12. Noah
CHAPTER TWELVE
NOAH
A List of Thoughts
Ican’t believe the words actually come out of my mouth. The comment about the yarn and her being tied up and naughty was supposed to be an internal thought and then BOOM. Correction: I can’t believe any of this is happening right now. Mostly, I can’t believe it’s her.
God, she’s beautiful. Georgie is here, in front of me, and all my expectations are blown out of the water and more.
The last two weeks have been rough, to say the least. Returning to work after the incident, I made it all of three days before I was called in for a talking to.
I thought it was going to be a slap on the wrist, a ‘don't do this again,’ ‘we’re disappointed in you’ sort of chat.
But when I entered the office, the big boss, the HR lady, and my supervisor all sat around the conference table, laughing, chatting it up, shooting the breeze until they saw me in the doorway.
Their chatter faded, and moods shifted to professional and anger.
I swallowed hard and sat down in my seat of intimidation, and awaited my fate.
They started talking me up, which couldn’t be a good sign.
I knew this company like the back of my hand, having been a part of their roster for five years.
I knew that when they buttered you up, it was just to soften the blow.
I braced for impact. It hit me like a brick wall even still.
Either I accepted full responsibility and paid for the call, out of pocket and all at once, a hefty thousand-dollar price tag I couldn’t afford, or they would fire me.
There was no room for debate; there was no time to think about it.
They wanted an answer by the end of that day, and I wasn’t allowed to work my shift until the decision was given.
It wasn’t even a question at that point.
I didn’t give them the chance to fire me.
I quit on my own terms and told them to figure out how to cover the cost because I wasn’t about to pay for it, and nowhere in my employee contract did it ever say that I would be responsible for something like this.
There was a moment of weakness, when it finally set in that I was jobless, where I wondered if it was worth it.
But to know that I helped someone through a traumatic time was more than enough to prove that it was the right thing to do.
I liked feeling needed, and Georgie needed me.
I thought I had gotten over thinking about her because I never thought I would see her again.
How would I? I didn’t work at the one place she might be able to find me, and I no longer had access to the database to even try and remember what building she was in.
But here she is, like some call from the universe to tell me that I did the right thing.
She’s here, and she’s beautiful, and I refuse to let this opportunity go to waste.
“Is it really you?” She asks.
“It’s me,” I tell her.
She nods, eyes wide, “What are you doing here?”
That was a good question. What was I doing here anyway?
“I was checking out the shop for a new hobby. I have a lot of spare time on my hands right now, and I figured doing puzzles or learning how to knit would be better than watching the paint peel off my walls.” I shrug, rubbing the back of my neck.
“I—I really—oh come on.” She huffs when she’s unable to get herself untangled, turning around and dropping her yarn-knotted hands on the wood table. She slumps her head against her forearms with a groan.
I want to laugh, because it’s precious to see this side of her when all I have known is her in panic, but I remain quiet.
I go to the other side of the table, so now we’re face to face without her having to turn around.
I clear my throat so she’ll look up. Her big brown eyes melt me where I stand.
Butterflies, stomach somersaults. Dry mouth. Jesus, it’s been a while.
I point to the seat in front of her with a raised eyebrow, a silent question. Can I sit here? She motions her hands as if to say be my guest.
So I sit. She watches me carefully. I take her in for a moment, just because I can.
In the light of the room, her cheeks are flushed pink.
With embarrassment? Something else? I can’t be sure.
Her lips are pursed and pink. Her lashes are impossibly long, but her face is clean of makeup.
Her hair is this dark brown that’s almost black.
Her face is round and smooth skin, she’s all soft curves.
Georgie is even more beautiful than I thought she was in the elevator.
But it’s her personality that sings to me.
She’s crass, confident, sassy even when terrified. She had me at the first call.
I want to know her. I want to be her friend. I want anything she will let me have of her.
“What are you staring at?” She looks down at her hands and flushes scarlet when she realizes what I’ve been doing amidst my thoughts.
I find the loose end of one of the yarns entrapping her and start rolling it into a new ball, slowly working the knots out. My hands don’t touch hers, but I can feel her trembling.
“You. Is that ok? I just. It’s hard to believe you’re real.”
Georgie laughs, gasping and moving to cover her face at the realization that she’s just snorted. I can’t help it; I laugh too. I am so attracted to this woman it’s not even funny. I pull her hands back down to where I can reach them and take care of her knotty situation.
“That was adorable.” I chuckle, beaming at her like I’ve learned a new secret. “I’ve almost got the red, now the white,”
She watches my hands unweave the yarn, and finally, one hand is free.
Her face remains flushed, and it travels down her neck to where her collarbones are exposed.
All soft skin and- scarring. From what, I am not sure, it’s soft pink splotches that look blown out as if time has passed since she got them.
Georgie notices me looking and tries to pull away, to tug at her shirt collar and right herself where it’s fallen off her shoulder.
I grab her hand, exposed from the yarn this time, stopping her.
“You don’t have to hide,” I tell her simply.
“I…” she trails off, looking away. She tugs her shirt up anyways, I pretend not to notice. “Look, I don’t even know you,”
“I think you know me better than most people, actually. You got to know a lot more than I usually share on a first date,” I pick the final knot free, and Georgie pulls her hand out of the spaghetti pile of yarn in front of her. “There,”
She flexes her fingers, and I resist the urge to take it in my hand to hold.
She looks up at me with her unreadable expression.
I wonder what she sees when she looks at me.
Am I what she imagined when we talked in the dark elevator?
Am I disappointing? Did she think of me at all after?
Did I consume her every thought like she did mine?
Did she take up yarning? Whatever it is you do with yarn?
“You look like your mind is racing,” She remarks.
I smile, “I don’t have a good poker face. The trait runs in my family.”
“I can see that.” She picks at the label of a nearby ball of yarn.
“So, is that all your cart?”
She looks behind her to the cart I’ve pointed out, “Oh, yeah, that’s me. I have a bit of a problem.”
“I think there are far worse afflictions than yarn.”
“You’re not wrong.” She chuckles, huffing air at a piece of her hair that’s fallen from her bun.
I instinctively reach across the table to her, and gently push the piece out of her vision. I can hear her intake of breath, her eyes cross to stare at my hand, then flutter closed. She swallows.
“So—”
“I—”
We both start and stop, and then we try again. By the third time, we’re fighting off giggles. She’s beaming at me, and my heart thumps hard.
“You go first,” I tell her.
She nods, then distracts herself by twisting a broken piece of yarn between her fingers. “So, you’re going to think I am crazy,”
“I doubt that, but go ahead.”
“I can't help but feel like this… is some twist of fate. Like, you risked your job—lost your job because you were trying to comfort me, a stranger—”
“If it makes you feel better, I actually quit.”
“No, it really doesn’t. I have thought about y—getting in contact for weeks, and when I tried to call you back in the elevator, that Val person told me they canned you. I felt sick. I didn’t know how else to tell you what I wanted to say.”
“Tell me now. Pretend you’re calling me. Come on,” I encourage her and hold up my hand to make a fake phone.
“I can’t,” She whines playfully, embarrassed.
I sigh dramatically, “I wait by the phone every day just wishing that Georgie would call to tell me she loves me—”
She splutters, “It’s not—”
“I’m kidding,” I tease. “Close your eyes…”
She sighs this time, slowly raising her fake hand phone up to her ear, letting her eyes slip closed. Those impossibly long eyelashes fan across her blushing cheekbones.
“Hello,” she says softly.
“It’s me; tell me something good. Whatever you want to say,”
Her voice shakes, face pinched, “Um, I wanted to say… thank you? For everything. I didn’t feel like I got to do that properly, and like, I don’t think I would have been okay if you hadn’t been there for me.”
“You’re welcome. I would hope someone would do the same for me...” I open my eyes to look at her. She twirls a nervous finger in the one stray piece of hair near her ear. “Was there anything else?”
She presses her lips together, then speaks, “Was I crazy? To think that we got along, like, really well? Or was I just hallucinating at that moment?”
“You weren’t crazy…” I reassure her.
“I—”
“Well would you look at that,” The shop owner’s voice echoes, startling us both.
Georgie’s eyes snap open and her cheeks flush that gorgeous pink. Our fake phones drop away, but my eyes don’t leave her face. The rise and fall with each breath, the slight tug on her lip where she bites it in the left-hand corner while concentrating.
“Hi Abi,” Georgie says.
“Sorry about my nipping off there, I had to do a quick interview and oh gods she was terrible, she didn’t even know the difference between cotton and acrylic. Honestly Georgie! How could she not know?”
Georgie’s eyes brighten, she sits up straight and clears her throat, “I didn’t know you were hiring,”
“Ah, I just started looking tentatively for the right replacement. I’m getting older, Georgie. My grandkids don’t want to come visit me anymore, and I’ve got a grey hair coming in,” she points to her head as if it’s offensive to her, and Georgie laughs.
“I mean, I wouldn’t mind applying...” Georgie says softly, looking anywhere but Abi’s face waiting for a response.
Abi gasps beside me, “Georgie, I had no idea you were even an option. You’re hired.”
“Wait, don’t you want to interview me?” Georgie laughs incredulously.
“Do you know the difference between cotton and acrylic yarn?” Abi snaps, and Georgie rolls her eyes.
“Of course.”
“Hired. What about you?” She turns to me. I freeze.
“What about me?” I flounder.
“What’s your name?”
“Noah.” I can't help but notice the shift in Georgie’s expression, but can’t read the meaning behind it.
“Noah, Georgie here is a great reference for you. But tell me, do you know the difference between cotton and acrylic?”
Is she offering me a job? Is this happening? Georgie widens her eyes, and gives a tiny nod as if to tell me to say yes. I scoff, “How could I not know?”
“Hired. Oh, this is so exciting!” Abi claps, standing from her seat. “I’m fully staffed and planning my retirement all before noon!” She walks away, and I wonder if this is all some kind of joke, but Georgie looks bright-eyed and excited.
“Did that really just happen?” I ask.
“I… I think so?” She covers her cheeks with her hands, a grin growing with every second that passes.
“And you think she’s serious?”
“God, I hope so,” She says wistfully. She looks around in wonder, “Who wouldn’t want to work here? It’s like a hobbyist paradise.”
“But Georgie,” I reach for her hands. She stills, wide-eyed glances between the places our hands touch, then back to my face. “I don’t actually know the difference between cotton and acrylic.”
“Oh,” She giggles, and I mean giggles, and oh god, I want that as a ringtone.
What is wrong with me?
“Don’t worry. I can teach you all I know,”
If this means what I think it means, I will get to see her again after today. I refuse to admit how happy that makes me. Something about this… it feels right. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“Oh, mighty yarn wizard, teach me your ways,” I bow down to her, relishing in the “It might take a while,” she tells me.
I smile.
Oh, I am counting on it.