Chapter 13 #2
Finally, finally, we get everyone sorted, and I send them out the door with cheesecake, cookies, and the most cheerful Merry Christmas I can manage.
It sounded a little deflated, if I’m being honest, but I doubt anyone else noticed.
Once the farmhouse door is closed behind the Petersons, my first impulse is to race upstairs and change my shoes so I can go after Noah. But now that I have the actual opportunity to do so, I’m not sure it’s the right call.
If he left, he must have felt a need for some alone time. I want Noah to want to talk to me, but I don’t want to force him if he isn’t ready. He made a point of mentioning that he appreciates the way I don’t fill the silence and give him time to find his words.
So maybe I need to do the same thing now.
I head into the kitchen to see if there’s anything I can do to help clean up, but Kendra quickly walks me right back out the door. “You already did your part,” she says. “We’ve got this. Go relax.”
I won’t truly relax until Noah’s back and I can ask him if he’s okay.
So what do I do instead?
“Hey, you haven’t happened to see Noah come inside, have you?” I ask Kendra.
She shakes her head no. “I didn’t even notice he left. Is everything okay? You two looked pretty cozy earlier.”
“Things are good,” I say a little too quickly, but I hardly sound convincing.
Kendra studies me for a moment, then walks to the fridge. She opens it and pulls out half of a triple chocolate cheesecake. “Here. You look like you need this.”
“I didn’t think there was any left.”
She shrugs. “I saved a little for you and Noah.” She reaches into the drawer behind her and pulls out a fork, then hands it over. “But I won’t tell him if you don’t save him any.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously, you’re an absolute lifesaver.”
I carry the cheesecake into the living room, not even bothering to get myself a plate. Tonight feels like an eat-right-of-the-pan kind of night.
The fire has burned down a little, so I add a couple more pieces of wood, then settle onto the couch and try not to think about Noah while I eat my weight in cheesecake.
The sugar is an excellent distraction, but the longer Noah is gone, the more I start to worry. It’s not like we had plans. But after how good things seemed earlier, I expected that after the Petersons left, we’d spend the rest of the evening together.
Then again, it’s not hard to understand why Noah might need time to think. He’s in the middle of something big—something that doesn’t have anything to do with me. I can’t just expect him to be fine because I’m here and I’d really like to spend my Christmas Eve with him.
I sigh and help myself to another bite.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve eaten half of what was left in the pan, and my worries have spiraled from perfectly logical and grounded in reason to slightly unhinged with a touch of delusional.
My brain does not hold back. I worry about everything from Noah freezing to death or getting mauled by a bear to him deciding I’m a terrible kisser and he’d rather spend the evening with the goats than face me and tell me the truth.
I’m not so out of control that I can’t fight the ridiculous with logic.
It’s forty-seven degrees outside, and Noah grew up in these mountains.
He’s not going to freeze. And while I don’t have concrete evidence that my kissing is fine, I feel like, at twenty-five, someone would have told me by now if I were really bad at it.
But that’s the thing about worry. The longer you spiral, the less realistic it becomes.
I toss my fork into the almost empty pan and groan as I drop back onto the couch cushions. “Gah, Megan!” I say to myself. “Get a grip!”
I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, then roll over to face the fire. If it wasn’t Christmas Eve, I’d call Alec and Evie. But we already talked once this morning, and I don’t want to interrupt their evening.
So I guess I’m on my own.
Just me and my cheesecake.
I look at the fork I left balanced on the edge of the pan and debate whether it’s worth reaching for one more bite. I stretch my arm out, my fingers barely grazing the edge of the utensil, and it flips out of my reach and tumbles to the floor.
You know what? That’s probably better. Eating my feelings can only get me so far.
I reach up and tug at the blanket draped over the back of the sofa, then spread it over me.
Before long, my thoughts finally settle, and I start to feel sleepy.
It’s only just past nine, but I’m on a comfortable couch, staring into a soothing fire, and I just ate myself into a sugar coma.
As soon as I let my eyelids fall closed, I drift off.
It’s Noah who wakes me up, his cool hand cupping my cheek.
“Hey,” he says softly when my eyes flutter open. “Sorry to wake you.”
It takes me a moment to process my surroundings, his presence beside me. He looks chilled, his nose a little pink like he’s been outside. But his face is relaxed, his expression open.
“I thought you might want to go upstairs,” he says. “You’ll be more comfortable in your bed than you are here.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after eleven.”
“I don’t want to go upstairs,” I say as the last fog of sleep clears from my mind. “I was waiting for you.”
I shift and sit up, and Noah moves from where he’s crouching in front of the couch so he can sit next to me.
“I’m sorry I disappeared,” he says. “I just needed some time to think.”
“I figured,” I say. “But I was worried about you.” I look over at the cheesecake. “I ate a lot of my feelings.”
Noah lets out a little chuckle. “I’m sorry I missed it. But I’m most sorry I made you worry.”
He leans back into the cushions, then tugs me closer. I settle in next to him, my head on his chest and his arm wrapped around me.
“Where did you go?” I ask.
“All over,” Noah says. “Just walking. Thinking.”
“I almost came looking for you,” I say. “But I wasn’t sure if you would want me to. And also I thought I might get lost.”
He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of my head.
“I appreciate you giving me some space.” He’s quiet for a beat before he adds, “I dated a woman while I was in med school who didn’t know how to do that.
The longer we were together, the more she made me feel like I was—I don’t know.
Basically just wrong all the time. We would have these conversations, and she would want me to talk about my feelings immediately.
On her timeline. I didn’t get time to think or even breathe.
She wanted answers. Commitments. Feelings. On demand. All the time.”
“Sounds intense,” I say. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned a past relationship, and I’m surprised by the flare of jealousy the subject triggers. Apparently, my heart already believes Noah is mine.
“I recognize, in hindsight, that there’s definitely stuff I can work on,” he says. “I probably should talk to a therapist. Get better at opening up. But I also think we’re all built differently. And she could have given me more room to figure myself out.”
“She could have,” I agree. “It’s not wrong to need a little time to sort how you feel.”
“Here’s the thing though,” Noah says. “Had you come outside to find me, I would have welcomed your company. I wanted it, even. It’s a full moon and the night sky is beautiful, and I just kept thinking, ‘I wish Megan were here to see this with me.’”
I lean back, sitting up enough for me to see Noah’s face.
“It’s different with you,” he says. “A week of us knowing each other, and I already know it’s different. How is that possible?”
I lift a hand to his cheek, then lean in and press my lips to his. “I don’t know,” I say. “But I feel the same way.”
I still have so many questions. But with Noah sitting beside me, it’s easy to trust that whatever the answers are, it’s going to be okay.
If Noah doesn’t want to practice medicine anymore, he’ll find something else to do.
I don’t care what it is just so long as he’s happy.
Which makes it easy to let go of needing an answer right this moment.
It’s not a choice that’s about me anyway, so he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
We kiss until my mind grows hazy with desire, my blood running several degrees hotter than normal. But then Noah pulls back.
“Wait, wait.” He grips my arms and presses his forehead to mine. “I have to tell you something, and I’m going to lose my focus if we keep this up.”
I grin and bite my lip. There’s something intoxicating about the slight rasp in Noah’s voice, the realization that he’s this undone because of me. But I really do want to hear what he has to say, so I force myself to sit back, putting a healthy measure of space between us.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
He looks at me like it’s taking all of his resolve to keep his distance, then he lets out a little growl and leans in to kiss me one more time. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says through a chuckle, his lips close to mine. “You have to stop smiling. I can’t resist you when you’re smiling.”
“Then stop making me smile,” I say, but I’m already kissing him again, so I’m not sure I really mean it.
Another few moments pass before I pull back. “Okay, for real,” I say. “Words. Sentences. We can do this.” This time, I stand and move to an armchair sitting perpendicular to the couch. “This will make it easier.”
“Good thinking,” Noah says. He takes a deep breath, then shifts and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “So, when we were talking the other night, I didn’t mention that the hospital where I’ve been working the last couple of years is Northvale General.”
My eyebrows lift. “You live in Charlotte? But that’s—that’s my program. That’s where I want to work.”
So many thoughts run through my mind.
First and foremost: if I get a spot in the PICU nurse residency and Noah goes back to work, we’ll be working in the same hospital. Living in the same town. It’s almost too good to be true.
He nods. “The other thing I haven’t told you is I happen to know the nursing coordinator on the peds floor. She’s in charge of hiring, and I took the liberty of sending her an email.” His expression turns a little sheepish. “About you.”
My heart starts pounding. “You did?”
“I was very professional,” Noah says. “I just told her you come highly recommended by your program, and I know you personally and can vouch for your credibility as a person and as a nurse. It was only in the postscript that I told her how much I’d really like to be able to make out with you in the on-call room. ”
I suck in a gasp “You did not.”
He grins. “You’re right. I did not. And I really don’t know if my email will matter.”
“But you tried,” I say, suddenly feeling emotional. “It means a lot to me that you tried.”
Only then does it occur to me that making out with me in the on-call room would mean…
“Noah, are you going back to work?”
His expression shifts, his gaze dropping to the floor for a long moment.
But then he looks up, eyes clear as he says, “I’ve been talking to someone really smart lately.
And she made me realize it’s okay to be human.
To make mistakes.” He takes a deep breath.
“I have to do things differently. Find a better balance. And I meant what I said about talking to a therapist. But yeah. I want to go back.”
I dart off the chair and I’m back in his arms in a second, pulling him into the world’s biggest hug.
Even when I pull away, he keeps me close, his fingers threaded through mine.
“If you don’t get a spot in the PICU, I very selfishly want you to know there are other units at Northvale that are really great.
And other hospitals in Charlotte. I’d love for you to be close. ”
He squeezes my hands, and I close my eyes, needing a moment to think, to regroup, to assess the very big feelings running through me.
Had someone asked me a week ago if I would ever move to a different city for a man, I would have laughed. But everything about this week has been larger than life. Our conversations, our kisses. It hasn’t been normal.
Maybe it’s the holiday or the snow or the isolation, but I feel like I’ve gotten to know him better in the past few days than I usually do through months of dating someone. I know without having to even think about it. For Noah, I’d move to Charlotte tomorrow. With or without a job.
It’s a completely irrational thought, and yet, it feels like the only possible choice.
I want to be with him.
And fine. I would also like to have a job.
But he’s right. There are several hospitals in Charlotte. I could find work. I could find work and we could be together.
“I love that you’re going back. And we’ll work on balance together. I’ll need it too since wherever I end up working, it’s going to be all new for me. But can I make one more suggestion?”
Noah nods. “Of course.”
“I think you should talk to your dad, Noah. I really think he’ll understand.”
He takes a long, slow breath, then he lets out a little chuckle. “It sounds so easy when you say it. Makes me wonder why I’ve had such a hard time.”
“Everything is bigger inside our heads,” I say. “I think sometimes just saying our feelings out loud makes it easier to process and understand them.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. “Will you really move to Charlotte?”
“If I can find a job, yeah. It’s where I wanted to end up anyway. You’re just a bonus.”
He grins, then pulls me in for another kiss.
“Our families are going to think we’ve lost our minds,” I say against his mouth.
He chuckles. “I don’t know. I think Olivia might be pretty happy.”
“So you’re giving her the win, then?” I ask. “Officially?”
“If she needs it,” he says like it’s no big deal. Then he pulls me into a long, lingering kiss before saying, “But I’m the one who’s really won.”
I try to think of a response, something worthy of the sentiment, but then Noah shifts, moving his mouth to my neck and the attention he gives the skin just below my earlobe robs me of all rational thought.
So I surrender. I let the rest of my words go, and I fall into his kisses, get lost in his touch.
We stay there on the couch, wrapped up in each other’s arms long enough that at some point, we both decide we can’t be bothered to split up and head to our own rooms. The couch is comfortable enough, and there’s something magical about falling asleep in the soft glow of the flickering fire and the twinkle lights on the tree.
I lift my head from where it’s resting on Noah’s chest and prop my chin up so I can look at him. His face is relaxed, his eyes closed. “You are a very good Christmas present, Noah Hawthorne.”
He grins. “You aren’t so bad yourself. The best Christmas present I had no idea I wanted.”
“Thank goodness for Olivia,” I say as I tuck myself back into his shoulder.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Thank goodness for Olivia.”