Chapter Two
Rolling over in bed, I reach out and slap my hand against my alarm clock, silencing the screech assaulting my eardrums. Sunlight streams in through a crack in my curtains, burning my eyes, and my mouth is drier than the damn desert.
I drank way too much last night, and I can still taste it coating my tongue.
One shitty beer has me feeling like crap, but several? I’m about ready to call the health and safety board on Scotty. I’d never do that to him, of course, but right now I’m considering it.
One beer turned into two, then three, and then Noah and I ended up doing shots of some unlabeled clear spirit Scotty pulled off the bottom shelf. I’m pretty sure it was moonshine, and it tasted like battery acid, or at least what I assume battery acid tastes like.
Pressing my fingertips to my temples, I roll over in bed and plant my feet on the floor, giving myself a minute for the room to stop spinning and my stomach to settle.
Opening up my shop late sounded great when I was throwing back the alcohol last night, but now I’m here, I’m realizing what a colossal mistake that was.
All I want to do is curl back up under the sheets and sleep for the next week.
When the room stops spinning, I push to my feet and pad out of my bedroom toward the kitchen. Coffee and breakfast, that’s all I need. My eyes flick to the couch, finding Noah’s shape tucked under a blanket sprawled over the cushions, his arm thrown over his eyes.
One foot is sticking over the sofa arm, his sock half off and dangling off his toes.
He only lives a block away and could have easily gone home after consuming far too much alcohol, but he never does. He always ends up on my couch, or I end up back at his, no matter what.
Pulling two mugs from the cupboard, I get a pot of coffee brewing before I mix up a batter for pancakes and fry up some bacon. The smell alone will wake him from his coma.
I slice up an apple and peel an orange before I pour the coffee, counting down in my head as I wait for him to wake up.
“Is that pancakes?” His voice sounds right before I get to one.
I chuckle, “Rise and shine, cupcake.”
He groans as he sits up on the couch, “We need to find a new bar.”
I point my spatula at him, “You take that back.”
Noah can afford to go anywhere in the city, any bar or restaurant, but he’s never swayed from our regulars.
Scotty’s. The Taco Bus—a literal bus that serves tacos from a window down at the park.
So, we’ve got buns, our regular burger place when we’re not feeling tacos or pizza, and the coffeehouse that sits between his office building and my shop where we meet three out of five days of the week for lunch.
Ninety-five percent of my time is spent with this man.
Turning the bottle of pills up, I empty two out into the palm of my hand and pass them over to him along with the coffee I made.
“Thanks,” he grunts, throwing them into his mouth to follow down with his coffee.
I turn back to the bacon, flipping it in the pan before I dish the pancakes up onto a plate.
Behind me, I hear Noah get up, a low groan leaving him as he stretches, joints popping a little, and then his steps move away, toward the bathroom.
I’m not sure why we don’t just always go back to his place. It’s bigger, with more beds where my tiny apartment only has one bedroom and a couch barely big enough to fit him.
“That smells so fucking good, cricket,” he says from behind me. I glance at him, swallowing thickly when I realize he hasn’t put any clothes on and remains in a pair of white Calvin Klein boxers, the thin material outlining everything the man has to offer. Newsflash: it’s a lot.
Noah works hard on himself, works out at the gym six out of seven days of the week and has the muscle to show for it.
Stacks and stacks of muscle, a V carving up his hips, with wide shoulders and thick arms and thighs to match.
A dark line of hair trails from his navel to beneath the waistband of his boxers, and a small bouquet of peonies is tattooed over his left pec, the ink etched into his skin delicately, giving the petals and leaves definition in the simplest of ways.
“When does it not?” I turn away from him, willing my cheeks to cool. This man is my best friend; I should not look at him the way I do sometimes. I am but only human after all, and Noah is a god to look at. Subtly, I wipe away the drool at the corner of my mouth.
He’s called me cricket from the day we met all those years ago.
I’d just moved to the city and started a new school, so I was on edge.
I had been there a month already, had made no new friends, and was just a pile of nerves constantly.
My time was mostly spent wandering the halls alone, trying to figure out where the hell I needed to go next.
I was just coming out of the bathroom when I quite literally bumped into Noah.
He’d startled me so much that I’d squealed and almost dropped to the floor.
Noah said I sounded like a cricket, that I didn’t squeal, I chirped and jumped so high just like one. He’s called me that ever since.
“I’ll grab the syrup,” he says, wandering off to the pantry where I keep it. I can’t help but check out his ass.
He’s my best friend. I’m allowed.
I’m quick to avert my eyes when he returns, pretending I wasn’t checking him out as I plate the bacon and place it on the counter beside the pancakes.
Noah and I are merely platonic; we always have been; we’ve never crossed any sort of lines.
We are friends, the best of friends. He’s been there for me through it all, the heartbreaks, the accomplishments, just like I have been there for him.
I held him when he cried after his uncle, the only family he could count on, passed away, was there when he opened his office, and received his first award.
I’ve been his date at many charity events and fundraisers, we’re together so often that the tabloids frequently mistake us as a couple.
We are just there for each other, even when we don’t ask for it.
We eat our breakfast in silence. Noah scoffs his food down like he hasn’t been fed in weeks, shoveling bacon and pancakes and fruit in like his life depends on it.
“I swear I want to marry you every time I eat your food,” he groans. “So damn good.”
I laugh, “That’s just because you think through your stomach.”
He grunts some kind of agreement, serving himself a second helping while I finish my coffee and pray the headache abates enough that today won’t be torture.
I need to finish the bouquets for a wedding happening tomorrow.
They are being picked up at six tonight, and they are mostly ready.
I just need to finish the maid of honor’s bouquet and add in the little trinkets the bride provided for the bridesmaids.
Noah clears up the kitchen while I head through to the bathroom and shower, removing the stench of questionable alcohol and pizza before I head back out in just a towel.
“How are you feeling?” Noah asks. He’s now back in his suit pants and shirt, but he’s left it open, showing off all that muscle still.
I force my eyes away.
“Fine,” I answer.
I watch him drag his eyes up me, settling back on the arm of the chair as he positions his hands on his lap, “Just fine?”
I shrug, “Just let me wallow for a while, yeah?”
“No.” he frowns. “I won’t allow some asshole to make you feel like that, Sidney.”
“How else am I meant to feel, Noah?” I sigh, “This always happens. Maybe there is something wrong with me.”
“You’re perfect,” he growls, “There is not a single thing wrong with you. Not one thing.”
“Biased,” I tell him with a click of my fingers.
“I’m not biased,” his molars grind, making the muscle in his jaw tick.
“It’s fine,” I wave it off. “I’m a strong, independent woman. I’ve got this.”
His gray eyes bounce around my face, and he opens his mouth to say something when a loud ring rips through my apartment. He pulls his cell from his pocket and winces when he looks at his screen. “I’ve got a meeting.”
“Go,” I turn back to my bedroom, “I’ll see you later?”
“Dinner at mine?” He asks.
“Of course,” I agree, “See you later.”
“Later, cricket.”
I don’t hear him leave, but I know the moment he’s gone because an emptiness settles into my space. Like I’m spiritually aware of his absence. I suppose it’s always been like that between us, a string that binds us together.
I am fully believing in the universe and how it brings people together. It knew I needed a person like Noah Calahan, and it provided. I couldn’t live without him. He is my best friend.
Live a little, cricket.
The world shines brighter because you’re in it; imagine how radiant it might be if you just let go.
Love, Noah.
I grin as I glance between the note and the dozen donuts he had delivered to the shop.
I’d spent the whole afternoon finalizing the bouquets for the wedding, and I have an hour to go before they’re due to be collected.
I opened Peace and Peonies four years ago, something I had always wanted to do since I joined my grandmother in her garden back when I was just a kid.
She taught me everything I know about flowers and plants, and after working for other people throughout my twenties, doing things I absolutely hated, I was given the opportunity to open Peace and Peonies.
I have my grandmother to thank for that, too.
She passed and left me a bunch of money, giving me a step up to open my business.
It took a while to get it off the ground, but after a couple of viral videos, I am now booked out for months for a range of different occasions. I love how flowers can add just a little bit of color to people’s lives, bring joy on a rainy day.
With time to spare, I lower into my chair behind the desk I use to make the smaller, more intricate displays and pick a strawberry crème donut from the box.
I polish off the treat and then finish up a small display I had been working on with the offcuts of the bouquets, and by the time I’ve finished that, the bride and her party arrive.
Their excited laughs travel from the front of the shop, the little bell above the door matching the sound.
Slipping out from behind the desk, I walk through to the front, finding six women, all dressed up for a night out, waiting for me.
“Kelly, hi,” I greet the bride before I say hello to the girls with her. “All ready to see them?”
“Girl!” Kelly grins. “I was just telling the girls how lucky I was to book in with you.”
“Well, I hope I have lived up to your expectations.” I show them through to the collection area where I have all their bouquets ready. “I can make any changes you need me to.”
Kelly gasps as she rushes forward, “Oh my god.”
For a few long seconds she stares at the flowers, and nerves rattle through me; her face giving nothing away. It goes on so long I convince myself she absolutely hates everything about them.
“Sidney,” Kelly cups her hand over her mouth, turning watery eyes toward me, “These are perfect. So much more than what I expected.”
Relief floods through me, and a grin lifts my mouth. “You’re happy?”
“Happy?” She laughs, “More than happy!”
“I have a gift for you as well. Just wait here a second.” I dart back to my desk and pluck up the display I’d created for her.
It’s just a little thank-you gift that doesn’t really mean anything, but it’s a miniature version of her bouquet, one she can put in her house or even dry out and display after the wedding.
“Is this a baby version?” She blinks as I hand them over.
“I always like to use the offcuts for this, saves throwing them out.”
I stand back and watch the group gush over their flowers, feeling a twinge in my chest. She’s about to have the happiest day of her life, surrounded by friends and family and the man she loves.
It’s hard not to feel a little envious when that’s something I’ve been chasing for years.
My friends are all getting married or having babies, stepping into that next stage of their life and I feel stuck.
After the girls leave, I close up shop. Tomorrow is my one day off a week, but Sundays are sacred.
It’s a day to chill out, rest and rot in front of the TV or catch up on reading.
Most nights I don’t leave until gone eight, even though the shop closes at five or six, but those few hours give me a chance to catch up on anything I haven’t been able to get to through the day.
I love that my little business is thriving, but it’s a lot of work on your own.
I’d tossed around the idea of hiring someone; I just haven’t had the time to look or put out an ad.
Locking up, I pull my cardigan closer to my body and begin the short walk to Noah’s apartment. It’s only a few blocks away, but if he finds out I walked and didn’t grab a cab or call him to come pick me up, he’ll give me a lecture about safety.
At his apartment building, I greet the doorman and offer him one of the donuts Noah had delivered, and then climb into the elevator, inputting the code to take me up to the top floor.
There are only two apartments up here, Noah’s and some other dude I’ve never met, but there’s so much space, it’s likely we never will meet him.
I let myself in, dumping all my stuff by the door and kick off my shoes before I go in search of my best friend.
“Honey, I’m home,” I sing as I walk further into the apartment, following the scent of food wafting through from his state-of-the-art kitchen.
I round the corner, expecting to find him at the oven, but I stop in my tracks when I spot the dozens of red rose petals scattered over the couch and candles lit on every surface, the lights down low.
“Noah?” I call, swallowing thickly. Did he forget that we have dinner tonight? Oh God, is he entertaining a woman!?
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve walked in on something, but that was years ago, and Noah never forgets when we have something planned.
Suddenly music switches on, and the deep, soulful voice of Percy Sledge sounds through the sound system, and When a Man Loves a Woman, fills the silence.
I take a step further into the room, but a squeak slips from my lips as I’m suddenly grabbed from behind and before I can do anything, Noah spins me and then dips me low, his hand on my waist, the other holding my hand.
He grins down at me, all charm and mischief, “Hi, cricket.”