Chapter 40
FORTY
ryder
“Looks like it’s just you and me now, pudge.”
Goonie meows softly before jumping down from the windowsill and into my lap.
Picking up the Highlander novel I got at the bookstore, I settle in and start to read.
The next couple of days go by surprisingly fast as I manage to keep myself busy. The shop is slammed with walk-ins on Monday, and Tuesday I have a full day of appointments, including a complex back piece that takes over eight hours to complete.
When I’m not at the shop, I spend my time working out, reading and setting up our next date. The anticipation of seeing her reaction to what I have in store keeps me going—I miss her more than I’d care to admit.
Wednesday afternoon, I’m sprawled out on the couch reading a book when I hear Noia’s car pull up in the driveway.
My heart rate kicks up when her car door slams shut. Goonie, who’s been napping on my chest, raises his head and blinks sleepily.
“She’s back,” I murmur, my pulse pounding in my ears.
I force myself not to rush to the door like some lovesick teenager. Instead, I stay put and flip to the next page in my book, feigning nonchalance as the front door swings open.
Noia looks windblown and beautiful. Cheeks flushed, her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a simple, cropped white T-shirt and jeans that hug her curves in all the right places.
“Hey,” she says, dropping her bags by the door. Her eyes find mine, and for a moment, we just stare, the air crackling between us with three days’ worth of pent-up tension.
“Hey yourself.” I close the book and set it aside.
Goonie abandons me immediately, trotting over to wind around Noia’s ankles.
Bending down to scoop him up, she laughs. “Did you miss me, troublemaker?”
“He not the only one,” I say, rising from the couch. I move toward her slowly, giving her space, and myself time to gauge her reaction.
Her cheeks flush and she buries her face in Goonie’s tummy before setting him down on the floor. “How were things while I was gone?”
“Quiet.” I take a step closer, close enough to catch the subtle scent of her coconut lotion. “How was your time away?”
Her gaze darts to my mouth, then back up to meet mine. “I got some writing done. And the change of scenery helped a lot.”
“Good.” I want to touch her, but I shove my hands into my pockets instead. Come to think of it, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately when she’s around. “I know you just got back, but you need to pack another overnight bag for our date.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of date?”
“We’re going camping.”
Her mouth drops open. “Camping? Like, in a tent? Outside?”
“That’s generally what camping means, yes.” I can’t help but grin at her shocked expression.
“I don’t camp,” she says flatly.
I let out a frustrated breath. “You practically live in the woods, Noia. I was planning on taking it easy on you and I figured since you live out here, that you must’ve been camping before.”
I think for a minute, then shrug. “Testing your comfort zone a little more won’t hurt.” I step back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Unless you’re scared?”
Her eyes narrow at the challenge. “Nope.”
“Good. Pack warm clothes. It gets cold in the mountains at night, even in summer. We leave in thirty.”
“Thirty minutes?”
“Twenty-nine now,” I say, tapping my watch. “Tick tock.”
She mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘bossy ass’ as she grabs her bags. I watch her go, enjoying the view as she stomps up the stairs.
“And don’t forget your hiking boots!” I call after her. “If you don’t have any, tennis shoes will work!”
The only response I hear is a frustrated groan that makes me chuckle.
While she’s upstairs getting ready, I load my truck with the camping gear I picked up the day before—tent, sleeping bags, cooking equipment, and enough food for a night.
I chose a spot by a secluded lake about an hour’s drive into the mountains. It’s accessible by a dirt road up to a certain point, then we’ll have to head out on foot for about twenty minutes before we get there.
Yesterday when I was thinking through options of where we should go, the memory of it came back to me. It’s a place I used to stay quite frequently after I got out of rehab and I’ve never brought anyone out there with me—until now.
Noia comes out of the house wearing jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt over a band T-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. Carrying a small duffel bag, the look on her face says she’s being marched to her execution.
“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me,” she mutters as I take her bag and toss it in the back of the truck.
“I’ll be fun, I promise.” I open the passenger door. “And trust me, this is nothing compared to what I’ll be ‘doing to you,’ if you behave.”
Her brows hitch as she gives me a skeptical look before climbing into the passenger seat.