Chapter 16
CHAPTER
I glance up at the tattered vinyl sign hanging over the door as I reach for the handle. “Ladies drink half price and free hot wings.”
I suppose it explains why the parking lot is so packed, compared to last time I was here.
Three steps inside the bar, my eyes lock on Noah.
He’s on the other side of the room, but he looks up, spots me, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
He’s talking to a blond girl wearing a yellow sundress—well, she’s talking to him—but she seems to have lost his attention as his eyes follow my every step.
I wonder if she’s the one—the one who wants the white picket fence and a yard full of kids.
I make my way to the bar, ignoring men whose eyes rake up and down my body, definitely ignoring the guy in the trucker hat who drawls, “Damn, is it hot in here, or is that just you?”
Noah’s waiting by the time I push the rest of the way through.
There must be a speaker overhead, because in this corner of the room, the music is deafening. Noah leans to my ear and yells over Luke Combs. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”
I sense eyes still watching me. Glancing over to where Noah just came from, I find Little Miss Sundress looks irritated. To her credit, when our gazes meet, she stands taller, doesn’t look away. Good for you. I ignore her anyway.
“I think someone else might not be so thrilled I’m here.”
Noah’s brows pucker. I lift my chin in the direction of the woman, who is still staring.
He waves her off. “That’s Ginny. We’re just friends.”
I’m not sure Ginny got the memo on that. “She’s very pretty.”
“Doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
The bartender walks over, a different woman from last time. Same half shirt, though. Must be the uniform. “You need something, Noah?”
He looks to me. “You want Hendrick’s again?”
I shake my head. “I’ll just take a water.”
He grins, then turns back to the bartender, holding up his Miller Lite. “Another one of these and a bottle of water, please, Kiki.”
“You got it.”
Noah reaches out, tugs at a piece of hair that’s fallen in my face. “If you didn’t come for the alcohol, then you came for something else?”
I’d driven here with the intention of chatting him up, seeing what I could get out of him. But this close, information isn’t what I feel like taking anymore. There’s real chemistry here. It lights up my body, makes me feel like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.
I tilt my head. “Maybe I came for the free hot wings.”
His lip twitches. “Would you like me to order you some?”
“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
Noah’s playful dimples make an appearance. He reaches forward, puts a hand on my hip, and my skin tingles beneath his touch. I remember how those fingers dug in not long ago, how good they felt on my bare skin.
“Is this where you spend all your free time?” I ask.
“Not usually. I prefer the Big Devil Bayou on the north side of town. Do you know it? I fish off the old dock.”
“I do. Though I’m surprised that dock is still standing. I haven’t been there in decades, and it was rotting back then.”
Noah sips his beer. “I replaced the decking a few years back. Not too many know I did it, so I usually have the place to myself. I go there to calm my mind.”
“Why aren’t you there now?”
He grins. “Because I met you here, and I was hoping I’d run into you again.”
I feel heat rise within me. He’s an irresistible temptation I can’t ignore.
Suddenly, the music blaring through the shitty speakers cuts mid-song and a woman’s voice comes overhead. “Hey, everyone. We’re about to get started. Our first brave soul for the evening is Tonya Woodsman. She’s going to be singing ‘Before He Cheats.’ Let’s give her a warm welcome.”
The bar erupts in applause, a bunch of whistles and hoots and hollers.
Unfortunately, the only thing I hate more than country music is karaoke country music.
Though a few seconds later, the woman takes the mic and starts to belt out something about bleach blondes, and she’s actually pretty good.
Her deep, raspy voice sounds better than the stuff that was playing a few minutes ago.
Noah and I watch her for a moment. Halfway through the song, he leans over and says something, but it’s so damn loud in here now, I have to cup my ear.
“What?”
He yells louder. “I asked how your mom is doing.”
“Oh.” I shake my head with a frown. “Not great. They had to put her on a ventilator.”
We go back and forth for a few minutes, trying to have a conversation. But more than half the time we have to repeat ourselves. Eventually, Noah yells, “How about we get out of here, so we don’t have to scream? Maybe go to my place?”
He reads the wariness on my face without me having to say anything and leans to my ear again.
“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. I won’t try anything, if that’s not what you want.
We can just talk, without having to yell.
” He pulls back and winks. “Unless you decide otherwise. I really like it when you make the moves. It’s sexy as fuck. ”
The first time we met, we had sex, and I almost left with him. The second time we were alone, I was on top of him ten minutes after we went inside the house. What are the chances we’re going to just talk ? Though I do need to get closer . . .
“How about we go for ice cream instead?” I ask. “Or for a walk?”
Noah shrugs. “If that’s what you want. But I would love to show you the work I’m doing on my house. I’m renovating it top to bottom. Taking me forever, but I’m doing it all myself. I make furniture as a hobby. This is my first real construction project.”
He sounds sincere, but it’s not actually him I don’t trust. It’s me. I’ve been making some dumb decisions lately, present company included. I’m still debating, getting ready to decline the invitation, when he sweetens the offer.
“It’s not far. Only about two miles away. It was my parents’ house for thirty years, so I’m trying to update it and make it my own.”
My parents’ house.
I know where Mr. Sawyer lived. Drove past it enough times with Jocelyn back in the day. But I’ve never been inside. Maybe it holds the answers to all the questions I have. How can I say no?
I take a deep breath. “I’ll follow you in my car.”
Noah smiles like he’s just won a prize. “Excellent.”
The five-minute drive is nerve-racking. I consider calling Ivy on the way, telling her I’m about to go into his house.
But her husband would probably ask who was on the phone, and then there would be a digital footprint connecting us since I don’t have my prepaid with me.
I can’t be that sloppy, not now. Not after all these years.
My palms are a sweaty mess as we turn down Glenn Oak Drive.
It’s a wide road, with bald cypress trees lining both sides of the paved blacktop.
Ghostly gray tendrils of Spanish moss drape from one side of the road to the other, creating the feeling of going through a tunnel.
It’s pretty during the day, eerie as hell at night.
Especially when it’s leading to a place I’m dreading stepping into almost as much as I can’t wait.
We pull into the driveway, Noah’s red pickup first, me behind him. I look up at the familiar house and white-knuckle the steering wheel. It looks exactly the same as I remember.
Calm down, Elizabeth. He’s not in there.
He’s dead.
He’s fucking dead.
Noah walks to my car and opens the door, extends a hand to help me out. I take a deep breath before unfolding.
“Don’t look at the outside,” he says. “That’ll be the last thing I get to.”
Once I’m standing, he doesn’t let go of my hand.
Instead, he laces our fingers together for the walk to the front door.
I’m not a hand-holder. But I don’t pull away because there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll pass out before we get to the door.
My breaths are coming in short, shallow spurts, and I’m lightheaded and nauseous.
Noah creaks open the rickety door, reaches inside, and flicks on the lights. He extends a hand for me to walk in ahead of him.
“Ladies first . . .”
I manage to put one foot in front of the other.
I’m not sure what I expected—dark, gloomy rooms packed with musty furniture covered by sheets, cobwebs hanging all over—but it’s nothing like I’d imagined.
The first room we enter is bright and airy, with high ceilings, walls painted creamy off-white, and wide-plank oak flooring.
A sweeping staircase is off to one side, and there’s even a big, rustic-looking chandelier hanging in the center.
“It used to have eight-foot ceilings, but I opened up the first and second floor to make it one. Probably going to regret it when the August air-conditioning bills start rolling in, but I like the way it makes me feel when I enter.”
“It’s really beautiful.”
He points up to the ceiling, to a giant skylight I hadn’t noticed.
“During the day, I get a ton of sun, so I don’t need to turn on any lights at least.” Noah puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me to the next rooms. There’s a big kitchen with a new double island, a laundry room, formal dining room, and two bedrooms. Every room is in a different phase of construction.
Upstairs, he shows me two more bedrooms, one of which is the only room not under construction so far.
It’s where he sleeps, but it has only a basic frame holding a mattress because he put all the other furniture in storage.
Noah continues with the tour, opening the last door on the left and flipping the light switch. “This is the only other room I haven’t started. It was my father’s office.”
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line three of the walls. I walk over to the nearest one and run my finger along some of the old, leather-bound spines.
“He was a collector. My mother always said if anyone breaks in, let them take her jewelry, just leave the books. Apparently, they’re worth more.”
I scan the shelves, freezing when I come to an area of framed photos.
My heart might even stop beating for a few seconds when I see the eyes.
They’re cold, distant, even though he’s looking straight at the camera.
Noah walks over, stands close behind me.
He lifts his chin and gestures to the middle frame. “I was three in that photo.”
I hadn’t even noticed the little boy holding up a fish, too stuck on the evil monster standing next to him.
“Maybe you knew my father,” he says. “Damon Sawyer? He taught English at the high school.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You sure? Mr. Sawyer? It’s not a very big school. The kids usually know all the teachers, even the ones they don’t have.”
I feel him watching me now. It takes everything I have to keep my composure.
It was stupid to say I didn’t know him. Of course I’d know him.
Everyone knows everyone in this Podunk town, especially a teacher who died .
But self-preservation answered before I could think it through, as if saying I’d never heard the name would make it true.
But I’m stuck now, so I need to go with it.
I shake my head again. “The name isn’t familiar. ”
“What year did you graduate?”
I swallow, trying to think of a way around this. “Two thousand and five.”
Noah reaches to the shelf, picks up a frame that’s sitting face down. He turns it over and hands it to me. A giant close-up of Mr. Sawyer’s face stares at me. For a moment, I think I might vomit.
“Are you sure he doesn’t look familiar? Two thousand and five is the year he died . . .”