Chapter 27 UnEXpected
By nine thirty, we’ve welcomed nearly a hundred eager guests and more are still pouring in from the parking lot and through the now unlocked gates.
I’m showing a frazzled looking mom with a baby strapped to her back and an eager toddler bouncing in a wagon where she can find the kid friendly play area when Noah’s hand slips across my lower back.
After the way he’s been this weekend, it should be a familiar comfort, but this morning it’s too heavy—loaded with expectation.
“Thank you,” the woman says, pulling her wagon along the graveled path towards the main pavilion.
“My pleasure.”
“Our replacements are here.”
Four teenage kids in pale orange t-shirts reading “volunteer” across the front are already making themselves at home in the tent I spent the last hour organizing.
“Oh,” I say. “I suppose they are.”
I try not to let it show that I’m upset; I like being helpful and having a purpose.
Not to mention, it’s been a solid hour that I’ve managed to avoid Noah’s melting gaze or the incessant daydreams my brain seems intent on conjuring.
Noah, still weirdly unbothered by the silence between us, jerks his head towards the cart.
“We should explore the festival and try one of those lemonades Cheryl hasn’t stopped raving about.”
Waving silent goodbyes to the volunteers now manning the table, we climb into the golf cart and Noah steers us through the growing crowds. I radio Cheryl to let her know our replacements arrived.
“Lottie to Cheryl, over.”
“Cheryl here.”
“The volunteers have arrived and are put to work. Is there anything else you need from us?”
“Heaven’s no, enjoy the festival. And make sure you get a lemonade, they’re to die for, and always sell out before lunch. We’ll touch base over dinner. Over.”
I turn to Noah, who’s concentrating on not running anyone over.
“Well, I guess that's that.”
“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed.”
Rubbing my thumb over the walkie-talkie button, I shrug. “Not so disappointed.”
“Is the thought of spending the afternoon with me really that tragic?”
Tragic might be the right word, but I’m still not ready to venture there, so I reach for a tease instead.
“No. I suppose not.”
“I can let you boss me around a little more,” he teases, elbowing me lightly in the side.
“You wish.”
As we weave through the meandering groups, I see just how much Scented Acres has transformed.
Gone is the sleepy farm nestled in at the base of the Sierra Nevadas and in its place a sprawling fair.
Vendor stalls line the main stretch and people clamber for their chance to purchase local wares or pick their own bunch of lavender.
We leave the golf cart near the route to the main house and take to walking through the festivities.
Our attendance today is more frivolous than anything, with Tom’s announcement last night giving us the public confirmation of his intention to commit to a future with Flourish. This adjustment seems to have put Noah at ease.
“Here we are,” Noah says, motioning towards the purple and white striped awning of the drink cart.
The chalkboard menu is decorated in curling script and lists several themed refreshments. Without looking back at me, his hand finds mine and he tugs me towards the line. I justify it’s as much a safety precaution than anything. The crowds aren’t as eager to part now that we’re not on a golf cart.
Once stationed in line, I slip my hand free and use it to tuck my hair behind my ear. Hot, midmorning sun sears down with more heat than I tend to enjoy and in an effort to avoid another lull between us, I reach for a joke.
“God, I can’t wait to get back to my rainy Portland spring.”
I expect him to lift his face to the sun and revel in its warmth, or at the very least counter with how much he loves the heat, but instead he stares at me, his face serious.
“Lottie, are we . . .” He pauses and the silence needles the acidic curl under my skin. “I don’t know how to ask this without you getting upset.”
Inhaling sharp, I keep my eyes trained to the ground. Here it is.
“Are we—”
“Noah?”
The voice is foreign for me, but Noah’s face is a wash of surprise and in what might be the weirdest stroke of luck, our second interruption couldn’t be more timely.
As if sent from the ex girlfriend gods themselves, Megan Kidd, dressed in white cuffed overalls and a crop top, approaches her arms outstretched wide. “My god, it is you!”
She closes in and wraps her long, tanned arms around my stunned companion. He pats her shoulder absently, stepping back as soon as he’s able.
“I didn’t know you were in town,” she continues, her eyes sweeping my way for only a moment before tracing back to him.
“Only in town on business. With this farm actually. It was a short trip.”
His answers are clipped and void of emotion.
“You should have told me. I’ve been dying to catch up with you.”
“We had a packed schedule,” he says, stepping over to stand at my side.
Her attention is forced to me and I extend a hand. “Charlotte Wilde. I work at Flourish.”
The connection sounds hollow now, given everything that’s happened over the last few days, but Noah isn’t introducing me as anything else, and there doesn’t seem to be a reason to lie to her.
“Wow,” she says, shaking my hand. “That’s so nice. I’m Megan.”
I bob my head and rock back on my heels.
“It is. Nice that is.”
Barely acknowledging my response, she turns back to Noah.
“Your mom is going to be so stinkin’ jealous that I bumped into you.”
Stinkin’? It takes everything I have to keep from making a face as she continues.
“We’ve been trying to get together for brunch for ages. Our schedules are so packed and we always seem to miss each other.”
Noah bobs his head. “Yes. She’s incredibly busy. But, we actually went and had lunch with her on Friday.”
“Oh?”
I’d have to be dead to miss the disgruntled surprise in her tone, and even then it might seep six feet deep.
“Yes.”
The three of us stand here for a stretch of uncomfortable silence, and then everything happens all at once. The line moves forward, prompting me to say, “I’m going to grab that lemonade now,” and Noah’s phone trills causing him to say, “I’ve got to take this,” before he even looks at the phone.
Megan’s face is frozen in an uncomfortable grin but she nods at Noah as he ducks away. I wave at her as I turn, but she either doesn’t see or chooses to ignore it. Instead, she steps into line next to me.
“Charlotte, was it?”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at this woman turning green before my eyes. No one forgets a name that quickly.
“Yes.”
“How long have you and Noah… . . . worked together?”
I shake my head and turn back to her, a light frown forming. “Uh, a little over a month.”
“Wow. You two already seem so close.”
“He’s a great boss,” I say, stepping up with the line as it moves.
“What sort of position do you have that puts you on business trips with the CFO? Kind of a big job.”
I plaster a smile.
“I’m his assistant for a new project. Recently promoted, but I’m directly under him. Where he goes, I go. If he says he wants me to come, I come.”
I know I could have chosen a different set of words to answer her question, something that would have dismissed whatever this is, but the look on her face makes it worth it. She blinks a few times before regaining the fake-ass smile she’s been touting.
“Well, what a lucky chance for you to land such a promotion like that. Noah is great. We go way back. We can’t wait for him to make his way back to LA.
I was just talking with Brad, you know, one of the owners, and he mentioned some incredible opportunities for growth out here.
Make sure you learn everything you can, because I’m sure you’ll be running things up in Portland without our Noah soon enough. ”
Given that this morning I had all but settled in my decision to end things, there’s no reason for me to engage in whatever game she’s trying to play. But I’m bothered by her name dropping. Not to mention her gross, deliberate use of “our Noah.”
“I think you’re underestimating his commitment.”
“Mmm. Tell me, how is this project going?”
“Great, actually. Aside from a few signatures, it’s as good as sealed.”
“How wonderful,” she says, her tone telling me she thinks it’s anything but.
I’m about ready to excuse myself and run for whatever shelter Noah is hiding behind when she continues.
“I heard there might have been some trouble with one of the contracts, so I was curious. Not that I don’t think you are capable of doing your job, of course. You just never know how the relationships are going to fare when there is trouble brewing.”
Given the way her and Noah’s circle encompasses both social and professional connections, it makes sense she might be aware of tensions, but her showing up today and casually mentioning the tabloid disaster that led to us being here in the first place is suddenly less of a coincidence.
The images from my social media stalking come flashing back as the pieces hover just above clicking into place.
I wrestle my way through names and faces, trying to make it fit.
It’s clear she’s still in contact with Brad, but what purpose would he have in sending her to meet up with Noah again?
I open my mouth to see how much I can get her to spill when Noah steps up to join us again.
“My apologies.”
“No worries,” Megan chimes. “We ladies were just getting to know each other. Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
Everything about Noah is stiff—cool and collected but Megan is either oblivious or she’s making a hell of an effort at not letting it bother her.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got more work to do. Surely you’ve got time for a quick bite? Charlotte was just telling me how great you’re doing up in Portland and I’d love to hear more about it. You’ve gotta eat, right?”
The invitation is one sided at best, my participation notably not mandatory.
I’m not sure what prompts me, whether it’s a thread of self sabotage in the face of the beautiful and elusive ex, or a push for the boundaries I’d been ready to force before she walked up, but my response is out before I can think better of it.
“We’ve actually been discussing how free our afternoon is turning out to be.” Facing Noah, I lift my hand to shield the sun and his frown as I continue. “You should go. Catch up. I can scrounge up something here, and find my way into being useful for Cheryl.”
He quirks his head, ever so slightly before challenging my attempted dismissal. “It wouldn’t be right to leave you here.”
“It’s fine really. You saw the way Cheryl was this morning. I should go check in on her. I’m sure she’ll have something for me to do. Have fun, I’ll see you later.”
Before he can respond, I turn to Megan and step out of the range of his hand. “It was nice meeting you Megan. Take care.”
“You too,” she says, already looking through me at Noah.
I step past them and let myself melt into the crowd as her voice needles, sickly sweet and edging on a whine.
“Come on, enjoy the afternoon. There is a great cafe in town. I’ll buy.”
I’m too far away to hear his response, but by the time I make it to Cheryl's side, Noah hasn’t caught up and it’s clear he gave in.
It’s late when he gets back.
All afternoon I regretted sending him off. My own shit aside, it was clear he was uncomfortable and I shouldn’t have pressed. Even a friend wouldn’t do that. But then, Kara aside, I’ve always been a shitty friend.
Helping Cheryl kept my mind focused elsewhere, but every chance I got, I was pulling my phone out and checking to see if Noah had texted or called. I don’t know what I was hoping for—the thought of him calling for me to come rescue him filled me with dread as much as it gave me a sliver of hope.
But he didn’t.
I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling when the car door shuts. Rolling over, I face the window and keep my back to the hall. I’m not sure what I expect him to do, but when the bedroom door swings open, light from the hallway cutting across the wall, my heartbeat is in my ears.
“Lottie?”
I want to ignore him. Want to pretend like I’m asleep and haven’t been waiting up.
It’s what cool and casual Lottie would do.
She would be sleeping peacefully, ignorant to the way Noah’s presence makes her heart flutter.
She wouldn’t be so conflicted and she certainly wouldn’t be rolling over to face him as he waits.
“Hi.”
He sighs, crossing into the room and sinking into the chair by the window. I sit up in bed, keeping a pool of blanket in my lap and twirling the edge of it between my fingers.
“How was lunch?”
“Terrible.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
With only the golden glow of the hallway light, Noah looks harsher than he ever has, his features distorted by shadow. His jaw is set and he stares at me with a sour frown.
“I am. I shouldn’t have pushed you into having lunch with her. It was clear you didn’t want to.”
“Why did you?”
I shouldn’t be surprised by the question; I’ve been asking myself the same one all day.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of Megan?”
“No. Of this.”
I don’t motion to the two of us, but the way his gaze falls to the ground tells me he made the connection. He leans forward, balancing his elbows on his knees.
“I don’t know what you want.”
I don’t either, and I should admit it, but the words are sticky, especially as he continues.
“I try to be a decent guy and you push me away. I try to give you the silence you practically force, and you push me further. I try to spend a normal fucking day at the god damned lavender festival, and you still push me away. I know we said this was just sex, but fuck. I thought . . .”
His voice trails off but the meaning is clear. He thought we could be more. A knot forms slow and solid in my throat, suffocating any words I might try to offer.
He stands from the chair and crosses the floor without looking at me.
“We should get some sleep. Our flight is early.”
The door clicks shut, leaving me alone in a bed that suddenly feels too big.