Chapter 21
“You’re right,” Noah steps out of my car and scans the horizon. “Like a wall of stars.”
I pull the bag of groceries we’d stopped for, and other items, from the back seat and grab my personal bag too. “Oh just wait. We’ll go out on the back patio and turn off all the lights.”
“Gets better, huh?”
“So much better,” I promise, drawing out the words for emphasis.
Noah slings his commuter bag over his shoulder, meets me at the front of the car and takes the groceries from me. I unlock the front door and push it in.
The house is old, small, and forever will have that rustic smell of wood that has sat up in the mountains for years—mixed with the smell of the chili that’s in the slow cooker.
“How long have you lived up here?” he asks as he looks around and I walk toward the small kitchen, turning on lights as I go.
“Twelve years. I bought it when I moved back. The store keeps me social. The mountains, they keep me grounded.”
Noah sets the bag of groceries on the counter, and then deposits his commuter bag on one of the kitchen chairs.
“You’re not afraid, up here by yourself?” he asks, looking out the window into the vast darkness.
“Once in a while my door camera catches a bear or a mountain lion.”
His eyes are wide when he turns back to look at me. “Seriously?”
“Sure. I’m in their territory.”
“What about people?”
I shrug. “I get a few hikers who get lost, or the occasional car that wanders off the road.”
“And that doesn’t scare the shit out of you? That’s how I start my murder scenes.” His voice has risen and I’m not sure if that’s out of excitement for the situation or out of fear for my well-being.
“And that’s why I read you when I’m at work only—morning and mid-day,” I add.
He chuckles, more relaxed now. “I have six scenarios playing in my head as we speak.” He moves back to the window and cranes his neck to look out further. “Shit.”
I watch him. He’s processing something. There is a glow to his aura that I haven’t seen yet. Creativity is brewing.
He takes an old leather notebook and a pen out of his bag and begins to write.
I retrieve two wine glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of wine from the refrigerator that Lily and I had started last week. All the while, Noah is frantically making notes, now sitting at the table.
Pouring the wine, I set a glass in front of him, and for a moment, he lifts his head and acknowledges me. Then he’s back to writing.
I move about the kitchen, putting away the few things we picked up at the store. Leaving the box of condoms on the counter, I push them back out of the way. We’re prepared, but it doesn’t need to be the centerpiece of our dinner.
Setting out the few items that will go with the chili, I take down two bowls and fill them from the slow cooker. As I turn around to set them on the table, Noah is sliding his book back into his bag.
“Sorry,” he says, reaching for the bowls.
“Sorry for what?” I ask, turning back to the counter to collect the other items.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a burst of excitement over an idea.”
Setting the items on the table, I take the seat next to him. “Tell me you’ve been working this whole week.”
Noah shrugs, just as he has the few times I’ve asked. “More than I was back in New York. But if I don’t get something solid soon …” he lets it linger.
“Well, hopefully being up here will be inspirational,” I say as I take a few crackers from the sleeve on the table and crunch them up in my chili.
When I shift my attention back to him, he’s staring at me—gazing is more like it.
“I really like you, Emma,” he says.
I brush the crumbs off of my fingers and reach for a napkin from the holder on the table. “And I like you too, Noah,” I say in his formal tone. “Eat.”
That sexy slight smile is on his lips as he turns his attention to the chili.
Once dinner is finished, Noah helps me clean up and store the leftovers. Then, as promised, I turn off all of the exterior lights, leaving only a lamp on in the living room, and we take our wine outside to the deck.
“Wow,” he says, drawing out the word. “You weren’t kidding.”
“It’s magical, isn’t it?”
“That’s one way to put it.” He leans against the railing looking out into the vastness. “You’re lucky if you can see a star in New York.”
“You’re right in the heart of it all, huh?”
“Certainly am. Don’t get me wrong. I have a lot of good feelings in New York. It’s where I belong. The noise. The people. The bustle.”
“I thought you said you don’t get out much,” I say, sipping my wine.
“I don’t, but I know it’s there, ya know?”
I nod. I do get it. Just like at the end of the day I know the stars are here for me.
But as the wine warms my chest, my body chills in the air thinking about how he loves what he has back home. I can’t give that to him here. The pace is much different.
Noah sets his wine on the small table next to us, and then does the same with mine.
“Where is your nearest neighbor?” he asks.
“Half a mile down the mountain.”
He turns to look but shakes his head. “I can’t see anyone.”
“Exactly.”
“So if I started to seduce you right here in the dark, no one would see us.”
My breath hitches in my lungs. “Is that your plan? To seduce me?”
Noah brushes his thumb over my lips. “I think you deserve seducing.”
“Do I?”
“More than anything,” he says, leaning in to brush his lips to mine. “Remember, we’re not old. I’m not hesitant. You’re not shy.”
That has me chuckling. “I’m not shy? How do you know that?”
Now he runs his finger over my collarbone. “I don’t date a lot, but when I have, I’ve stayed in my age range. And I find that women, when they clear a certain age, think of themselves as undesirable.”
I swallow hard. I’ve thought that for years.
“The truth is,” he continues as he brushes his lips up my neck and down again, “women only get better with age.”
“Is that so?” My voice quivers as I ask, my eyes close, and my fingers grip the sides of his shirt.
“There is a softness to you,” he says as he begins gathering my blouse in his hands. “And I mean that in the very best way.”
“I’m glad you find that an attractive feature.”
“Oh, I do,” he says as his hand skims under my shirt and rests against my side.
I suck in a breath. “You know, my hair used to be auburn before all of this silver peppered it.”
“I never would have noticed your auburn hair,” he say with his lips hovering over mine.
“Liar.”
“Okay, if I’d met you when my hair wasn’t grey, maybe. But, sweetheart,” he pauses a breath away from me, “you’re perfect.”
I pull him to me. It might be something he says to all the women my age, it might be how he really feels. I don’t know. But in this moment all I want to do is show him every curve and every imperfect part of me.
My fingers nimbly begin to unbutton his shirt, and his hands gather my blouse.
When I can, I push his shirt from his shoulders, and he recovers to lift mine over my head.
There is something primal that escapes him as he looks down at me in my bra—my average, bought off of Amazon bra. “Perfect,” he says as he moves to unbutton my slacks.
“Are we really going to get naked outside on the patio?” I ask as he moves into me, his lips on my chest, his erection pressed against me.
“Are you remembering neighbors you forgot about?”
I let out an airy laugh. “No. I just thought we might like a blanket on the ground.”
His smile is bright, even in the dark.
“I like how you think.”