Chapter 19
nineteen
Noah
Fuck but her lips are tempting.
I take a step back, scolding myself. She was only trying to be a good friend to Lane.
Her hand on my mouth didn’t mean anything to her.
She wasn’t flirting or taunting me. She didn’t feel anything, not the way I did.
She was just laser-focused on protecting Lane, even reminding me about the picture she took.
“I have work to do,” I say, which is an awkward thing to say. It’s not like we’re a real married couple, needing to keep each other in the loop of our nightly activities. I just don’t know how else to tell her that I can’t be in her presence anymore without a serious danger to my sanity.
I was prepared to be forever indebted to this woman for helping our family out. In Vegas, I became aware that she would probably turn into the closest female friend I’d have, one that was off-limits.
But tonight I’m down another infuriating level of intimacy.
Tonight, I’ve seen up close her tiny family, the thin threads of belonging she’s trying to pull together to weave her life, and I understand now how our small town is so important to her.
For all intents and purposes, we are her family.
And this endears her to me in ways she will never understand.
It’s as if our DNAs were rooted together by the same primal need for Emerald Creek to always be there.
If that weren’t enough, she has a level of patience and understanding of others that leaves me in awe, while being fun and lighthearted.
To top it off, I’m becoming intimately familiar with the pattern of her breathing, the scent of her skin, the fragrance of her shampoo, the silkiness of her hair, the clarity of her laughter, and the register of her voice, although I still need to figure out why sometimes it comes out breathy and uncertain.
I’m falling in love with my wife.
And there’s nothing I can do about it, because no way in hell am I even going to suggest I feel anything for her.
Because that would be a real dick move.
“Take your time, I won’t be up there for at least a couple of hours,” I add. Since that first morning when she started getting dressed in front of me, we’ve been trying to protect each other’s intimacy in a way that doesn’t raise suspicion from Lane or Beck.
Getting the hint, Willow walks away. “Ladida, dahling,” she sing-songs in her fake British accent, wiggling her hand at me, tripping a bit.
That whiskey sour sure relaxed her. “You gonna be okay getting up the stairs?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“Yup! Yup-yup-yup.” She disappears up the dark staircase. I listen to make sure she doesn’t need help, then go to my office.
I open my emails and type a message to my lawyer, attaching my marriage certificate and asking for next steps.
Then I review our numbers until my eyes cross on the lines of the spreadsheet. I check the time.
She’s got to be asleep by now. No risk of late-night chatter in the room we’re sharing.
Now that Lane has moved to the tower, I suppose Willow and I could spread out if we wanted to.
We’d maintain the appearance of sharing a bedroom, but with no one to snoop around at night, I could crash in a guest room and get a decent night’s sleep in a real bed.
And not hear her breathe? Not feel her stir with the first ray of sunlight?
I’ll take the couch any time.
When I get upstairs, I find Willow curled up on the couch again. Stubborn.
Bathed in moonlight, her silver shape moves to the rhythm of her soft breathing.
I take a moment to admire her lips puffed up from sleep, the lock of dark hair curling on her cheek, her eyelids fluttering as she dreams. She’s absolute perfection, asleep just as much as when she’s awake.
Sliding my hands carefully under her frame, I carry her where she belongs. In my large, fluffy bed. Then I tuck her in, leaving quickly for the bathroom. She stirs but doesn’t wake up. Good.
Because for the next… how many months this needs to go on for, no way in hell is she sleeping on the couch.
I slide under the light blanket still warm from her body and try to fall asleep, but her smell and the sound of her breathing just paces from me give me a raging hard-on that’s not conducive to even dozing off.
I fight it by thinking about my endless to-do list, then my thoughts drift to Griff, a mix of longing, resentment, and envy taking hold.
Griff made his life in Boston long before Dad died, for no reason I could understand other than he liked a big city better than our small town.
It still stung when after Dad’s funeral, over maybe too much whiskey, he said that he’d understand and even support me if I wanted to sell everything.
I might have said things I now regret. He might have told me to get lost. It’s all a little blurry now.
All I know is I miss him, and I hardly saw him at Colt’s wedding.
I should call him.
And Lane. Shouldn’t she be back by now? Who is this guy she went out with? We only have a first name, which may or may not be real, and a picture. Thank god for Willow’s quick thinking.
Lane wants to go live in New York City. A dozen scenarios of how bad that could end runs through my mind. But at least if Lane is away, I won’t see her going out. I won’t need to worry in real time, like I used to with Beck.
Beck. He’s turned his life around. No more calls to pick him up at the police station.
No more mandated community service. Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about him.
I always will. I need to talk to him about the landscaping business.
See how many new clients we could get with a couple more guys and equipment.
I start running the numbers in my head, until sleep seizes me at dawn.
“It’s community dinner tonight,” I tell Beck when he barges into the kitchen the next morning, his hair a riot, wearing nothing but low-hanging jeans.
“Cool,” he answers.
He’s irritating me. I’m running on two hours of sleep, three at best; I can’t deal with him this morning. “Would you mind wearing a shirt?”
He snaps his head up, eyelids heavy, looking utterly relaxed. He gives me his lazy smile. Is there a girl in his studio apartment above the barn? “Sure,” he says as he exits through the kitchen door.
There’s totally a girl in his bed right fucking now. I know I’m in the wrong, but I totally hate him for the sex look on his face. It’s just unfair.
He comes right back wearing a jean jacket with shiny things on it. The thing is so small it constricts his shoulders, stops above his belly button, and there’s no chance in hell he can close it.
I know this is a redirection on his part, and it’s a job well done. Now I need to be the big fucking brother again. This trap is so old. “Is this Lane’s?” I ask in my inquisitive pseudo-parent voice.
He shrugs. “Think so. Found it outside. There was a guy’s jacket, too, but eh… didn’t wanna wear some random dude’s shit.” Oh yeah, total redirection. Beck knows I’ll always fall for protecting his Irish twin, aka being on her case rather than on his.
He busies himself making two coffees. Which means he’ll be gone in thirty seconds. Which reminds me, I need to bring Willow a coffee.
The left side of my skull starts pounding. “Are you telling me…” I’m having trouble processing that Lane might have had someone overnight . Should I put this into words? If I don’t say it out loud, did it really happen?
Beck takes the two coffees and hands me one. “You look like you could use this.”
I take the hot cup absentmindedly and resume my train of thought. Did my sister bring a random stranger in our house to…? How did I not hear a thing? What would I have done if I’d heard anything? Holy shit. At least when they were teenagers I could have rules. Now? Forget it.
I decide to turn my attention back to Beck. Easier. Nursing his coffee, he’s looking out the kitchen window, toward the garden and the barn. Why is he still here?
“Is there someone in the barn I should know about?” Proud of myself for not letting him off the hook.
“Not that you should know about, and not for long.” He cranes his neck. “Yep, there she goes.”
“That’s disgusting.”
He turns around and laughs at me, coffee splashing out of his mug. Then something must catch his eye, because he turns his attention back to the garden. “What the fuck?” he mutters.
I close the distance and peer out the window. Beyond the rhododendrons, Jake is tiptoeing to retrieve the jacket he was wearing last night. He picks it up then casts a hopeful glance to the upper levels, before backing up excruciatingly slowly.
“Huh,” Beck says. “Not sure what happened there.”
Whatever happened was not in the house. Not sure if I feel better about it.
“Are you wearing my jacket?” Lane screeches, startling us both into turning around.
We puff ourselves up and stay shoulder-to-shoulder to hide the view from the window.
Some sort of weird fraternal instinct makes us want to keep this guy outside of Lane’s line of sight, in case she decides he should have coffee with us.
She’s wearing her pajamas; her makeup is gone.
All signs pointing to a restful night alone. No reason to muddy the waters.
“Finders keepers,” Beck deadpans.
“Fuck finders,” Lane lashes out, lunging at Beck.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Beck says, lifting his cup of coffee. “Already had a close call.”
“Take it off!” she says, pulling at the jacket, so focused on her mission, there’s no chance she’s looking outside.
He moves away from the window, leading her to the other side of the kitchen. “No-no said I should wear something. He can’t stand how sexy I am.”
“Ugh,” Lane growls, giving up the fight. “Fine. I don’t want to see your nipples at breakfast.”
“Speaking of breakfast, where’s Willow?” Beck asks. “She makes a mean oatmeal.”
“You can make your oatmeal yourself,” I grunt as my eye is drawn to the kitchen entrance.
Willow is standing there, a smile spreading on her morning-soft face. She walks to me, places a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and turns around to Beck and Lane. “Is Halloween early this year?”
My whole body feels live wired. Her lips barely grazed me, yet I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move.
“Man, No-no doesn’t do well with PDA,” Beck drops. “Look at him. Flaming up.”
Willow swings back to me and sets her hand on my chest. What is she doing? I know we’re supposed to make this look real, but does she need to…
“Aww… is that right?” she coos.
I guess she does.
Winking at me, she runs her hand on my cheek. “Or are you too prudish, Becky?”
This time, Lane snorts.
“I’ll make oatmeal for everyone,” Willow says, turning her back to my front, still dangerously close to me. “How many of us this morning?”
Lane turns red, Beck laughs, and I try to avoid stroking the spots her lips and hands touched.
“I only see four of us,” I finally say, catching up to the fact that my wife is up to speed on last night’s developments.
“You snooze, you lose. Noted,” Willow answers.
The implications of that answer are too complex for me to handle this morning, so I… redirect again.
“It’s community dinner tonight at Lazy’s. I expect both of you to be there and bring food. And cash.”
“Just us? Not Willow?” Beck grunts.
Willow quirks an eyebrow. “I’m his wife. I go where he goes,” she says, stirring the oatmeal while my inner caveman is pounding his chest.
“That’s incredibly patriarchal,” Lane objects.
Willow shrugs. “I wouldn’t miss community dinner. That was just an easy cop-out to please hubby. Give me some grace, I haven’t had my coffee yet,” she adds with a glance my way and a small smile.
“Ooof… not even married a week and already he lets things slide,” Beck says, an arrogant smile on his face. “I’ll make you your coffee.”
I sit at the counter. Might as well own up that I messed up this morning and won’t be good for shit. “Make me another one, too, will you?”
Willow serves the oatmeal in little bowls, then picks up a sheet of paper from the counter. “What’s this?”
Beck looks over her shoulder. “Ah. That’s your husband’s house duties schedule. Guess his OCD is acting up again. Want me to tack it on the fridge, like the good old days?”
Lane frowns. “He still does that? When’s my turn? Who’s on vacuuming duty this week? Please tell me it isn’t me. I can’t stand the vacuuming.”
“And that’s why we need this,” I manage to interject.
“I don’t see my name,” Willow says.
Lane and Beck look at me. Like I’m going to put Willow’s name on our stupid chore table.
Willow turns around and dramatically tears the schedule apart, dropping it in the recycling pail and swiping her gaze across us. “You guys need to grow up.”
My heart swells. “That’s a tall order.”
Lane and Beck look from Willow to me with their mouths hanging open.
“Now everyone eat their oatmeal while it’s warm,” Willow says as she slides onto the stool right next to me.
“So… you guys ready to face the mob?” Lane asks after a decent enough time has gone by.
“What mob?” What did I miss now?
“Um… the whole town? At Lazy’s? Tonight?”
“I’m bracing myself for the Bitch Brigade for sure,” Willow answers.