine. Would you like to hear how hard I’ve been fantasizing about you since you became my wife?”
She takes a quick breath, then gently removes my glasses and drops them on top of her bag, at our feet.
“Just for the record… because I’m not one to keep secrets… I know you looked at me last night… when I was in the shower.”
She bites her lip, drops her gaze. Good girl. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Yeah you should’ve,” I whisper. Feeling her bristle, I grab a fistful of her hair and gently force her to look at me.
“You’re my wife, Willow. I’ve been fantasizing about you since that Phish concert, maybe before.
It was driving me crazy… never spent so much time in my office here, trying to make sure you were asleep before coming upstairs. ”
She brings her body flush against mine, hands tugging at my shirt.
“And it’s not just lust, it’s so much deeper than that—”
She shuts me up with her lips on mine, full and greedy and taking.
I pull her tighter to me, explore her mouth, relishing her taste, loving how she darts her tongue around mine. When I hoist her on my hips she deepens the kiss.
I didn’t expect that. Not at all. The force of her… it incenses me. Sets me alive. She’s soft and so strong at the same time, everything I was afraid she’d be. Everything I love her for. Getting lost in her, I know I’m in for an ocean of pain if I ever lose her.
Breaking the kiss for a beat, she chuckles nervously. “What if the judge asks us our favorite position, or if you snore after sex, or if I drool in my sleep? We have to know, right?”