Chapter Ten
A Bubbly Glass of Rosé
I cannot sleep.
But this time, it’s for a completely wonderful reason.
I brush my fingertips over my lips and close my eyes, reliving all the kisses I had with Noah this evening. No. Last night, as it is in the early hours of the morning now. From the passionate one in the alcove to sweet ones in the bar, to the kisses we exchanged when he walked me to my door.
The man actually escorted me home,I think in amazement.
I told him I was fine to get home by myself, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Noah got in an Uber with me and walked me straight up to the door, where he kissed me good night.
Sigh.
I roll over on to my side, and with my body still buzzing from the conversation, the laughs, the touching, the kisses, sleep has been replaced by excitement. I’ll be a zombie today when I’m with Bella, but I have no regrets staying up and reliving the night over and over in my head.
Because I’ve never had this feeling before. Have I been excited about a date? Yes. But this feeling? This magical, buzzing feeling just from thinking about Noah?
No.
So I’m not ready to switch it off just yet.
However, since the clock on my bedside table is glaring eight minutes past two at me, I know I have to wind my brain down and get some sleep so I can work with Bella and coherently explain the art project I have in mind for the book she is going to read to the primary students tomorrow.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table. Maybe I can scroll though some stuff to refocus my brain and then try to get some sleep. I unlock it and find several messages waiting for me:
Aimee: DID U GO BACK AND HOOK UP WITH THAT FIT FOOTBALLER AFTER I LEFT?
Wait, what? How did she know that?
Then I see have a message from Nicholas with an attachment:
I’m glad to see you took my advice about Darby. Very impressive you made Dishing Weekly in the overnight hours.
Then I see there’s a paparazzi photo of Noah escorting me out of Wisteria House, his hand entwined with mine as we head for an Uber, with the headline:
PLAY ON, Lady Violet! Dorset aristocrat scores a sexy night out in Mayfair with Stonebridge United striker Noah Darby
I click on the link and read the article:
Lady Violet Banfield spent a sexy night at Wisteria House with superstar Stonebridge United striker Noah Darby on Tuesday in Mayfair. The two were spotted next to each other at a table with two other footballers—loved up Canadian Camden Tremblay and one of the newest members of the team, Kieran Doring.
There was no sight of Camden’s royal girlfriend Princess Isabella, but he spent the evening with friends, including a blonde beauty who came with Lady Violet.
Sources report Violet stayed glued to Noah’s side throughout the evening, laughing and talking and looking very cosy. Dressed in a shimmery rose-coloured minidress, her ginger hair cascading down her back, and laughing often, the Dorset beauty was like a bubbly glass of rosé on this summer night. Noah was more casual in jeans and a T-shirt that revealed his black and grey inked arms, but looked oh-so-fit for his night out.
When the evening appeared to end—with everyone going their separate ways—Violet and Noah went back inside Wisteria House to continue their night! They finally left at twelve-thirty, with the star striker holding her hand as they jumped into a waiting car together. It was a surprise display of affection from the normally unseen-on-the-club-scene Noah. Looks like things are about to get very interesting…
I giggle. I hope Noah doesn’t mind being the focus of a gossip article in this rubbish tabloid. I decide to send him a text:
I hope your teammates won’t tease you too much about your feature in Dishing Weekly. I laughed at it, and I hope you will, too.
Then I attach the article and hit send.
Noah Darby is typing …
Ooh! My heart dances inside my chest. He’s up! Within seconds, his reply drops in:
Who writes this stuff?
I laugh and decide to flirt with him at bit.
I’ll confess. I tipped them off. I gave them the line about your sexy inked arms and that you are incredibly fit.
I hit send, and I can almost see a flush creeping across his neck as I visualise him reading this.
Noah Darby is typing …
Stop it.
I grin. Now I know he’s blushing.
Noah Darby is typing …
You’re not meeting Bella until this afternoon, right?
Ooh! I reply:
I’m going over to St. James’s Palace around one-thirty. Then we’ll review the art project and prep materials before going out to dinner later. Would you like to come cut strips of construction paper to make snails with us?
Noah Darby is typing…
Violet, the last person you want on any kind of art project is me. I can’t even cut in a straight line. I’m surprised I was allowed to move on from reception.
I love this. Now I must see him cut sometime.
Noah Darby is typing …
Would you want to meet me for coffee today? Around ten? I think I’m going to need several.
Yes! I quickly text him back:
I not only will need that, but I love the idea of having one with you. Ten is fine. Where would you like to meet?
I hit send, and whilst I feel more awake than ever now, I once again have zero regrets.
Noah’s reply drops in:
Do you want to meet at The Biscuit Cutter? I have gone with Camden and Bella a few times and it’s outstanding.
I eagerly text back:
I love that place. Yes, I’ll see you there at ten. Warning: I might look like a zombie.
Noah Darby is typing …
I’m willing to bet you’ll look more like a bubbly glass of rosé than a zombie.
I laugh. I tell Noah good night and that I will see him later, then put my phone back down on the bedside table. Bubbly glass of rosé after a night of no sleep? Right.
But practically glowing from happiness will surely make up for that.
* * *
Okay I do not look like a bubbly glass of anything. I look more like a concoction of hideous black brew.
I could NOT sleep last night. At all.
And GAH, it shows this morning—I have the dark circles under my eyes to prove it.
I open up my make-up bag and pull out my collection of concealers. I’m a big fan of concealers and use several different brands. I decide to go with my NARS Radiant Cream Concealer, because it doesn’t crease under my eyes. I select a brush and work it in.
I stop and look at my handiwork. That’s a definite improvement.
I go on and apply a tinted moisturiser, which allows the splattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks to shine through. Then I apply some bronzer to liven up my cheeks, and dust them with a light peachy-pink blush on the apples. Next, I grab my Charlotte Tilbury Pillow Talk cream eyeshadow and apply it to my lids. Ah! I’m coming back to life now—the nude-pink colour livens up my skin and works so well with my red hair. I apply eyeliner and mascara and fluff up my brows. Finally, I select a lipstick for this morning, going with Charlotte’s Lip Blur in Rose Blur for a pretty deep rose-pink lip.
I put my make-up down and critically survey myself. Definitely a zombie no more. I’ve put on a fitted black T-shirt that reveals a sliver of skin right before you get to the waistband of my white flared jeans, paired with Adidas trainers. I select my signature perfume, a boutique blend of honey, rum, vanilla, and cinnamon. I had it made by a perfumer in Knightsbridge named Beatrice Knight, and man, does this woman know her scents.
I picture Bea for a moment, and my spirits sink a little bit. She’s so young—my age—but is already making a reputation as one of the best perfumers in London. Just like Bella is making a name for herself as a champion for self-acceptance, standing up against online bullying, and promoting a love of literature to children. Now Amelia is making strides towards her dreams by working at Wintersmith Hall, and Aimee is already on her path, too.
I lift my gaze to look myself in the face in the mirror.
I’m still floundering, working in my family’s gift shop because I’m too paralysed to try anything else.
I’ve got to find a way to break through this,I think, anxiety gripping me. I’ve got to find a way to carve out a future for myself, outside of working at the estate in Dorset.
If only I knew how.
Well, that’s not a problem I care to find a resolution for whilst getting ready for a date with Noah, so I put it aside for now.
But I vow to be brave enough to come back to it tonight. Perhaps it’s something I can share with Bella and see what she thinks.
I leave the bathroom and turn off the light. I pause to grab my bag off the end of my bed and trot downstairs, excited to head over to Belgravia for a cup of coffee with Noah.
Noah, Noah, Noah.
I cannot wait to see him, and I literally only just saw him hours ago.
What a blissful feeling this is.
I begin my walk down to the tube station, thinking this is a spectacular morning. The sun is shining. The sky is a beautiful blue, dotted with clouds that look like pulled pieces of candy floss. I pass by the beautiful Georgian homes and listen to the bustle of traffic in the street. London has its own unique energy, and I’m always reminded of it the second I’m back in the city.
Before long, I’ve made my way to the tube. I pop onto the one that is closest to The Biscuit Cutter and take a seat. Well, I glance down at the seat first, as I am wearing white jeans. I frown. Probably not the best choice of colour for a ride on the tube, but oh well, here I am.
I sit down and watch the people who file onto the tube. This is almost like a sport, really. I love people watching, and riding the tube is perfect for that. So far, everyone appears to be normal. That’s almost a disappointment.
A young man enters the carriage right before the doors shut, and he has a large rucksack with him. Instead of taking a seat, he sits down on the floor in front of me and unzips it. Then he begins taking out pieces of clothing and smelling them.
Yes! Things are about to get interesting!
I watch in fascination as he puts all the contents of his rucksack through a sniff test.
The man makes two piles. Hmm. One must be clean smelling and the other dirty?
He closes his eyes and inhales a rolled-up T-shirt. A look of bliss passes over his face, and he exhales slowly. “Clean,” he pronounces in a serious voice.
I was right!
He shifts his gaze up to meet mine. “Would you like to smell my socks?” he asks.
The woman sitting next to me snorts. Now I feel as if everyone on the carriage is watching this unfold.
“No, thank you,” I reply brightly. “I appreciate you offering, though.”
“Your loss. They smell like apple blossoms,” he replies, putting them into one of the piles.
I’m sure they do.
Soon he has his clothing sorted into two piles, and then he puts the pile without the socks in first, so I assume those are the “not smelling like apple blossoms” selection, then he puts the clothing that does smell like apple blossoms on top. He zips the bag shut, stands up, and then looks at me again.
“What fabric softener do you use?” he asks.
Erm … I wonder if he is going to be offended by my answer. “I really don’t use one,” I confess.
His eyes widen. “You don’t?” he gasps.
“For God’s sake,” the woman next to me mutters as she reads her phone. “Why are you indulging this?”
I’m about to ask why she cares when the man unzips his rucksack again. He hands me a bottle of fabric softener. “Take this with my compliments,” he insists. “It’s going to change your life.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but that’s not necessary,” I say, sticking my hand up.
“No, I want you to have it. You should have a whiff of apple blossom around you every day,” he says, thrusting the bottle at me.
I take the bottle as people around me stare, trying not to laugh, or act completely oblivious to this bizarre situation. But when I see how much this man wants me to have it, all I can think is why not? It will make him happy if I accept it.
So that’s exactly what I will do.
“Well, thank you. I’ll enjoy it with my next wash,” I say brightly.
The tube comes to a stop. I exit, carrying my new gift, and make my way towards The Biscuit Cutter. As soon as it comes into view, I can’t help but smile. Not only is it one of my favourite bakeries, but it’s also so beautiful to look at. The shop is decked out with a stunning arrangement of flowers all around the door, and it’s all purple and white on this late June day. There are café tables and chairs set up outside, and some people are taking advantage of the sunny weather and enjoying some pastries and tea outdoors.
“Violet!”
I stop walking and my heart thumps excitedly against my ribs. I know that voice calling me.
It’s Noah.
I turn around and find him walking up to me, a huge smile lighting up his handsome face. Noah’s dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, perfectly casual for a coffee date, but he’s dialled it up a notch by wearing a huge platinum watch on his left wrist and some black leather bracelets on his right wrist.
So. Freaking. Hot.
“Good morning,” I say, smiling at him as he approaches.
Noah stops in front of me, and I’m grateful he’s not wearing sunglasses this morning because I can see his eyes. They drink me in, and I can tell he likes what he sees.
“You look beautiful,” he says, putting his hands on my waist. I feel his fingertips lightly brush across the sliver of skin I have exposed with the cropped shirt, and heat fills me.
I put my free hand to his face, lightly tracing my fingertips cross his cheekbone. “You’re kind. I’m sure I look like a zombie,” I tease.
He grins. My heart flutters knowing I put it on his face.
“You and I have different ideas of what a zombie looks like, then,” Noah says cheerfully. “Because I’ve never seen a zombie as gorgeous as you.”
“Interesting,” I say.
“Interesting how?”
“How many zombies have you seen, Noah? I think I should be alarmed by this comment.”
I’m once again rewarded with that smile.
“Fair point,” he says. “Come on, let’s get coffee. And something to eat. I’m hungry.”
I nod and he escorts me up to The Biscuit Cutter, opening the door for me and once again placing his hand on the small of my back as I enter the shop. God, I love how hands-on he is. It makes me feel cared for.
And it’s something completely new and wonderful to me.
The familiar scent of hot, buttery pastry and sugar hits me the second we’re inside. The tables at the front of the shop are filled with all kinds of treats to go, and as we navigate around them to get to the counter, I spot boxes of iced biscuits in the shapes of tennis racquets and balls to celebrate Wimbledon. Stacks of palmiers wrapped in cellophane and tied with a purple ribbon. Boxes of Chelsea buns, beckoning to be brought home. There’s nobody queuing at the till, so we can take our time studying the offerings for today.
I barely picked at my toast this morning because I was so excited about this date. But now that I’m here with Noah?
A girl has to eat.
“I’m going to get food, too,” I declare as I study the array of baked goods in the display case. Then I look up at the specials on the menu board, and immediately spot what I want. A brioche french toast, filled with crème patissière and jam, then topped with strawberries and whipped cream.
“What are you thinking of getting?” Noah asks, rubbing his hand on the small of my back in a circular motion.
I stop thinking the second I feel his touch. “What?” I ask.
“What do you want to eat?”
Oh right. There’s food I need to order. “The strawberry french toast. And a hazelnut latte with oat milk.”
“I’m about to make my decision,” Noah says, his eyes flickering over the menu board. “I’m torn between a cinnamon roll or the chocolate orange scone.”
“I’d get the scone. Not that you’re asking me, of course,” I say, grinning.
“No, I wasn’t, but I’ll carefully take your feedback into consideration anyway,” he teases.
I giggle at that, and the second I do, his whole face lights up into a big smile. As if it was the greatest reward in the world for him to hear me laugh. I drink in this little moment. I’ve never had a man smile at me for something so simple.
It’s magic.
Soon we place our orders and find a little table for two next to the window. The sun streams in, which makes it feel warm, and I find myself loving the cosy vibe of the bakery this morning.
Noah leans back in his chair, pushing his long legs out to stretch them. Then his eyes land on the bottle of fabric softener that I’ve set down on the table, and a mystified look passes over his face. “Um, are you going to a laundrette after this?”
I grin mischievously at him. “Yes. I need to see if you know how to do laundry correctly. It’s right up there behind pick and mix selection.”
An adorable crease appears on the bridge of Noah’s nose.
“I’m joking,” I say, grinning. “No, a man gave it to me on the tube. As a gift.”
The crease deepens. “And you took it?”
“Of course I did, it would be rude not to. The guy was sorting and sniffing his clothing on the floor of the tube and told me I should enjoy apple-blossom-scented clothing. He wasn’t hurting anyone, and it made him happy for me to accept it, so why not?”
He studies me carefully. “This is what makes you special.”
“What?” I ask, feeling my cheeks burn a bit pink. “No, it doesn’t.”
“No, it does. I have a feeling you have a very big heart.”
I feel my breath catch in my throat. Once again, Noah is seeing something deeper within me, something more than the flittering butterfly who is too terrified to land.
“Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot to me.” I’m not used to compliments like this, so I clear my throat. “But back to Surrey. I’m glad you did stay in a hotel last night. That would have been a lot of travelling if you went home last night, only to turn around to come back for a cup of coffee the next day.”
“I would have done it for you.”
Ooh!
I stare at him. From the way he’s looking at me, I know it’s the truth.
“How long are you staying in London?” Noah asks, changing the topic.
“I originally planned to go back on Sunday.”
His eyes grow bright with interest. “Originally?”
I know every guide to dating would tell me not to do this, but I don’t care. I hate games, like pretending to not be as interested as I am or waiting for Noah to make every move.
“I think I might stay a bit longer if you are going to be around,” I say boldly.
There. I did it.
Noah runs his fingers over the corners of his mouth, then down to his lip, absently tugging on it. Heat flicks through me as I remember kissing those sensual lips last night.
“That’s interesting,” he says slowly, “because I was thinking I might have to take a trip to Dorset before I report back for training. If you were going to be around Dorset, that is.”
Ooh!
“Were you really?” I ask excitedly.
He smiles shyly at me. “Yeah.”
“Of course, this is all dependent on our date on Friday,” I say cheerfully. “If you fail the pick and mix test, there’s no point in you coming down to Dorset. My interest in you will have evaporated.”
He begins to laugh, a lovely, deep rumble from his chest that makes my stomach flip upside down in happiness.
“I don’t plan to fail the pick and mix test,” he says confidently.
A waitress appears at our table, setting down our coffees in front of us and a scone in front of Noah. “Your french toast is coming right up,” she tells me.
“Okay, thank you.” I smile at her before I pick up my latte and take a sip, savouring the taste of creamy oat milk and rich hazelnut blended together for a delicious coffee. “This is fantastic,” I declare, setting the oversized cup back down onto the saucer. “Yum.”
Noah takes a sip of his flat white and nods. “This place has great coffee. I wish they’d open a location in Surrey. I’d make that a daily stop if they did.”
“You can go ahead and eat your scone,” I encourage. “Don’t wait on me.”
“Violet. I can wait.”
“But you don’t need to. And it’s chocolate and orange, one of the best flavour combos in the world. Go on, I insist you have a bite. Actually, I’ll consider it an affront if you don’t.”
“An affront?” Noah asks, looking incredibly amused now. “How is that an affront?”
“Hmm. Good point. It’s not, but it sounded really good in my head before I said it.” I pick up my cup and take another sip of coffee.
Noah’s eyes lock on my face. “This is why I’m here.”
I furrow my brow. “Because I say things that don’t make sense?”
He laughs. Loudly. And once again, I relish the fact that I made him do so.
“That’s exactly it. I’ve never met anyone like you, Violet. You’re uniquely you. From these freckles,” he says, leaning across the table and running his index finger carefully down the slope of my nose, “to the non-stop chatter to saying things that don’t work in a sentence. I’m here for all of this.”
My breath catches in my throat. Noah means every word he says. He’s zeroed in on things that make me unique, down to the smallest detail, and he celebrates them.
“I have to tell you about a book,” I blurt out.
Instead of looking confused by this sudden turn in conversation, Noah simply nods. “Okay. Tell me about a book,” he says.
“Noah, after I pushed you away”—I wince, hating that I was so stupid to do that in the first place—“I found a book in our library. I had decided I was going to catalogue all the books, you see. I began going through them, and I discovered it’s a Banfield thing to write something on the inside cover. Like your name and the date, for example. I found them from all different decades, including one that was about mythology. A lord had given it to a lady, even though ladies weren’t supposed to have interests like that back then. He wrote about liking her exactly the way she was. And Noah? She’s the only other red-haired woman in the Banfield lineage.”
Noah’s eyes widen.
“I know!” I continue. “When I found that book, I knew it was a sign that I had messed up. That you seemed to like me the way I was, and I had no reason to think you would change your mind once you really got to know me.”
“That’s crazy,” he says. “And the book was mythology.”
“Yes.”
“Definitely a sign.”
“I agree. That’s why I had to tell you before I forgot. Because I do that, Noah. My brain is rushing with so many thoughts and things I want to share that sometimes I can’t remember them all.”
His mouth curves up in a playful smile. “I can see that.”
“Oh shut up,” I say, grinning. “But I wanted you to know this. And I took the risk of telling you so soon, even though it might freak some guys out.”
Noah’s expression doesn’t change. “I promise you it doesn’t freak me out. And neither do you.”
Ooh!
The waitress returns to our table, placing a huge plate of brioche french toast in front of me. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you,” I say, smiling at her.
She nods and leaves us, but instead of picking up my cutlery so I can immediately dig in, I look at Noah—only to find he’s already looking at me.
“I want you exactly the way you are, Violet,” he says, reaching across the table and trailing his fingers underneath my chin. Then he leans forward and presses a sweet, brief kiss on my lips. “And I don’t anticipate that changing.”
Then he leans back in his seat and breaks off a piece of his scone, popping it into his mouth and smiling at me.
I remain still, forgetting how hungry I am or how much I want to dive into anything that involves bread, crème, and strawberries.
I study him, this gorgeous man sitting across from me. A man who is so unlike me in so many ways, from his quiet demeanour to the way he studies people before showing bits and pieces of himself.
I’m so lucky he’s started to reveal who he is to me.
I know this morning I’ll get let inside his world a little more. But Friday night? When we have our first real date?
I intend to go all in on discovering who Noah really is.
And I can’t wait to do it.