Chapter 18 #2
“Food first.”
“That is progress.”
He smiled, eyes heavy.
“You taste good.”
“You are delirious.”
“Possible.”
I settled him on the couch and brought water, medication, cheese, crackers, and apple slices.
He ate with his eyes half closed.
Then sleep took him before I finished washing the plate.
I covered him with a blanket and left lunch within reach for later.
Downstairs, Owen met me near the rear bay.
“He looked happy.”
“He was.”
“You look happy.”
“I am neutral.”
“You kissed him on the landing.”
My head turned.
Owen raised both hands.
“I was in the yard. The door has glass.”
“You saw nothing.”
“I saw enough to know you’re not neutral.”
I went back to work.
Two hours later, my phone vibrated.
NOAH: Did you kiss me upstairs?
I stared at the message.
ME: Yes.
A minute passed.
NOAH: Thought so.
Another pause.
NOAH: Was checking whether that was a dream.
ME: Not a dream.
NOAH: Good.
I smiled at the phone.
NOAH: Date tonight?
ME: You may be exhausted.
NOAH: Quiet date.
ME: Define quiet.
NOAH: Dinner. Couch. Kissing. No lighthouse man.
I laughed aloud.
Caleb looked over from the ferry cable.
“Good news?”
“None of your business.”
My phone vibrated again.
NOAH: Also I think I like you more today.
The words brought everything around me to a halt.
Not love.
Not a recovered declaration.
Something better because it belonged entirely to the present.
ME: I like you more today too.
NOAH: Is that possible? You already know me.
ME: There is always more.
The typing indicator remained for several seconds.
NOAH: That was smooth.
ME: Accidental.
NOAH: Still counts.
I put the phone away before Caleb could read my face.
It was too late.
“You’re doing the old smile,” he said.
“What old smile?”
“The one from when Noah first started here.”
“I did not have a smile.”
“You walked into equipment.”
“That happened once.”
“Three times.”
Owen joined us.
“Should we lock them in the loft again?”
“No.”
Caleb looked thoughtful.
“The green lamp still works.”
I pointed toward the ferry cable.
“Both of you have jobs.”
They laughed.
By six, I had completed enough work to leave without guilt.
Almost enough.
The apartment lights glowed above the yard.
When I opened the door, I heard water running in the bathroom.
The powered chair stood beside the couch.
Noah came into the hallway on foot.
His limp remained pronounced, but he walked without holding the wall.
I stopped.
He wore dark jeans and a soft gray shirt that belonged to me.
Or had belonged to me once.
Our clothes had long ago stopped respecting ownership.
“You’re walking.”
“I do that now.”
“You should have waited.”
“For permission?”
“For someone nearby.”
His expression tightened.
I corrected myself.
“You look steady.”
“I am.”
“And dressed.”
He looked down at the shirt.
“I think this is yours.”
“It was.”
“You want it back?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He approached until only a foot separated us.
“I heard the roller door.”
“That’s new.”
“I know.”
His smile held pride.
“Everything seems clearer after I sleep.”
“I noticed.”
He took my hand.
The movement was deliberate, though nervousness showed beneath it.
“Thank you for today.”
“You did the work.”
“You gave it to me.”
“You needed something real.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I did.”
His gaze lifted.
“Because you knew me before.”
“Yes.”
“What if I stop being him?”
“You already have.”
Pain flickered.
I squeezed his fingers.
“And you are still you.”
“That sounds impossible.”
“It is not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you sat at that panel and became unbearable about someone else’s wiring within six minutes.”
His mouth curved.
“Fair.”
I lifted my free hand and touched his cheek.
“You are changing. That does not break the thread of who you are.”
“I don’t know who I am some days.”
“I do.”
He looked at me with an ache that made my chest tighten.
“What am I?”
“Brilliant.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Stubborn.”
“Better.”
“Kind. Irritating. Brave when you feel anything but brave.”
His expression softened.
“You repair things other people abandon. You feed Marlowe from the table after swearing you won’t. You hate being helped but ask for me when you need me.”
My thumb moved along his cheekbone.
“You are not a set of memories, Noah.”
His eyes shone.
“What would I do without you?”
“You would survive.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.”
He leaned into my hand.
“You do not have to find out.”
The answer seemed to reach something deep inside him.
Noah put his arms around me.
I held him.
His body felt stronger than the week before.
Not fully healed.
Present.
When he lifted his face, I kissed his forehead, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth.
Noah turned.
Our lips met.
The kiss warmed slowly.
No urgency.
No fear of losing the moment.
His hand moved over my shoulder and into my hair. Mine settled at his waist.
When he pressed closer, my body responded.
Hard.
Immediate.
I moved back before he could feel it.
Noah noticed the retreat.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
“I am going to start dinner.”
His gaze narrowed.
Then understanding reached him.
Color rose along his throat.
“Oh.”
I tried to step away.
He kept hold of my hand.
“Did I do that?”
“Yes.”
His voice lowered.
“Good.”
Heat coiled through me.
“Noah.”
“What?”
“You are still healing.”
“I know.”
“You are tired.”
“I know.”
“You are looking at me as though you would enjoy making this more difficult.”
His mouth curved into something almost familiar.
“Would I?”
“You used to.”
“Maybe that survived.”
I leaned close enough to brush my lips against his ear.
“It did.”
He shivered.
I stepped away before restraint failed.
“Dinner.”
Noah smiled after me.
We cooked together.
Meatballs with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, and greens. Noah peeled the potatoes while I shaped the meat. We worked shoulder to shoulder, occasionally bumping into one another in the narrow space.
Every small contact carried awareness now.
His hip near mine.
My hand passing behind his back.
His fingers brushing mine when he took the salt.
The old intimacy had been effortless.
The new intimacy felt electric because each touch was chosen.
After dinner, we lay on the couch rather than sitting.
Noah fit in front of me, his back against my chest. I kept one arm around his waist. His recovering left arm rested on a pillow.
We put on a quiet travel program.
Neither of us watched.
“Tell me about our first trip,” he said.
I moved my fingers through his hair.
“Overnight or proper trip?”
“Proper.”
“We took the station wagon north to Alder Cove.”
“Why?”
“You found a cabin with no internet and claimed it would save my soul.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
“It had an outdoor bathtub.”
He turned his head slightly.
“That sounds promising.”
“It rained for three days.”
“Less promising.”
“You insisted the bathtub was usable in rain.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Did we?”
“Yes.”
“Outside?”
“No one was within half a mile.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the most relevant answer.”
Noah laughed softly.
“What else?”
“We hiked along the cliffs. You slipped into a mud pool.”
“Graceful.”
“You blamed my boots.”
“Were they your boots?”
“Yes.”
“Then reasonable.”
I smiled into his hair.
“We cooked over a wood stove. You beat me at cards and accused me of cheating when I won.”
“Did we sleep much?”
“Not particularly.”
The silence after that grew warm.
Noah shifted carefully until he faced me.
His eye searched mine.
“I wish I remembered.”
“So do I.”
“Do you think about it?”
“The trip?”
“What we did.”
I answered honestly.
“Yes.”
“Does it make this hard?”
“Sometimes.”
“Because you want me.”
“Yes.”
“Because I don’t remember wanting you.”
“Partly.”
His fingers moved along my beard.
“I want you now.”
My pulse surged.
“Noah.”
“I’m not asking to do anything.”
“Good.”
“I’m telling you.”
“That is not easier.”
His mouth curved.
“Did I enjoy torturing you?”
“Immensely.”
“Another thing that survived.”
I kissed his fingertips.
He went quiet.
“Work helped today,” he said after a while.
“I know.”
“I felt like a person.”
“You were a person yesterday.”
“I felt like a patient.”
The distinction hurt.
“Tomorrow, the panel is waiting.”
“Not before coffee.”
“Never.”