Chapter 2 #2
“That’s great,” I tell her. Then I pull out my wallet and stick two twenties inside the book. “I told you I had a feeling.”
Her head bobs. “You were right.” Then she pats my shoulder. “Maybe you’ll find someone someday, too.”
Her words stick with me as I leave the diner, bag of muffins in hand.
Maybe I will find someone.
Maybe I’ll be the next Blade and Arrow member to fall, like Cole’s wife, Maya, predicted.
“It happened with the other two branches,” she teased the last time she came for a visit.
She was watching Cole play with their older daughter, Clara, while she held their newborn, James, in her lap.
“First it was me and Cole. Then Leo and Georgia, and Zane and Elle. Before we knew it, everyone on the team was coupled up. Then it was the Bravo Team’s turn.
Now that Rafe and Indy are both in relationships, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of you fall. ”
“I’m not sure about that,” I told her. “That would mean meeting someone who actually interests me. And that hasn’t happened yet.”
“It happens when you least expect it,” Indy said as he and Bea joined our small group. “I never thought I’d meet my future wife at the VA hospital. But here we are.”
“You never know,” Bea added, giving her fiancé an affectionate look. “I certainly didn’t think I’d fall in love with my cranky patient. Like Indy said, it can happen any time. Anywhere. The grocery store. A hospital.”
“Or protecting a client,” Maya interjected with a smile. “We’ve certainly had a run of those.”
Or, I wonder as I spot a flash of fiery red hair across the street, maybe she’s right here in Williston.
Maybe she’s waited on me at the diner, her amber eyes lighting up whenever she smiles and her laugh doing strange things to my stomach…
Maybe she smells of honey and vanilla, a scent I never thought about as being sexy until I met her.
Maybe her touch sets off sparks through my body, even from the briefest contact.
Maybe the conversations we share every time she waits on me, ones I spin in my head for days after, are a sign of more than physical desire.
Maybe it’s all a sign that she’s the woman I’ve been waiting for.
The only problem? I’m not sure she’s interested.
The object of my thoughts stops at the intersection just ahead, waiting for the single light in town to change.
Noelle.
She’s been stuck in my mind since the first time I met her.
It was just about two weeks ago, and I’d stopped into Doug’s Diner on my way back from the airport, just as I did today.
Normally, my Tuesday routine consisted of early morning flight practice, followed by a stop for breakfast at McDonald’s in nearby Newberg, before heading back to HQ to get started on my work for the day.
But that morning, I decided to change things up by driving through Williston on my way home instead.
As I passed the postcard-worthy town park and the quaint storefronts, the brightly colored awning above Doug’s Diner caught my attention.
It reminded me of the little diner my dad used to take me to when I was a kid, and how he’d insist that nothing tasted as good as an authentic diner breakfast.
So I stopped. I went into Doug’s Diner, the cheery bell above the door jingling as I entered, and took a seat at the long white counter at the rear. I was just picking up my menu when she appeared in front of me with a pot of steaming coffee and a tentative smile.
Noelle.
Shit, she took my breath away. Her hair was pulled back, but there were little red curls framing her face.
Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, and her eyes were the most incredible shade of amber, shifting from gold to bronze as the light hit them.
And when she let out a nervous laugh after fumbling her introduction, I knew I was in trouble.
Then we got to talking, and that’s when I knew I was interested in more than her looks. Noelle didn’t get into personal things, aside from telling me how she’d just moved to Williston a couple of weeks before, and she hadn’t waited tables since she was in college.
“I’m hoping it’s like riding a bike,” she told me. “It’s been ten years since I carried a tray loaded with food. Hopefully, I don’t end up dumping one all over a table.”
When I saw her carrying an overloaded tray across the diner not ten minutes later, I had to battle myself not to jump up and take it for her.
In the past, I probably wouldn’t have noticed what a server was carrying.
But with Noelle… I wanted to take the burden for her.
I wanted to carry all her trays for the rest of her shift.
I didn’t ask her out that first day. Partly because she was new at the job and I didn’t want to distract her. But more so because she was giving out friendly, professional vibes instead of the flirtatious ones I just received from Glenda.
So instead of asking her out, I told her I’d be back. And I was rewarded with a brilliant smile, one that remained with me for the rest of the day. “That would be great, Webb,” she told me. “I’m scheduled for most mornings, so I’m sure I’ll see you.”
Then she blushed. “I mean, not that you’re coming to see me. I just meant—”
I touched her hand, and shit, I felt sparks. “I would love to see you the next time I come in.”
That’s how I ended up coming into Williston nearly every day for the last two weeks. And in the ten times I’ve been to Doug’s Diner so far, I’ve seen Noelle for eight of them.
Not today, unfortunately. Given that she’s walking around town, I’m assuming it’s her day off. Which is good for her but kind of a bummer for me.
Unless.
Is there a rule that says I can only talk to her when she’s working?
I mean, she’s right there, less than a hundred yards away. It would be rude not to say hi to her, when I think about it.
As I head in her direction, I pick up my pace.
A surge of anticipation floods through me.
I can already imagine her smile—or at least, I hope she’ll smile when she sees me.
Maybe we’ll chat for a few minutes. Or maybe she’s not busy, and we decide to grab coffee together.
She wouldn’t want to go to the diner for a cup, not on her day off, but there’s a bakery down the street that would probably work.
Out of nowhere, a rare spurt of nerves hits.
Which is strange, because I haven’t felt nervous about approaching a woman since I asked Flora Emerson to the homecoming dance when I was sixteen.
But in the decades since, I’ve always been confident in my appeal.
I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been turned down by a woman, and that’s being generous.
But with Noelle, it’s different. I feel like a teenager again, worried that the girl I like will reject me.
If she does, she does, I tell myself. It’s not a big deal.
Except it feels like it is.
Just as I reach the opposite side of the intersection, Noelle glances up and sees me. I wave at her, and she smiles before responding with a cheerful wave of her own. Then she glances at the walk signal, which still has eight seconds left on it, and starts crossing the street.
I wait on my side of the road, watching her approach.
Her hair is down, swinging in a shiny red curtain as she walks.
She’s in shorts that show off her flaring hips and nipped-in waist. Her T-shirt is tighter than the one she wears at work, which gives an even better appreciation of how gorgeous her body is.
She’s a quarter of the way across the street when she slows to pull her phone from her back pocket. As she looks at it, she freezes. Her smile drops. Shock tightens her features.
Maybe twenty feet away, the walk signal ticks down.
Six. Five. Four.
I keep expecting Noelle to move. To put her phone away and hurry the rest of the way across the street. Not to stand there like a deer caught in headlights, her attention completely focused on whatever she sees on her phone.
Three. Two. One.
She still hasn’t moved.
Alarm bells sound in my head.
Something’s wrong.
My gaze sweeps across the intersection, and I’m relieved to see that it’s empty. So whatever’s going on with Noelle, she shouldn’t be in danger.
Still. I don’t like this. At all. And I want her safely on my side of the street. Now.
“Noelle,” I call. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even seem to hear me.
The light turns green, but thankfully, there are no cars coming through the intersection to hit her. Just an old sedan on the road perpendicular, now waiting on the red.
“Noelle.” I pitch my voice louder. At the same time, I hurry towards her. “Noelle.”
As I close the distance between us, I realize she’s shaking. Her face is ghost-white.
Then I hear a noise approaching. The rev of an engine.
With fifteen feet still left between me and Noelle, a motorcycle comes roaring towards the intersection.
At first, I’m certain it’ll stop. It has to. Noelle is clearly in its path, and any sane driver would stop, or at least swerve to avoid her.
But this driver seems to be oblivious.
As it nears, the reverberating thump of bass accompanies it. Someone listening to music as he rides, at best guess a young guy who hasn’t realized that blaring music isn’t the best way to impress women.
“Noelle!” I shout.
The motorcycle draws closer.
My pulse jumps.
Adrenaline surges.
Shit.
It’s too close.
Finally, finally, Noelle looks up from her phone. She sees me rushing towards her—not jogging or walking, but outright sprinting—and then she turns towards the oncoming motorcycle.
Her expression shifts from one of shock to horror.
Calling on my years of training in the Army and the hours on the treadmill I still do now, I put on an extra burst of speed as I lunge towards her.
The moment I’m close enough, I wrap my arms around Noelle and pull her out of the way, turning her so I hit the ground while she’s safely above me. Then I roll the two of us across the road while the motorcycle roars past only feet away.
With a squeal of tires, the driver finally stops. His motorcycle wobbles. Then he yanks his helmet off, revealing a boy who couldn’t be much older than eighteen. “Shit!” he cries. “Shit! Ah, shit. I didn’t even see. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Stop. Talking.” I glare at the teenager, and he withers beneath my gaze. In the same commanding voice I used to use when I’d give orders in the Army, I say, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll deal with you later.”
Then I turn my attention back to Noelle, who’s still lying beneath me, wide-eyed and pale. Her shirt and shorts are smudged with dirt, and she has a reddening abrasion on her arm.
Shit. Guilt swamps me. Despite the situation, I should have protected her better. Kept her from being injured at all.
“Webb,” she says in a tremulous voice. “What—”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” I ask roughly.
The guilt makes it hard to speak normally.
My gaze keeps going back to the scrape on her arm.
A scrape that I caused by knocking Noelle to the ground.
I brush my thumb across her abraded skin, grimacing as I do it.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Noelle. I didn’t mean to hurt you. ”
She stares at me for a second before shaking her head. “You didn’t hurt me.” She goes quiet, and I can see her doing a mental inventory of herself, checking for injuries. Then she scoots out from beneath me and sits up. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt.”
I crouch beside her, taking the time to do another assessment. I’m not a trained medic, like Indy, but I’ve been through enough first aid training to run a quick triage.
Her eyes seem focused, and there’s no sign of a concussion. No bones appear broken. Aside from the scrape on her arm, there aren’t any other visible wounds. But still. I worry.
“Are you okay?” Noelle asks. Her hand brushes my cheek and comes away with a smudge of dirt on it. “You hit the ground first. Did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “But are you sure you’re okay? Really?”
“Are you going to sue me?” the teenage driver asks nervously from behind us. “I didn’t mean… The light was green. It should have been okay—”
I jerk my head towards him. In a cold tone, I snap, “A green light doesn’t mean you just go blindly through an intersection. You pay attention. If someone’s there, you stop.”
“I’m not going to sue you,” Noelle replies quietly. “It was my fault. I…” She shudders. “I got distracted. I’m sorry.”
My heart squeezes at how small and vulnerable she sounds. And I’m seized with an overwhelming urge to hold her. To fix whatever upset her so badly she froze in the middle of the intersection.
But that would probably be weird, given the situation.
Instead, I stand and hold out my hand to her. “Can I take you to the diner? Or the bakery? Get your arm cleaned up? Maybe get a drink? Something with sugar to help with the shock?”
Noelle blinks at me. “Sugar to help with the shock?”
My cheeks heat. “It’s something my mother says whenever someone’s upset.”
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she takes my hand and offers me a small smile. “Well, if your mom suggests it, I guess I should accept.”
I clasp my fingers around hers as I help her up. With a smile, I reply, “If my mother suggests it, then you definitely should.”