Chapter 6
Six
I don’t see Noah the next morning, though I do see traces of his presence in the kitchen. A full coffee pot. A washed frying pan drying on the counter. A box of apple Danishes with a note scribbled onto the back of the same notecard I used last night.
The soup was delicious. Leftovers are in the fridge. Also, I polished off the last of a loaf of bread. Hope that’s okay, and thanks for sharing. Help yourself to a Danish, but not all of them because I’m going to want one in the morning. - Noah
The note has a slight teasing quality to it that makes me grin, and the Danish is absolutely delicious. The act of kindness gives me courage because I need to decorating today, and I’m going to need Noah’s help to do it.
Olivia gave me two different options for acquiring a Christmas tree, but both require driving, either to the local Feed ’n Seed where trees are for sale, or all the way up to Thomson’s Tree Farm where I can, if I feel so inclined, hike around the mountainside and pick out a tree to be cut fresh and delivered right to the farm.
With the current weather conditions and only a front-wheel drive rental car at my disposal, I’m not sure either is a viable option. Not unless Noah is willing to drive me in his giant Stonebrook Farm truck. Which means I need to go and find him.
With a second Danish in hand, I’m about to head upstairs to grab my coat when Noah steps out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.
His sudden entrance startles me, and I spin around, hand flying to my chest like the gesture will keep my heart from pounding its way out of my ribcage.
“Geez, you scared me,” I say.
“Sorry,” Noah says. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“It’s fine. I think I’m a little jittery after so much alone time.”
He steps over to the counter and picks up a Danish. “You don’t like being alone?”
The gesture brings him close enough that I catch his scent, the same one I noted when I climbed into his truck the night he picked me up. It’s all I can do not to lean closer, to breathe in an intentional lungful.
Instead, I take a bite of the Danish, which is perfectly flaky and delicious. I wonder for the second time where it came from. As someone who bakes, I appreciate the effort that went into its creation.
“I mean, I don’t hate it,” I say, answering his question. “But if given the choice, company usually makes me happier.”
I glance down and notice that Noah isn’t wearing any shoes.
It’s such a silly thing, but something about his socked feet makes a blush crawl up my cheeks.
Like it’s a reminder of this being a shared space where he lives and relaxes and walks around without his shoes.
And now, at least for the next week, it’s where I live too.
“Which makes me wonder why you’re here for Christmas instead of with your family,” Noah says. “You came here believing you’d be alone the entire time.”
“True, yes,” I say. “But this year, my parents are on a two-week Mediterranean cruise to celebrate their anniversary, and my brother will be with his wife’s family.
They’re always happy to have me with them, but holidays with her family—I don’t know.
They’re all so focused on Juno and…I know they love me.
But it’s hard not to feel like a third wheel. ”
“Plus the studying you need to do,” Noah says.
“Right. Yes. So much studying. And the extra cash I’m earning is a nice bonus.”
He takes another bite of Danish. “I’m usually the opposite. I can endure company, but I’m most myself when I’m alone.”
“Really?” I say dryly. “I never would have guessed. When I arrived, you seemed so enthusiastic about my company.”
His mouth twitches the slightest bit like he’s fighting a smile, but he doesn’t break.
“Do you have siblings?” I ask, and he nods.
“Three brothers.”
“Do they enjoy solitude like you do?”
“They’re pretty much the polar opposite of me,” he says. “All three of them.”
“In what way?”
He seems to really consider his answer before he says, “Let’s just say none of them would ever give up a free trip to Italy.” He lifts his Danish. “What do you think?”
“They’re delicious,” I say, accepting the subject change even if I don’t really want to. “Where did they come from?”
“They sell them in the farm store,” he says. “I stocked up before it closed for the season.”
“Thanks for sharing, then.”
“Thanks for sharing your bread.”
“There’s more if you ever want it.” I look toward the two loaves sitting near the toaster. “I won’t be able to eat it all before it goes bad, so you’ll be doing me a favor. I should probably stick one in the freezer.”
“Noted,” Noah says. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence settles between us, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
This would be the perfect time to ask Noah for help, but now that I have him in front of me, I’m too nervous to actually get the words out.
I can’t think of a way to frame them in a way that doesn’t sound like a pickup line.
Which is ridiculous. He said he’d be around if I needed help, and I do. So why am I making this so complicated?
I’m about to take the plunge and just ask when Noah clears his throat.
“So, I was thinking…” He pauses and looks up to catch my gaze. “I assume you haven’t left the house since you got here, with the weather being what it is, but I thought, if you wanted to get out, you might want to go visit the goats.”
“Goats?” I repeat, mostly because I’m pretty sure that was the longest sentence I’ve ever heard Noah utter.
“Sure,” he says, his tone casual. “There was a new one born just a few days ago. She’s barely big enough to fill my hands.”
I let out a little gasp. “There is a brand new baby goat here, and you’re only telling me about it now?”
His lips tick up the slightest bit, and I find myself itching to push for more, to see if I can make him smile for real.
“This is only, what, our third conversation?” he says.
“Fourth, I think? But it’s a newborn baby goat, Noah! It should have been the first thing you mentioned!”
“Welcome to Stonebrook Farm. There’s a baby goat in the barn?”
“Yes! That would have been perfect!” I love that we’re talking like this. That he’s letting me tease him.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Point taken. If there are any other baby animals born while you’re here, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.
” His tone is easy and playful, and a warm satisfaction spreads through my bones.
For a man who comes across as so serious, it’s particularly gratifying to make him happy. To see him loosen up a little.
“Thank you very much,” I say. “I would appreciate it.”
He studies me for a moment before he asks, “Should we go now?”
We. Should we go now.
Up until right this moment, I assumed he was only making a suggestion—giving me a way to occupy my own time. But going to the barn with him—that has a different vibe.
Is he asking because he wants to spend time with me?
After all that talk of preferring solitude?
Or does he just feel sorry for me? Things didn’t seem so bad last night, and he did leave a box of Danishes for me.
He’s either had a change of heart or he really likes my bread and doesn’t want to feel guilty for eating it all.
Either way, after the welcome he gave me—or didn’t give me—an actual invitation to spend time with him feels like a big shift.
“You know what? Some other time,” Noah adds when I fail to respond.
“No, no! Now is good,” I quickly say. “Just give me a second to grab my coat.” I pop one last bite of Danish into my mouth and head for the stairs.
I won’t say no to any baby animal, but I’m self aware enough to own that the speed that takes me up to my room and back down again, coat and scarf in hand, doesn’t have anything to do with livestock, newborn or not.
The air is chilly when we step outside, the sky a crisp bright blue. Noah warned me we were getting more snow, but it doesn’t look like more than a few inches fell. “How long will this stick around?” I ask as we walk toward the barn. I can just see it in the distance.
“Not long. We’re supposed to get another six inches tomorrow night, but it's supposed to warm up after that, so it’ll melt pretty quick.”
“Do you think it’ll impact the reunion?” It’s the twenty-first now, and the reunion is scheduled for Christmas Eve. If we’re getting more snow tomorrow, it seems unlikely the roads will be clear.
“It might,” he says. “But I doubt it. It should all melt in time.”
“That seems totally wild to me,” I say. “When it snows in New York, it sticks around forever.”
“We might be in the mountains, but we’re still in the South,” Noah says. “Cold comes in snaps more than spells.” There’s a slight Southern twinge to his accent that I’ve never noticed before, and it makes me smile.
“What?” he says as he looks over at me.
“Nothing.” I push my hands into the pockets of my coat, wishing I’d thought to grab my gloves. “You just sounded Southern when you said that. I haven’t noticed your accent before.”
He shrugs as we approach the barn door. “It comes out more when I’m in Silver Creek. Or when I’m talking to my family.”
“I get that,” I say. “I don’t think I sound like I’m from New York, but my college roommate is from Brooklyn, and when we’re talking, she pulls an accent out of me that I don’t usually have.”
“Do you live in the city?” he asks.
“I was there for nursing school. But I grew up in White Plains, about an hour north.”
The heavy barn door creaks and groans as Noah slides it open, and the smell of hay hits my nose. “I’ve never been to New York City,” he says as he motions me into the barn.
I step through the door, happy to find that the air inside is significantly warmer. Across the barn, a goat with big white ears pokes its head over a stall door and lets out a welcoming meh-eh-eh-eh-eh.
“You should visit New York,” I say. “It’s a great place. Great food.”