Chapter Eighteen
Aubrey
After an hour or so in the car, they finally came to a small, quiet suburban neighborhood, kids playing at the park and riding bikes on the sidewalk, grandparents sitting on the porches. It felt nostalgic in a way she’d never experienced personally, but read about countless times in books and had seen in different movies growing up. It was homey and looked friendly. She hoped Noah’s home was here among these people.
Sure enough, they stopped in front of a modest, but well-maintained home and pulled into the driveway. Noah hopped out and walked around to her side, opening her door and helping her out.
“Come on in.” He said, a nervous smile on his face. “You can sit in the living room while I bring your stuff in.”
“I can help, Noah.”
“You’ve been through enough the last couple days, Bree. Let me take care of you.” He argued as they walked inside, and he led her into a room immediately to the left.
The heaviness of everything that had happened settled, and she fell back against the sofa, all the arguments leaving her.
“Will you be okay?” He asked, eyeing her warily.
“I’ll be fine, Noah. You’ll let me know if you need help?.”
He nodded—though she got the distinct impression that he would not, in fact, let her know if he needed her help—and walked out, giving her a chance to really take in his home. It was a ranch-style one-story that looked surprisingly put together for a bachelor pad. They walked into the foyer, and he escorted her to the living room immediately to the left of the door. There was a slight elevation change, and the long wooden dining table was a statement piece in that area. It was kind of nice. Semi-open where you could be engaged between the living and dining room, but without being in the kitchen—or seeing the kitchen.
There was a secondary living room straight ahead when they walked in and a hallway off to the right where the bedrooms and bathrooms were. It was simply decorated, a lot of wood and dark colors, but the walls were white and the floor was a beautiful light tone that would pair well with all kinds of decorating motifs. She could just see the room filled with accents of light blues, sandy browns, and grays. Like the ocean on a cloudy day. She sighed dreamily. She could make it so beautiful in here.
A rustling from the entryway signaled Noah’s return, and Bree smiled as he poked his head around the corner. “All good still?”
“It’s been thirty seconds, Noah. I’m good.” Bree said. She”d never known a man who was so attuned to others. Noah”s innate kindness and thoughtfulness were shown through his patience with her and his deep love and loyalty for his team. They were so lucky to have each other. She”d love to have friends like that.
“I’m going to put your art supplies in the first room on the left. It’s been empty, so you can set it up however you’d like. Your bedroom is across the hall.”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you want to come into the studio and tell me where to put things? I figure it”ll be most helpful if you can get them where you want them right away to help you be productive later on.”
“I’d love that,” Bree said, standing up and making her way down the hall. She wanted to be useful.
The room would be considered small for a bedroom, but was a perfect size for a studio. There was a large window overlooking the lake. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and Noah rubbed the back of his head.
“The front is modest to look at, and the inside isn’t fancy.” He said, “But I bought the house for the view.”
“It’s beautiful, Noah.”
“It is.” He said, looking at her instead of the view.
Bree blushed.
“So, where do you want the easel?” He asked, bringing the large wooden object in from the hallway.
Bree looked at where the light was in relation to the window. “Can you put it along the back wall? That will give me the best light while I work.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Noah jested, moving the easel to where she pointed. Over the next ten minutes, they worked on setting up the art studio until she knew she could waltz in and work on her art pieces as though there hadn’t been a major disruption to her life. That would come in handy later.
Next, they moved on to the bedroom and guest bathroom. Bree just asked Noah to place her things on the bed so she could sort them later. Once the bags were securely deposited, they made their way back to the other side of the house.
“Want the rest of the official tour?” Noah asked.
“Of course,” Bree said, game for anything Noah wanted to show her. They went through the other living room—this one had a large TV over the mantle and giant windows on either side of the fireplace that showcased the gorgeous water view. French doors were to the left of the window, and this family room was open to the kitchen. White cabinets, a butcher block counter that matched the stain of the floor, and a farm-style sink in front of another large window almost made it feel like you were outside.
Noah opened the French doors and they walked outside, a deck off the back of the house leading to an expanse of yard before it slowly dipped down into the lake. Noah had his own dock with a small boat tied to the post.
“Your home is gorgeous, Noah.”
“Thank you.” He said with pride.
“Is it a three-bedroom then?” Bree asked as they walked back into the family room.
“Four. The room at the end of the hall on the right is my workout room, and the room on the left—next to the studio—is the master.”
“Nice.”
“It was a solid buy. It needed a little updating when I bought it—the original owners who had lived here were the ones who built it. They took amazing care of it. I just updated it a little bit.”
They settled in and watched some television, talking about their favorite books and movies and just little things until the doorbell rang an hour later, and Noah got up to answer it. Bree felt her heart rate spike, memories of the sharp knocks on her door flooding to the front of her mind. The teddy bear. The pictures. The break-in. The flowers. What if whoever was after her followed them despite Noah’s precautions? What if he found her and Noah was hurt because of it? She really shouldn’t be here.
Noah walked through the kitchen, pressing a few buttons on the oven if the beeps were any indication. She needed to figure out a way to get him to accept her leaving. Maybe she could just fire him? Before she could formulate a plan to leave, Noah appeared near the island with a casserole dish in hand.
He took one look at her and quickly set the casserole dish down on the counter, making a beeline for Bree. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes automatically scanning her for injury before meeting her eyes. “Did something happen? Did he call?” Noah asked, his voice low.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m okay.” Bree said.
“Don’t lie to me, Bree. You look like you’re ready to bolt.” He said, his brow furrowed.
Bree sighed. “Has anyone ever told you that your high level of perception is annoying?” Bree teased. “The doorbell was unexpected. It just reminded me of all the reasons it’s dangerous for you to be around me. I shouldn’t stay here, Noah. What if I bring this psychopath to your door?” Bree couldn’t stand that. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if something were to happen to Noah or his team because of her.
Noah gently tilted her chin up so her eyes met his. “Let him come,” Noah said, death and violence a promise in his gaze. “He’s not getting his hands on you, Bree. And he’s not going to get to me either. Don’t run away from me. Don’t give him the opportunity to snatch you. Especially because you’re worried for me.” Noah paused, searching her eyes for an answer she didn’t feel she could give him. He must’ve seen that because his grip tightened slightly, agony etched in the lines of his face. Noah reached his other hand around her and pulled her close to him. “Promise me, Bree.” He rasped.
“I promise, Noah.”
“Good…good,” Noah said, his grip still lightly on her chin. Noah’s eyes flickered down to her mouth. The hand on her waist was warm and strong and Bree felt like she was in a romance novel. The air between them practically vibrated with electricity. Noah leaned slightly toward Bree, his eyes moving between her eyes and her mouth. When his lips were barely a breath from hers, a loud beep came from the kitchen.
Noah let out a breath and rested his forehead lightly on Bree’s for a second before stepping back from her, letting both hands fall to his sides. “Oven’s preheated.” He said, walking toward the kitchen.
“Mrs. Garcia?” Bree asked with a grin, a light blush on her cheeks from their almost kiss.
He nodded. “Along with handwritten instructions on how to cook it and a fair warning that if I manage to mess it up, she’ll whack me upside the head like she did when I was a child because ‘the girl needs to eat.’”
Her stomach chose just then to rumble loudly, and Noah laughed. “Man, she is good.” He said, walking over to the oven and reading the instructions that Mrs. Garcia had given him. Bree watched as he put the casserole in the oven and set the timer, the paper out of sight.
“How is her recovery going?”
“She’s doing great. Her son was able to come and stay with her so she could rehab at home, which means she’s giving him a run for his money, and they’re both enjoying every minute of it.”
They went into the living room and watched television until the timer went off. Noah sauntered into the kitchen to collect the food and dish it up. Determined to do something helpful, she dragged herself off the couch and walked into the kitchen as well.
“Which drawer is the silverware?” She asked as Noah carried the plates to the dining table.
“Top drawer.” He said as he walked through the little doorway.
Bree looked down and frowned. There were three top drawers. This is why men weren’t allowed to give instructions around the kitchen. Top drawer,, indeed. She opened the first one, though it looked a little too narrow, and found it full of cooking utensils. The drawer next to it was slightly bigger, so she pulled that one open as well.
Stacks and stacks of recipe cards, sticky notes, and stationary filled the drawer, most of it in the same handwriting as the paper he’d shown her earlier. She suddenly felt overwhelmed by a weird mix of warmth and tears. He’d kept all of Mrs. Garcia’s notes. He was such a good man.
The next drawer held the silverware-naturally it would be in the last place she looked for it. Which was a weird phrase—who finds something and then keeps looking for it…anyway. She shook herself out of her distracting thoughts and grabbed a couple of forks and some paper towels before heading to the dining table.
“Water?” Noah asked.
“Sure,” Bree said with a smile.
Noah frowned and walked over, putting his hand on her head. “Nope, no fever. Must be a changeling. My Aubrey only drinks coffee. She’s practically hydrophobic.”
“I am not,” She muttered, rolling her eyes while giving him a small smile. He thought he was so funny. She chose to ignore the ‘my Aubrey’ part—though the butterflies in her stomach sure noticed.
“Dinner smells great,” Bree said, resting her napkin in her lap gently.
“Mrs. Garcia is a great cook. She tried to teach me growing up, but it’s the one thing I never quite mastered. I can grill a steak and some vegetables and make a mean omelet, but outside of that and a cold meat sandwich, there just isn’t a lot of cooking happening in this kitchen.”
“That’s a shame. It’s a beautiful kitchen to not get used.”
“Do you cook?”
Bree shook her head. “I can’t cook to save my life. When I was younger, I would help my mom and Nonna cook in the kitchen. Then we moved away from Nonna, and my mom didn’t want to cook with me anymore. She had a lot of work to do—so we often ordered takeout or made something simple. One of the things I miss about being famous was having a chef, but I didn’t want someone in my home once I retired.”
“I can understand that. How are you holding up?” He asked hesitantly.
“I’ve been better. But, I am thankful to be in a space I feel safe. Thank you for that, Noah.”
He smiled, the action bringing light into his green eyes. “You’re welcome, Bree.”
Bree took her first bite and practically groaned. It was delicious. “I need to see if Mrs. Garcia can teach me how to cook. That is phenomenal.”
Noah smiled, “She really is the best.”
“Have you heard from your sister lately?”
Noah shook his head. “No, I’ll give her a call on Thanksgiving, and she’ll call me on Christmas. Holidays are tough—some families pull together once they lose their matriarch, but ours just kind of fell apart.” He admitted.
“I can understand that—sort of. Our family wasn’t perfect before Jessica’s accident, but we were at least together and got along okay. Once Jess was hospitalized, it seemed to just break every body. My mom rarely calls, and my dad calls, but…”
Noah stiffened, every muscle attuned to her. “But what, Bree?”
“He only calls to ask for money or tell me what I’m doing wrong in life.”
Noah’s jaw ticked. “You don’t deserve that.”
Bree watched his eyes darken and jaw tick and felt a warmth blossoming in her chest. It felt nice to be cared for. To have someone angry on her behalf rather than just angry with her. She filed away this moment, tucking it in the quiet place in her mind where she could retreat to replay things that made her happy. The space that used to be full of her favorite books, old vacations, friends, and early childhood had been full of Noah the past few months. Noah holding her hand. Noah standing up for her. Noah keeping her safe, which no one had ever done for her. Noah believing her and believing in her. All the things. She’d happily dwell on those. What Bree didn’t want to dwell on was her current relationship with her parents.
“Can we talk about happier things? Like…What’s your favorite kind of music?” Bree asked.
“I don’t listen to much music.”
Bree froze with her fork halfway to her mouth “You’re joking.”
“Nope, I sit in the quiet with my thoughts or listen to a podcast.”
“You know this could be your second red flag,” Bree said with feigned seriousness.
“Second? What was my first?”
“Being bossy.” She teased.
“Fair. I think I can argue my way out of this one being a red flag, though.” Noah said, his eyes twinkling.
“I don’t know, I take music very seriously.” Bree hedged.
“If I don’t really listen to music, that means you’d always have control over the radio in the car because I really don’t care.”
Touché. “You’ve got a fair point,” Bree said, shoving the food into her mouth.
“So, really, it’s a green flag.”
Bree chucked. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. The bossy flag sticks, though.”
Noah laughed. “When it comes to keeping you safe, Bree, I happily accept the bossy flag.”
“I really do need to ask Mrs. Garcia about teaching me to cook,” Bree said as they cleared the table and began straightening the kitchen.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Noah said. “Movie tonight?”
“Pride and Prejudice?”
Noah groaned. “Can’t we watch something festive? Like Die Hard? That’s a Christmas movie, and it’s almost Thanksgiving, so…’tis the season?”
Bree laughed. “What if we do a double feature?” She suggested, wiping down the counters while Noah finished loading the dishwasher.
“Deal. I’ll grab the popcorn.”