19. Noah
Noah
God, she was beautiful. Frustratingly, stubbornly, impossibly beautiful.
There was something she wasn’t telling me, that much I knew. I saw it in the way her smile sometimes came a second too late or the way her shoulders tightened when certain things came up.
But if I pushed too hard, or too quickly, she’d flee—faster than I could even think about calling her my girlfriend, and I wasn’t convinced I’d survive watching her walk away again.
It was the start of a new week, and the impending summer heat was already making itself known. Utility bills were higher, and we’d started opening the lobby windows in the evenings, hoping a breeze would catch and carry through the inn.
It also meant my sweet Bailey was torturing me daily with her goddamn sundresses.
They framed her curves, floating around her thighs like they didn’t understand the damage they were doing to me.
She somehow owned one in every color for each day of the week, and every single one made it harder to remember I was technically her boss.
Memories of this past weekend came to the forefront of my mind, and I subtly adjusted myself behind my desk. Apparently, cold showers weren’t doing a damn thing, which meant I needed alone time with her soon.
I pulled up our reservation program, checking bookings for the next six months, trying to focus on occupancy rates rather than on the way Bailey laughed at breakfast this morning.
The numbers blurred together anyway. The door to my office slammed open, and I looked up to find a guilty-looking Eli and a grinning Ma standing in the doorway.
“You’ll get premature wrinkles if you keep glowering so much, Noah. Let’s go. You’re getting lunch with your mother.”
Eli offered me an apologetic shrug before disappearing down the hall. When Ma requested lunch, well, you didn’t refuse.
“Hi, Ma,” I said, standing up and giving her a tight hug. “Where would you like to go eat? My treat.”
“I would hope it’s your treat, I birthed you,” she said.
She never failed to find a moment to remind me of that.
“Rusty Spoon it is then,” I offered.
We made the short walk from the inn down Main and entered The Rusty Spoon, spotting an empty booth in the back.
Despite its rugged name, the diner had really kept up with the times.
It offered classic, greasy meals, sure, but they’d also incorporated avocado toast and those protein smoothies everyone raved about.
What hadn’t changed was the interior, and for that I was thankful.
The booths all had cracked vinyl seats and tables still from the ’90s.
The pictures on the walls were antiques, and not the kind you found at garage sales.
My favorite part was the ’50s-inspired jukebox that didn’t have songs on it after 1999, and my go-to selection was the classic “I Like It, I Love It.”
“Hi, Henry!” Ma called out.
Henry, the owner and longtime friend of hers, looked up from behind the counter and grinned. He was a town staple, solid and unmovable. He made a damn good burger and also had a wandering eye when it came to my mother.
I guided Ma toward the back of the diner, leveling Henry with a look. He only laughed, turned toward the cashier, and whistled while shooting a wink my way.
“Always love having my Whitakers drop in to visit,” he called out cheekily.
We slid into the booth, ignoring the menus placed on the table. We knew exactly what we planned to order.
Ma folded her hands together, eyes sharp and knowing as she looked me over.
“Anything you need to tell me, son?”
I dropped my head back against the booth.
“Which one of those assholes told you?” I muttered.
She kicked my shin.
“Noah Allen. Get to talking.”
I rubbed my temples and gave her the shortened version. The meet faux pas. The date last weekend. The way she looked at me like she wanted to trust me but didn’t quite know how. Ma nodded in all the right places, taking it in as if she were mentally organizing the information for later use.
Sometime during the middle of the story, we placed our regular orders—a burger with onion rings for me and a pot pie for Ma. When I finished my story, she tilted her head.
“So, you’re fuck buddies,” she said casually, taking a bite of her pie.
“Ma,” I groaned.
“What? That’s what the kids call it.”
“You are chronically online, and it worries me.”
She waved me off. “Answer the question.”
“We’re not—” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh?” she pressed.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice even though half the town probably already assumed something was going on.
“I don’t just want her in my bed,” I admitted. “I want her…around. At Sunday dinners and at Christmas. I want her arguing with Grant over stupid shit and teaching Eli how to cook.”
Ma’s expression softened instantly.
“And?” she prompted gently.
“And I don’t think she believes she deserves any of that,” I said quietly.
“Or that it could actually last. She thinks if she does one wrong thing, I’ll suddenly stop wanting her.
I know her relationship with her parents is rough, but I think there’s someone else who hurt her badly.
I can see it. But she won’t let me in far enough to help or to care for her. ”
Ma reached across the table, squeezing my hand.
“You don’t push a wounded thing into the open, Noah. You make it feel safe enough to come out on its own.”
I swallowed. “I don’t want to scare her off.”
“Then show her what she’d be walking away from,” Ma said simply.
I frowned. “Meaning?”
“Invite her to the next Sunday dinner. All of us. Let her see how we love. Let her see she’s already halfway in, whether she realizes it or not.”
A Whitaker family dinner was not casual. It was loud and chaotic, and Grant almost always burned something.
“She’ll bolt,” I muttered.
“Or,” Ma countered, “she’ll finally understand you’re serious.”
Serious. Yeah, that was the problem. I was seriously a goner. We finished our lunch, Ma somehow convincing me to share more secrets about the boys with her, before we headed to pay our bill. My eyes grazed over the dessert display before spotting something that I knew Bailey would love.
“Hey, Henry, could you tack on one of the cupcakes, too?”
“Not a problem,” he responded. “Hi, Camille. I haven’t seen you in here lately.”
Ma blushed, and I furrowed my brows in confusion—she never blushed; she always made others blush.
“I’m a busy lady. Someone has to keep an eye on Noah and make sure he doesn’t burn the inn down,” she said.
“It was one false alarm,” I muttered.
“Well, don’t be a stranger,” Henry said, handing over my receipt. “I miss seeing you.”
My eyes widened in horror as I realized what I had just witnessed.
Flirting. Henry was flirting with Ma, and she was enjoying it.
She got this dopey look in her eye before she gave him a quick wave and bolted out the door.
I glared at Henry on my way out and saw that Ma was already halfway down the street.
“Jesus Christ, she moves quick for such a tiny woman,” I said, chasing after her. “Ma, did I miss something?”
She turned to face me. “Can’t miss anything if there was nothing there to begin with.”
“Okay, Sensei,” I joked. “But if Henry is bothering you or something, you know you can tell us, and we’ll handle him for you.”
She cracked a smile. “How exactly would you and your brothers handle him, Noah? Please enlighten me.”
“Lots of verbal threatening, and I’ll tell everyone that his health score rating was a B+. He won’t last a week with the older crowd,” I said.
Ma rolled her eyes. “How diabolical of you.”
We made it back to the inn, and I directed Ma toward her car.
“Don’t forget about Sunday dinner, Noah. If I put out an extra place setting for no reason, I’ll be pissed,” she said.
I held back a grimace but nodded in confirmation. I had a woman to go sway.
I entered the lobby and approached Bailey the same way I’d approach a stray dog—slowly and with food.
She was head down at her desk, focused on a new rush wedding inquiry we’d received.
I carefully slid the vanilla cupcake across her desk, causing her to abruptly look up and pull her headphones from her ears.
“I know you don’t like chocolate, so I snagged you one of these from Rusty’s,” I said.
She glanced down at the dessert, then back to me, then back to the cupcake.
“That’s going to go straight to my hips, Noah,” she huffed.
“Fucking good,” I muttered under my breath.
She rolled her eyes, but I could see the smile forming. “Thank you for the sweet treat, though.”
“You’re welcome, pretty girl.”
She brought the cupcake up, licking a bit of icing from the top, and my brain suddenly had trouble focusing on anything but her tongue.
Focus, Noah.
“The treat does come with a request,” I added.
She froze mid-bite.
“I knew this was too good to be true,” she mumbled, crumbs falling on her desk.
“Are you free next Sunday evening? I need you to be free, because no isn’t an answer when it comes to Ma.”
She blinked twice.
“Right, context. Ma hosts a family dinner every Sunday, and I’d like to invite you to the next one.” I hesitated, then forced myself to be honest. “You’re important to me, and to this inn, which means you’re already important to Ma.”
Her eyes widened, and panic flared behind them before she could mask it. Shit. I crouched down to her level.
“That sounds serious, Noah,” she said carefully.
“Seriously fun,” I said, although my dad joke didn’t seem to land. “It’s just dinner. It’s loud and chaotic, and there will probably be overcooked chicken. But we can pick up your favorite bottle of wine on the way, and I’ll drive us over.”
She swallowed and picked at the paper surrounding her cupcake.
“She’s only met me once, and that was before she knew that we had…something going on. What if she views me differently? Or what if she likes me too much and then I somehow disappoint her?” she asked.
“Not possible,” I said. “Eli and I broke our wrists when we were younger because we were convinced we could jump off the bed and fly. Trust me, there is no way you could ever disappoint her.”
She sighed and rolled a stray crumb between her fingers. “You owe me, Noah,” she said.
Little did she know, I’d already decided to give her everything she wanted.