Chapter 26 What Boundaries?
The headache hits first, and then the annoyance of being woken up by the buzz of my phone on the nightstand; last is Noah pressed against me, his hands running soft rounds up and down my arm.
My annoyance melts away entirely as he presses his face into the back of my hair and one of his hands slips down under the covers.
It’s at this moment that I realize I am completely naked, but he is at least half dressed.
What the hell happened last night?
“Good morning,” he whispers, his hand tracing the same circles on my leg and teasing closer to where I’m starting to warm and crave his touch.
“It is morning.”
“Are you doing better?”
Eyes still closed, I frown. Last night is a cabernet soaked blur, only flashes of my near panic attack and our utility closet romp coming in full. Since I’m not sure what kind of better he’s asking about, I change directions.
“Was that the phone?”
“If it’s important, they’ll call again.”
“We have a job to do,” I remind, though I'm not sure why at this point. He’s clearly not in any rush to jump out of bed and his touch is serving as a delightful distraction from the throbbing in my head. If he’s not worried, then I shouldn’t be either.
“I’m not sure I’d call this a job,” he muses.
His hand finally makes contact with the pulse between my legs and I roll back into him, ready to let him finger fuck me out of this hangover.
Figuring he’s right and anyone who needs me will call again, I slide my hand up and palm the back of his head, pulling his face closer to the length of my neck.
He lines it with kisses as his hand traces down again.
And then my phone starts up once more.
“Shit.”
Noah shifts under the covers, his mouth trailing kisses lower and lower as I reach over to check who’s calling. Kara’s face blinks onto the screen and my stomach drops. It’s early for her to be calling. Too early. And twice in a row?
“It’s Kara. I have to answer this.”
“Go ahead,” he whispers, his mouth making contact with my hip. “Makes no difference to me.”
“I can’t. Not with you—” The words are stolen as he runs his tongue along the length of me, pressing a closed lip kiss at the top.
“Answer the phone, Lottie. She’s called twice now. Make it quick and I’ll behave.”
His head rests against the inside of my leg and, figuring he’s made himself comfortable, I sigh before sliding to answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’m glad you picked up. I was starting to wonder if you were screening my calls. Either that or you were knee deep in banging your boss.”
Noah, who can clearly hear Kara’s louder than life chatter, huffs a laugh, the heat of it against my skin causing me to writhe against the weight of him. This was a bad idea.
“Nope. Neither of those. What’s up?”
Noah clicks his tongue as if to shame me for my lie and tickles my hip with his fingertips. A really bad idea. I bite my lip to keep from making noise as Kara answers.
“Bummer. Well, I was just calling to check in. I was with Nan most of yesterday, helped her with laundry and then she force fed me brownies while we watched her soaps and packed orders. I gotta say, some of those shows are pretty addicting. Way more sex than I ever would have thought for Nan though.”
“So much sex,” Noah breathes, his fingertips trailing closer to my center again.
“Oh yeah,” I say into the phone, hoping my voice isn’t coming across as screechy as it is in my head. “She’s roped me into watching those a few times. I should have warned you to get out of there by noon.”
“It was no biggie. Sort of fun, actually.”
“So much fun,” Noah responds, his face moving to replace his fingertips. Since Kara’s call doesn’t seem urgent, his promise to behave is crumbling and I know I need to get her off the phone.
“Was there something you needed, Kara?”
“Nothing in particular. Just miss you. You’re home tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes,” I bite out, bucking my hips. “Will I see you then or are you in the studio?”
“I’ll be home.”
There is a stretch of silence and Noah runs his tongue up along my center again and I practically yelp, a strangled noise garbled into the phone.
“Did you say something?” Kara, asks. “Sorry, you’re on speaker and it sounded sort of weird, like you cut out or something.”
My entire body blushes and I twist against the mattress. “Nope. Nothing here.”
“Weird.”
Noah is definitively past behaving at this point, and it’s taking everything I have to keep from moaning under his touch.
“Hey Kara, I have to go. I’ll text you later.”
“Sounds good. And Lottie? Let loose a little. You sound stressed. Sex with your boss, or anyone else you can find, might do you some good.”
I pinch my eyes shut as Noah hums his approval of Kara’s suggestion and delves impossibly deeper, his arms pressing my knees down so I’m spread open against his face.
“Not going to happen,” I snap.
“Your loss. He’s hot.”
Unable to take it any longer I pull the phone away from my ear with a strained “bye Kara” before sliding to end the call.
“Fuck!”
Noah lifts his head and chuckles. “You’re a dirty little liar.”
“And you’re a tease.”
“I have no intention of teasing you,” he says, leaning down to continue his work.
But in what can only be described as a cruel stroke of fate, before he gets going again, the landline trills, reminding us of the Barker’s and their lavender festival.
I groan a frustrated half laugh as Noah sighs and slips out from under the covers. As he disappears out of the door, leaving me to writhe in bed alone, parts of last night come filtering back. It hits me like a flash of ice water and I pull the comforter tight against my body.
Noah turned me down.
Politely and with a level of kindness that makes my chest ache thinking about it, but he still stopped himself from taking advantage of my practical begging. My cheeks flush and my head throbs remembering how brazen I was.
I’m not sure whether to be touched or annoyed by his refusal; he was clearly working within the bounds of healthy consent. But his trying to comfort me in the parking lot at dinner and then not wanting to drunkenly fool around runs acidic under my skin.
And yet, he was clearly wanting to engage this morning. I’m ready to brush off what is clearly my overreaction to him being a decent sexual partner when I roll over and see the glass of water and bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand. My heart sinks.
He’s not supposed to care this much.
Mid spiral, Noah pads back into the room and his frustration is clear on his face before he voices it.
“We’re needed at the main house.”
“I can shower and be ready in ten.”
I wish I was as put out as he seems to be, but given my recent recollection all I am is grateful for Cheryl’s timely interruption.
At least keeping busy will distract me from the way I want to break against his care.
I can’t afford to let him in again. I have to mark these boundaries and figure out how I’m going to tell him I can’t honor our sex olympics anymore.
It should be easy. Noah will respect me if I say we have to stop.
But there’s also a chance he might see through my reasoning.
Because as much as I want to say it’s logistics, or because of our professional roles—the truth is far more sinister.
The truth is I’m scared of what is blossoming and the lines are now too blurry for me to see clearly.
His assurance during my breakdown, that just sex is all this ever was, should bring me comfort, but as I feared it might, it only brings a fresh sting to the old hurt our pretend play has unveiled.
Fresh from our separate showers and under a noticeable cloud of silence, Noah and I cross towards the main house and meet a frazzled Cheryl, who is clutching a clipboard as if it is an additional appendage. Her face breaks into a relieved grin as we approach.
“Oh thank god. I am so sorry to ask for your help but my usual volunteers got their wires crossed and won’t be here until nine at the earliest. I think I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“It’s not a problem. We are happy to help.”
“Yes,” Noah agrees, stepping up and standing close enough that the back of my hip brushes his. “Put us to work. We woke up energized and ready to jump in head first.”
I snort, choking on the double meaning of his words and step away from his touch. “Where would you like us?”
“The front gate needs someone to hand out the festival schedules and maps, and I’m sure Tom . . . oh god, where the hell is Tom?”
She scours the driveway looking for her husband, and I note the golf carts lined up and fitted with walkie-talkies and clipboards.
A few people I recognize from our first afternoon here are milling around, hauling boxes and busy with tasks.
The year I spent helping Kara with her community theater troupe comes rushing back and I step forward to touch Cheryl on the shoulder.
“How about we head down towards the gate, just to make sure there is someone there, and if we see Tom on the way we’ll have him call and check in with you. If he needs anything from us we can help.”
“Right,” she answers, her face still pinched into a frown.
Then, as if my words had to climb over the mountain of anxiety in her mind, she relaxes.
“Yes. Thank you, that would be wonderful. Take one of the carts—the walkies are already programmed to the right channel and let me know if you need anything. Trinity and her boyfriend, Carver, have already been through. They dropped the boxes of maps at the lower farm gate this morning and the tent people should have started there. Let me know if you run into any issues. I’ll try to have reinforcements for you soon so you two can enjoy the day. ”
“Don’t worry about us,” I say, patting her elbow.
The sentiment seems to calm her more than it does me, but in the interest of making sure we make it through this trip with our lies still intact enough to seal this contract, I follow Noah across the driveway to the nearest cart.
He slides in and the seat is small enough that I’m pressed up against his side.
Ignoring the urge to clear the air now, I pull the waiting clipboard from the dash and hand him one of the walkies. Clipping mine to the top of my shorts, I reach for the support bar as Noah backs us up and turns towards the path leading to the lower levels of the farm.
The vague spoken tour Cheryl gave me from the balcony our first night here comes whispering back as we rock down the dusty dirt road.
Noah relaxes into the seat, his one arm dropping to rest on my thigh.
His fingers trace a light pattern on my kneecap and it takes everything I have not to pinch my legs together at the sensation.
I keep my gaze set on the clipboard and study the map as if it holds the answer to my dilemma.
Telling him now, and cutting all physical touch would be the responsible thing—revert to our original rules.
But that would mean facing a day of awkward faking it around the Barkers.
I can manage this. As long as we don’t end up alone together, everything will be fine.
We arrive at the gate to find the tables bare and stacks of boxes littered under a tent haphazardly. There are no cars parked in the gravel lot, but a quick glance at my phone tells me they should be arriving any minute.
“Looks like Carver was in a hurry,” I say, sliding out of the cart and nudging one of the tipped boxes with my toe.
Noah bends down to pick it up, his forearms flexing deliciously, and sets it onto one of the empty tables.
I pull my walkie talkie up and using the reference sheet on the clipboard, signal Cheryl.
“Lottie to Cheryl, over.”
The speaker crackles. “Go for Cheryl.”
“We made it to the gate, no sign of Tom, but we’ll get things set up down here. Over.”
“Oh, he showed up about two minutes after you left. Sounds like he may need help with some vendors who seem set on having a specific spot which means shifting half our power sources. He may swing down to borrow Noah for the manpower. Over.”
“Got it. We’ll be here. Over.”
When I turn back towards the table to start unloading paperwork, Noah is staring at me.
“What?”
“You’re good at that.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Talking on the radio? Really scraping the bottom of the barrel for those compliments now aren’t we?”
“No, the way you talked Cheryl down. I thought that little vein in her forehead was going to pop but you just sort of swept in and smoothed things over for her—made an actionable plan. You’re good at that.”
My neck warms under his words, the authenticity of them leaving me bare in ways I’m not used to. Or at least, haven’t been used to. Not until Noah.
I shrug, clipping the walkie back to my shorts and reaching for a stack of maps.
“I spent some time organizing Kara’s rogue theater troupe.
You sort of learn the art of soothing dramatic anxiety spells when you’re in charge of wannabe Meryl Streeps.
Though, I can’t see Meryl being the type to lose it like that, she seems classy you know?
I bet your mom knows. Oh my god, does she know Meryl Streep? ”
The latter half of my explanation sounds more like drunk ramblings, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from spiraling further. So much for playing it cool.
“There she is,” he says, one side of his mouth pulled up in a smile. “That’s the nervous babble I’ve come to know.”
My mouth goes dry and I clear my throat, dropping my gaze to the stack of papers in my hands. His statement tugs at the same rapidly unraveling thread of security, and I don’t want to dwell on it any more.
“We need to get organized—the first of the cars are arriving.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he quips, grabbing another of the boxes and opening it before tucking it under the table.