Chapter Thirteen
Saucy Shorts
I’m exhausted by the time I reach Wintersmith Hall.
It’s Sunday afternoon, and I still feel like rubbish, but I had to get home so I can cover my shift in the gift shop tomorrow.
And prepare for Noah’s arrival on Wednesday.
I smile as I drive down the long road towards the back of the estate, next to a field blooming with wildflowers in white, pink, and yellow. The sun is shining down from a sky dotted with clouds, and I know if I were to pull over and stroll through that field, I’d find it filled with beautiful butterflies.
But seeing as I’m still sick—and there’s nothing like a two-hour drive with a raging head cold to make you feel less than fabulous—I continue on my way without stopping. The gravel crunches under the tyres of my motorcar, and even though all I want to do is climb into my bed and take a nap, one thought permeates my brain.
I get to spend time with Noah this week.
Not just one date.
But many.
We didn’t get our date on Friday night the way we planned, but Noah took care of me and didn’t leave until I was ready to go to bed. Which was early, of course. He had to return to Surrey yesterday and pick up Mila from the dog sitter, but not before stopping by with some fresh orange juice and croissants to give me for breakfast.
Noah is beyond thoughtful. I’ve never met a man who observes so much and is so in tune to what people need.
What I need.
I swing around the drive and park my car next to Amelia’s. I smile at that. I’m so glad she worked out the misunderstanding with Nicholas that kept them apart for years. I always thought they were perfect for each other.
And I always knew Nicholas loved Amelia, even if he refused to ever admit it.
I unhook my seat belt, thinking about this. It’s a twin sense. I knew when their how badly he was hurting when their friendship fell apart. I could feel it as if the pain were my own, as strange as that sounds.
Perhaps he felt my pain about Noah and that’s why he had that conversation with me about it.
He knew. Just like I knew about Amelia.
It’s a weird thing, being a twin.
I reach for a tissue and blow my nose again. Ugh. Now that I’ve come to a stop, I realise just how tired my brain is from concentrating on that drive. I open my door to get out, and I see Luke strolling across the grounds, coming from the gardens.
Ooh! I wonder if Aimee would be interested in meeting Luke. He’s bright. Loves animals. Funny. Australian, which she might like.
Oh, and incredibly fit.
I grin. Maybe I should play matchmaker on this one, I muse.
Luke smiles when he sees me getting out of my car. “Hello, Violet. Back from London already, I see,” he says cheerfully, heading in my direction.
I put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t come too close, I’m sick!”
He stops walking. “Um, we’re outside. I’m not too concerned about catching something.”
Okay, fair point.
“Well, you can’t be too cautious.”
Unless you’re Noah. I rather liked him being fearless about my cold and taking care of me on Friday night.
“Stop. Let me help you with your luggage.”
“Nope. I’ll draw the line at that. You don’t need to touch my germ-infested handle.”
He laughs. “Okay, fine, but don’t say I didn’t offer,” he says, coming up to me.
“By the way, why are you working on a Sunday?” I ask. “Carl and Roy didn’t do anything else, did they?”
He chuckles at that. “No, no more interior decorating.”
“HA-KAW!” comes a peacock cry carrying across the garden.
“Hmm. Is that a response cry of ‘FACTS’ or ‘Let me decorate!’?” I tease.
We both laugh.
“I was sourcing some new birds for the aviary, as well as the costs for some expansion. The birds are becoming an interest point here, and Nicholas wanted some ideas and numbers. That’s obviously a project I’m passionate about, and I have some preliminary ideas I want to share to make sure I’m on the right path.”
“Ooh, I love that idea,” I say. Then I sigh. “You know if Nicholas likes the idea, you’ll be the one to have to present it to my dad.”
Luke winces. “I know. I hate that.”
“Me too.”
“But we know the truth, and that’s something, at least.”
“HA-KAW!”
We both laugh and begin to walk back towards the back entrance. I open the door, and Luke holds it for me, allowing me to step inside first. “Nicholas is waiting for me in the study,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye,” I say, heading along the back corridor, which is the private family portion of the estate. I make my way to the stairs and head towards my room. The floor is quiet, and I’m relieved. I just want to lie down and take a nap, not rehash my trip to London with my parents. Hopefully, with some rest, I’ll feel well enough to sit down to dinner.
I step inside my room and shut the door behind me, then retrieve my phone from my bag and flop down on my bed, quickly texting Noah:
Hey, Saucy Shorts! The patient has successfully made it back to Dorset. I’m about to indulge in a long nap before dinner.
I put my phone aside and giggle to myself. I’ve never teased Noah about the Saucy Shorts Connectivity page I found which is dedicated to how he looks in his football kit. I can’t wait to see how Noah responds to that comment.
But my main point of texting was to let him know I made it home safely after a two hour drive from London. Noah didn’t even want me driving back to Dorset today. He thought I should rest, but I didn’t want to shirk my responsibilities here, especially after I had to juggle them last week so I could help Bella with her event at the primary school.
I won’t play into that butterfly narrative anymore,I think firmly as I take off my shoes. I’m going to find myself and my path.
And that starts right now by showing everyone I’m responsible about my job here.
Buzz!
I reach for my phone and can’t stop smiling when I see Noah’s name on my screen. I tap open his message and read:
Oh God, you found that?
I can practically see him blushing. I reply:
I SO DID.
Noah Darby is typing …
UGH, yes there’s that page. And others. DO NOT look for me on TikTok, and if you already have, I ask that you forget what you have seen IMMEDIATELY.
I burst out laughing and type back:
Ooh, I now have something to do after dinner tonight! What should I search under? #SaucyShorts?
Hmm. I decide Noah’s name is no longer appropriate in my phone and change it. Then I giggle as I stare down at his new name in my contacts:
Saucy Shorts.
Saucy Shorts is typing …
I laugh as soon as I see that on my screen. I can’t wait to show this to him when he gets here. Finally, Saucy Shorts replies:
I will NOT help you search for my videos on TikTok.
Oh, this is set up way too easily for me. I message him back:
I can see you’re going to be unhelpful, so I’ll have to come up with my own. I’ll use #NoahDarbyIsMyDaddy #ImADarbyGirl #DarbyThighsSaveLives #NoahDarbyEdit
Then I start laughing and hit send. Noah is going to be so embarrassed.
I love that he gets that way because it’s the last thing I’d ever expect from a professional athlete. I picture so many of them being used to the adoration that they could never be anything close to embarrassed.
But Noah isn’t like that. And I adore that about him.
Saucy Shorts is typing …
I don’t even want to know if those are real. Aren’t you supposed to be taking a nap? GO TO SLEEP, VIOLET.
I smile and text one more message:
Okay, okay, I’m going to rest now. We’ll talk later. After I’ve had a chance to view #NoahDarbyCalves
I turn off the sound on my phone and set it aside. Then I get out of my jeans, slip under the covers, and vow to take a good, long nap.
And hopefully have some #NoahDarbyEdits of my own running through my head as I do.
* * *
I enter the kitchen in the evening to find it empty, which I expected. My parents always have a large Sunday roast in the afternoon, so we all kind of fend for ourselves for dinner. I’m actually feeling peckish, and leftover roast sounds good, so I must be starting to turn the corner on this stupid head cold.
I open the fridge and poke around for the leftovers. I find roast beef and gravy, so I remove those containers and set them on the worktop. Then I locate some roasted carrots and potatoes, which is perfect. I open the freezer and find some Yorkshire puddings. I’ll just reheat everything in the oven, so it’s all done at the same time.
I hear footsteps as I’m turning on the oven to preheat and turn around to find Mum entering the kitchen.
“Oh hello, Violet, how are you feeling?” she asks, studying me.
“I think I might be getting better. I slept hard after I got home.”
“Good, I’m sure your body needed it,” she says, smiling gently at me. “Summer colds are the worst. How was London?” Mum moves over to the kettle and takes it to the tap, filling it with water.
“It was really good. The art project I designed for the students was a big hit.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic, sweetheart,” she says happily.
“Thank you,” I reply. I pause for a moment. “Even though I was sick, I did see Noah Darby on Friday night.”
“Outside of your Uber ride with him on Wednesday?” she quips.
“You didn’t mention you knew that in your texts,” I say, blushing.
Mum smiles at me. “You didn’t mention it either.”
I smile back at her. “Fair point.”
“So what is going on with you and Noah?” she asks, her eyes inquisitive.
“We hit it off. He’s coming to Dorset this week for a visit. He’s rented a cottage on the coast and we’re going to hang out.”
Mum’s lips purse together in thought. I furrow my brow the second I see it. “What?”
“I shouldn’t say anything.”
I immediately feel defensive. “Well, now I absolutely want to know what you’re thinking.”
She turns on the kettle and turns to face me. “Be careful with him, Violet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, he’s a footballer,” Mum says slowly. “You know the kinds of things that brings. He has a lot of money. He’s famous. Has access to a lot of women. A lot of them aren’t known for fidelity.”
“Mum, I appreciate your concern, but there’s a couple of things to keep in mind here,” I say, moving to a cupboard and pulling out a baking dish to reheat my dinner in. “First of all, Noah and I are just getting to know each other, so it’s early. Who knows how we’ll feel at the end of the week?”
Lie. I know exactly how I will feel at the end of the week, but I continue on regardless.
“Noah is not your typical footballer,” I say. “He’s dedicated to the game and hasn’t had much of a life outside of it. He’s serious. Careful. Noah is a good man, Mum. I trust him. I’m honoured that he wants to see me, because that says a lot considering how he’s avoided relationships due to football.”
She takes in my words. “I suppose I’m relying on stereotypes to paint a picture of him, aren’t I?”
I smile warmly at her. “It’s okay. Before I met him, I would have done the same thing.”
“Perhaps I should worry more about Noah,” she says, smiling as she reaches for a mug. “You’re the butterfly, after all. You might be moving on from him before he even knows what hits him.”
My stomach goes cold as her words wash over me. I know Mum is only teasing, but that’s the problem. This whole butterfly narrative has been going on for years.
I have lived up to that name by not pursuing a career. By starting and stopping projects. Working in the gift shop only when I feel like it. I guess you could put men in this category, too—flirting and having fun and then moving on before they could get serious.
In my defence, however, I didn’t want a relationship.
But putting that aside, I should want a career and to be on my own. I know, deep down, I’m languishing here at Wintersmith Hall.
Then people can’t help but compare me to Nicholas, and I can see why they all think the narrative is true.
Because it was.
That’s my own fault. I see that now.
I swallow painfully as I slice some roast beef up and place it in the pan. I’ve got to find a way to dispel that. Not just for my family, not just for Noah, but for myself.
If only I knew what I want to do. And could be brave enough to risk failing to do it.
Okay. Small steps.
“I want to assure you that even when Noah is here, I’ll still stick to my schedule at the gift shop,” I assure Mum.
She retrieves a box of tea and removes a bag. “Why? We’ll just slide someone else in. I know Maria is keen for more hours since her youngest left home.”
I chew on my lower lip in thought. Well, that’s fair, right? I’d be helping someone else if I let Maria take my shifts?
“All right. But if Maria or nobody else wants my shifts, I want to assure you I’ll work them. Noah can occupy himself whilst I’m in the shop,” I say, adding some veg to the pan.
Mum pours some hot water over her tea bag. “That’s fine, Violet.”
I open the oven and pop in the tray with the leftovers and a couple of Yorkshire puddings and close the door. Mum takes a seat at the kitchen table, and I sit down across from her. “Is Nicholas with Amelia?” I ask.
She smiles. “Is the sky blue?”
I chuckle at that. Nicholas and Amelia are together all the time.
“Oh, Violet, I had Melanie put back all the books in the library,” she says, absently dunking the tea bag up and down in her mug.
“What? Why? I was working on that,” I protest, anxiety pooling in my stomach.
Mum laughs. “Violet. It was going to end up like all your other projects. Especially with Noah being here. You’re going to be out with him, and then you’ll lose interest in sorting the library all together. I’m your Mum, I know you. I’d sooner clean up the mess now rather than later.”
Clean up the mess.
The anxiety in my stomach spreads to my chest, causing it to grow tight. That’s how everyone sees me, isn’t it? Someone who makes a mess that others have to clean up.
That’s worse than being a butterfly.
“Now don’t be so dejected,” Mum chides. “You’ll forget all about those books and be on to something else by breakfast tomorrow. And then be on to the next project shortly after that.”
Buzz!
I glance over at my phone and see that Noah has texted me back. I pick up my phone and tap on his message:
Please tell me you got off TikTok and took a nap.
I smile and text him back:
I did take a nap, but not before spending hours upon hours watching TikToks devoted to your body. #LoveMyDaddyNoahDarby
Saucy Shorts is typing …
STOP IT.
Joy replaces my feelings of anxiety and I send him another message:
How are you feeling? Do you have any signs of sickness?
Saucy Shorts is typing …
My throat is scratchy, and I feel like an anvil has dropped on my head.
Oh no! Noah got my crappy cold! I quickly begin to respond, but another message drops in before I can finish mine:
JK. I’m fine. I told you I would be.
Whew! I reply:
You had me panicked, Saucy Shorts. That wasn’t nice.
Saucy Shorts is typing …
You are NOT going to call me that.
I grin and send him a flirty response:
Looks like you’ll have to come to Dorset and find a way to convince me not to call you that.
Saucy Shorts is typing …
This sounds like my kind of challenge. You’re on.
Saucy Shorts is typing …
Are you up for a film when I get into town? I found the perfect cinema for us. I’ve confirmed it has pick and mix, which should allow you to determine if I can pass your test. #FingersCrossedYouLikeMyPickAndMix
My heart dances happily as I read his words. Noah is not only coming to Dorset, but he’s already planning a real date night for us. The one I told him I wanted on the night we connected here in the garden.
Noah has no idea, but he’s already passed my test a million times over.
Determination fills me. I want to be the woman who passes any tests he has in his head, too.
And Wednesday night, I’ll see if I can do just that.