Chapter 15
15
Noah should be gone by now.
After flipping off the lights in the conference room, Bren peeked out the door.
No sign of him in the hall.
Yes! Her stall tactic had worked.
If the voltage during the race meeting had gotten any higher, it would have tripped a circuit breaker—and an extended one-on-one encounter would have carried a far more potent charge.
Tucking her notes into the crook of her arm, she walked down the hall toward the exit door.
This whole attraction phenomenon with her temporary landlord’s son was beyond weird. She hardly knew the man, for heaven’s sake. Why was he able to disrupt her equilibrium when no guy in years had done more than generate a fleeting ping of interest on her radar? It wasn’t like she was lonely.
Well, not very.
But counting on a man to provide companionship—or anything else—was a mistake. It was much smarter to take control of your life and avoid any sort of entanglements that could lead to dependence and subjugation.
Straightening her posture, she picked up her pace.
A fixation on the past was stupid, but remembering hard-learned lessons was smart. And she wasn’t going to—
The outside door opened as she approached, and Noah walked back in.
She halted, heart stuttering.
“Sorry.” He paused, keeping his distance. “Did I startle you?”
“Um ... yeah. I thought everyone was gone.”
“I was about to leave, but I didn’t see your car in the lot. Were you planning to walk home?”
“Yes. It’s not far.”
“True. But it’s starting to rain.”
Dang.
She should have driven here instead of walking.
But better to get a little damp than a lot hot and bothered.
“I’ll be fine. It’s probably a passing shower.”
“I doubt it. The sky’s black. I think it’s about to pour.” He played with his key fob. “Why don’t you let me drive you back?”
Share the confined quarters of a car with him?
Her respiration went rogue.
Yet what excuse could she use to refuse? No normal person would choose to risk a drenching if there was an alternative available. Plus, the house wasn’t far. Surely she could control the wattage of the attraction on her end. It wasn’t like she was a teenager with raging hormones, after all. And even if Noah was also fighting the magnetic pull, he couldn’t be any more interested in getting involved than she was. His life was in St. Louis. He’d want to keep a tight rein on his emotions too.
It ought to be safe to ride with him, given the short duration of the trip.
Clutching the meeting paperwork to her chest with one hand, she wiped the palm of the other down her leggings. “Thanks. I suppose that would be the smart choice.”
“Yes.” Though he didn’t sound any more certain about the wisdom of the arrangement than she did.
While she closed the distance between them, he pushed the door open and moved aside to let her pass.
Keeping as much space as possible between them, she edged past him. But a faint hint of his heady, spicy aftershave nevertheless tantalized her nose, disrupting the rhythm of her pulse yet again.
Once outside, a bolt of lightning slashed through the sky and drops of rain dampened the pavement during the short walk to his car.
“This has been a strange summer.” She picked up her pace. A discussion about the weather should be innocuous. “We don’t usually get much rain in August.”
“At least it’s cooler here than it is in Missouri.”
“By far. I spent a couple of years in KC. The Midwest summers can be brutal.”
“When were you in KC?”
She clenched her teeth.
Why did she keep revealing pieces of her background to the man beside her? Yes, this was a harmless tidbit, but Noah already knew more about her history than anyone in town except Bev.
Ignoring the question would be rude, though.
“About eight years ago.” She hurried around the back of the car to the passenger side and reached for the door handle.
Noah beat her to it, leaning past her to pull the door open, sending another waft of that enticing scent her direction.
“Thanks.” She slid in, focusing on her breathing as he circled the car—in ... out ... in ... out ... while repeating the same mantra over and over.
Change the subject. Change the subject.
As he slipped behind the wheel and twisted around to put his portfolio on the back seat, she forced up the corners of her mouth. “Where have you most enjoyed running during your stay here?”
If he thought the sudden change in topic—or her slight wheeze—odd, he gave no indication.
“The lighthouse route is my favorite. But I like south of town too.” He started the car and put it in gear. “The scenery near Sandpiper Cove is spectacular. And down 101, not far from the lavender farm, there’s a quiet byway called Windswept Way that ends at an impressive estate.”
“That would be Edgecliff. It was built by a lumber baron. It’s a museum and special events venue now.” The tension in her shoulders began to ease, and she relaxed back against the seat. If he was willing to confine their conversation to benign subjects for the duration of their ride, she’d be fine.
“Where have you been running?”
“I’ve been doing circuits around town. On flat terrain. I only plan to run three days a week—Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday—so I’ve had a grand total of two sessions to date.”
He pulled out of the lot. “Any running program should begin slow and build from there.”
“I found that out. How long have you been running?”
“Since high school.”
“That’s impressive.”
“More like pragmatic. It’s stress relief from work. And I prefer being outside to spending hours in a gym.”
“You must have a demanding job.”
“That would be a fair assessment. People don’t appreciate mistakes that can affect their bank balance.”
“Speaking of bank balances ... Bev from the Book Nook asked if you’d call her. She has a question about a business expense—and she’ll pay for your services.”
“I’ll be happy to talk to her. No charge.” He hung a right on Dockside Drive.
“Oh, look!” Bren leaned forward, lips bowing. “The ice cream truck from Bandon is here.”
“You want something?” He slowed as he surveyed the truck parked along the wharf up ahead, not far from Charley’s shuttered taco stand.
The temptation to say yes was strong—but stopping for ice cream would prolong their trip.
Bad idea.
“I’m a sucker for their Fudgsicles ... but no. I don’t need one.” Her response didn’t come out as definitive as she’d intended.
Noah gave her a scan as he approached the truck. Swung into a parking place that provided an expansive view of the harbor on this rainy evening. “Do you mind if I stop? I haven’t been to an ice cream truck in years.”
Yes, she minded—but he was the driver. What could she say?
“That’s fine.”
After setting the brake, he opened his door. “As long as I’m going, are you certain you don’t want a Fudgsicle?”
She eyed the truck.
It wouldn’t take any longer for him to buy two bars than it would to purchase one. And she didn’t often indulge.
“All right. You convinced me.” She started to pick up her purse.
“My treat.”
Before she could object, he was out of the car and striding toward the truck.
She left her purse on the floor. Arguing about paying would be futile—and it wasn’t like a Fudgsicle would set him back that much.
The main priority was to end this trip ASAP.
Except Noah had other ideas after he jogged back in the increasingly heavy rain.
Once he took his place behind the wheel again, he handed her the Fudgsicle, along with several napkins, and began unwrapping his selection.
“Um ... aren’t we taking these home?”
“I’d rather eat mine here. It will be half melted by the time we get back.”
Doubtful. They were less than five minutes away, and it wasn’t exactly balmy out.
But again ... he was the driver.
More chitchat was in order.
She peeled back the paper on her treat. “What did you get?”
“An ice cream sandwich. Not very imaginative, I know, but Dad used to buy these for me when I was a kid. There was nothing like it on a hot summer Sunday. It brings back happy memories.” The hint of a smile teased his lips. “Did you pester your mom and dad too, whenever you heard the bell on your street?” He bit into his bar.
“No.” What would have been the point? Mom might have been willing to buy her a treat, but Dad? Forget about it. And Mom wouldn’t have gone to battle over an ice cream bar. Over anything, really.
“For real? I thought that was a rite of childhood.” His tone was conversational, his demeanor relaxed, but his eyes were intense. Like he knew there was a story behind her simple no .
She took a bite of the creamy chocolate. Let the rich sweetness dissolve on her tongue. “I didn’t have that kind of childhood.”
As the admission spilled out, her stomach twisted.
What was it about this guy that loosened her tongue?
Could it be those probing baby blues of his, which seemed to discern far more than spoken words conveyed?
Or perhaps it went deeper than that. Perhaps it was because underneath the no-nonsense, businesslike, practical face this workaholic numbers man presented to the world, he appeared to have a caring heart and an ability to sense layers that remained hidden to most people.
“So what kind of childhood did you have?”
She caught a drip of chocolate with her tongue as the question hung in the air between them.
If she changed the subject again, odds were Noah wouldn’t push. He didn’t come across as the type who would trespass into restricted territory once he got the message it was off-limits.
But maybe ... just maybe ... she should tell him about her past. Perhaps the time had come to air out the closet, own up to the hurt and the mistakes, and then let them go. It wasn’t like he was going to shout her story from the rooftops. Besides, who safer to spill her guts to than someone who’d soon be gone, anyway? It could be a cathartic experience.
She balled her shaky fingers in her lap as the Fudgsicle continued to melt in her other hand.
Why not at least test the waters? Get a read on his level of interest by throwing out another comment to see if he’d follow up. “It wasn’t like yours.”
The rain picked up, beating a steady tattoo against the roof of the car as whorls of fog insulated them from the world in a dry cocoon.
A few seconds ticked by.
“You want to tell me about it?”
He’d followed up.
At his quiet question, she looked over. Swallowed. “I don’t know.”
His gaze remained steady. “I’ve been told I’m a decent listener. And I don’t betray confidences. If it would help to talk about whatever happened back then, I promise you can trust me. Sometimes giving voice to hurts can help banish demons ... or disappointments, if demons is too strong a term.”
“It’s not.”
He didn’t say anything more as she went back to eating the Fudgsicle she no longer wanted. He simply waited, downing his own ice cream as the minutes ticked by. Leaving the choice about whether to walk through the door he’d opened up to her.
When she got to the stick, she slid it back into the wrapper and wiped her sticky fingers on a napkin. But it was impossible to remove the chocolaty residue without a thorough washing.
Just like it had been impossible to clear away the sticky residue from the memories that had clung to her all these years, refusing to relinquish their hold. Even talking to Bev, helpful as those conversations had been, hadn’t freed her from the lingering legacy that still had the power to undermine her peace of mind on occasion. To make her question her self-worth and her choices.
Would Noah perhaps add a new perspective that would help her heal and expel her regrets?
It seemed impossible.
Yet what if he could?
Should she trust her instincts, follow her heart, and take a leap into the unknown?
Or would that be a mistake she’d live to regret?