Chapter 5
Five
I don’t see Noah for the rest of the morning, but I’ve got plenty to focus on, so I do my best to put him from my mind.
Several employees come by the front desk to pick up their Christmas bonuses, and the phone rings at least half a dozen times, so overall, I’m feeling pretty useful. I almost wish Noah was around just so he could see the actual, for real work I’m doing.
And I’m only going to get busier. Tomorrow, I have to decorate the farmhouse. According to Olivia’s instructions, there is a storage closet on the third floor where all the decorations live, and I will have plenty to choose from.
I was surprised, at first, when I learned I’d be in charge of decorating, assuming that most places like this probably put Christmas decorations up right after Thanksgiving.
But Olivia explained that this year, with the Italy trip looming, the Hawthornes closed the farmhouse to events and decided it wasn’t worth the effort to decorate when no one would be here to enjoy it.
Except, then the Peterson family called and made a special request to have their reunion at the farmhouse.
Their original venue fell through, and they offered to pay triple the usual fee, so Olivia relented and agreed to open the house just for Christmas Eve.
The only trouble was that by then, the family was knee-deep in trip planning, and the decorating didn’t happen.
So now it’s my job.
I make the decision to tackle it first thing tomorrow—the reunion is still days away—then move into the living room to do some studying.
A few minutes after I sit down, the front door opens and Noah steps inside carrying a bundle of firewood. He isn’t wearing a coat, so he must not have been outside long.
I watch as he moves into the living room and crouches in front of the hearth to build a fire, much like he did last night, just after my arrival.
“Sorry I didn’t do this sooner,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Had I known you were in here, I would have.”
I lift my eyebrows. Did he go outside to get wood just for me? “It’s no problem,” I say. “I didn’t expect it. But thank you.”
He nods, then spends several minutes coaxing the fire to life. When it’s burning steadily, I assume he’ll turn and leave. Instead, he retrieves a book from a side table and settles into the chair across from me.
I frown into my iPad screen.
Noah said he wanted to keep his distance. And this…feels like the opposite of that. We’re in the same room. Not ten feet away from each other. And now, I’m so freaking aware of him, I’m not going to get any studying done.
Does he expect me to leave? Is that what’s happening here? He’s staking his claim and I’m supposed to scurry off to my bedroom? I hope not, because I was here first, so I absolutely will not—
“Megan,” Noah says, and my eyes snap to his.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t overthink it,” he says dryly. “It’s cold outside. The fire is nice. We can share the room like adults.”
“Can we?” I say, suddenly feeling salty that he’s insinuating I’m the problem here. “Because I’m pretty sure it was you who requested that I stay out of your way and you stay out of mine.”
His jaw tightens, but then his expression shifts and he almost looks chagrined. For a split second, he doesn’t seem annoyed with me, but with himself. “I’m sorry I said that,” he says. “I was still feeling angry about the setup. If you’re comfortable sharing the room, then I am too.”
“Of course I’m comfortable,” I say. “I actually like people.”
Noah presses his lips together like he’s fighting a grin. “Touché.”
I sit back in my chair, battling my own smirk because that exchange with Noah was almost fun.
Still, I’m supposed to be studying, and I am no more capable now than I was before. I might not be worried about what he’s thinking, but it’s taking all my willpower to keep my eyes on my own paper and not on the gorgeous man sitting across from me.
What’s he reading? Does he look like he’s enjoying it? Is he looking at me as frequently as I’m looking at him?
Across the room, Noah quietly turns a page.
Okay, probably not.
After considerable effort, I eventually get used to Noah being in the room.
Weirdly, I even start to enjoy his company.
I’m not sure I’ve ever actually done this before, at least not outside of a library, but there’s something nice about sharing a space with a person without any expectation of conversation.
Not that I would mind talking to Noah. But this is nice too. Companionable. Easy.
Just past five o’clock, my stomach lets out a low rumble, so I leave Noah in the living room and head into the kitchen to make dinner.
It takes a few minutes of exploring the bounteous supply of ingredients in the fridge, but I eventually decide to make chicken noodle soup.
Cold weather always makes me crave soup, plus it will pair well with the homemade bread I brought from Harvest Hollow.
Once all the ingredients are out on the counter, I pause, debating. It’s almost impossible to make soup for one person. Noah said I didn’t have to cook for him, but if I’m already cooking, it only makes sense for me to share.
Decision made, I head back into the living room to let him know my plan. “Hey,” I say as I enter the room. “I’m going to make—”
My words cut off as soon as I see Noah because he’s fallen asleep.
His book is open on his chest, hands folded over the top, and his head is tilted back onto the cushion behind him.
Slowly, I make my way into the room. His breathing is steady, like he’s really sleeping deeply, so I add another log to the fire, then tiptoe over to his chair.
As carefully as I can, I slide his book off his chest and place it on the sidetable, then drape a blanket over his legs, pulling it up to just below his ribs.
I step away, knowing I shouldn’t just stand here staring at him, but it’s almost impossible not to. He is no more handsome now than he is when he’s awake, but with his face relaxed, completely at rest, there’s an air of vulnerability about him that makes something in my heart turn over.
Based on the brief conversations we’ve had so far, it doesn’t feel like a leap to assume that on some level, Noah is hurting. Hurting…or hiding. Maybe a little of both? Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here instead of in Italy with his family.
I wonder if he’s struggling to sleep. If he has something on his mind, it makes sense that—
Wait. No. I’m not going to play this game. If I keep staring at him, I’m going to write an entire back story for the man, a thousand reasons why I should forgive his surly nature and fall in love with him anyway.
I turn and hurry back to the kitchen, determined to mind my own business.
But once I’m there, I cave and make enough soup for Noah anyway.
It’s a matter of practicality. It would be a waste of ingredients not to.
If Noah wants to eat it, he can eat it. If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t have to. Simple as that.
As soon as the soup is finished, I help myself to a bowl, eating it with two thick slices of bread slathered with butter.
Noah still hasn’t stirred by the time I’ve cleaned up, so I leave the soup warming on the stove and write him a note, letting him know he’s welcome to help himself just so long as he puts the leftovers away.
I figure I’ll come back down to check just in case his nap turns into sleeping all night, but when I turn to leave the kitchen, Noah is standing in the doorway.
“You’re awake,” I say.
He wipes a hand over his face. “Yeah. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep.” He tilts his head toward the living room. “Thanks for…”
“It was no problem,” I say. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
He shakes his head no, his eyes moving around the kitchen. “I think the smell of food woke me.”
“It’s chicken noodle soup,” I say. “And there’s plenty. I left you a note.”
His eyes land on the notecard and pen still sitting on the counter where I left them. “You don’t have to keep feeding me, Megan.”
“I know,” I quickly say. “But soup is soup. There’s always enough for more than one person.”
“But I don’t want you to think—” He pauses and seems to reconsider his words, but then he never finishes his sentence.
I’m not sure what, precisely, he’s insinuating.
Maybe he’s worried my cooking is some wayward attempt to woo him and he might give me the wrong impression if he keeps eating the meals I prepare.
But if he can saunter into the living room and crash my study party and claim it’s no big deal, then I can make him soup and leave it on the stove like it’s no big deal.
“Of course it isn’t.” I step a little closer and lift a hand to pat him on his chest. “Don’t overthink it, Noah. We both need to eat. The soup is nice. We can share it like adults.”
I can’t be sure, but as I make my way upstairs, I think I might hear Noah laugh.
***
Once I’m in my room, I retrieve my cell phone from where I left it charging and see a missed call from Evie.
I call her back, putting the call on speaker before I kick off my shoes and climb into bed fully dressed. I look longingly at the fireplace on the far wall and wonder what it would take to get Noah to build a fire for me up here.
Evie answers on the second ring, just as I’m tucking the covers up over my icy feet.
“Hey! How is it?” she asks. She sounds breathless, like she’s in the middle of something, but with Juno, it could be anything. That little girl is adorable, but she’s a spitfire if ever there was one.
“It’s freezing,” I say. “I feel like I’m living in a winter wonderland.”
“You got more snow down there than we did here, but we’re covered up, too,” Evie says. “Juno thinks it’s amazing, but the cold is making Alec’s knee hurt, so I’ll be happy when things get back to normal.” She grunts, and I hear a thunk through the phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Cleaning out the fridge,” she says. “When did I buy tomato juice? This stuff expired six months ago. Ohh! I thought I didn’t have any pickles left! Yes!”