Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
It had been twenty-nine hours since Dahlia last saw Noah.
During that time, she went for a sunrise swim, biked to the farmers market, and repainted all the baseboards and the wainscoting in the kitchen.
She also snapped a few more pictures of the garden and did something so unlike Dahlia that even Kara would be surprised—she took a selfie smelling a single white rose in Lil’s European-inspired gardens, which still needed lots of work in the background.
The sun melted into the distance as her feet sank into the cold sand.
She ached for Noah in a way she hadn’t before.
When she closed her eyes, she could feel the warmth of his hand on the nape of her neck and imagined it slowly wandering to her breasts.
She could feel the inferno of his gaze as the rush of water grazed her hot skin.
Dahlia walked up from the beach, trying to steady her mind.
It had been so long since she felt any way about a guy, and she was still unsure how it would all work.
All she knew was that she wanted him in a way she’d never wanted Spence.
Noah was making her realize exactly what she’d been missing in her life.
After this, there was no going back to a lifeless and indifferent existence.
They texted back and forth a bit, but it was all business. Noah’s last text read, When I get back …
Dahlia waited with bated breath, anticipating his next message. Maybe she was fooling herself, but she was hoping he would declare his deepest desires to her and say something like, I’m going to ravage every inch of your body.
Instead, it read, I’m going to power wash your house.
Dahlia blew the hair from her eyes. She wanted desperately for McHandy to make a move.
Harry groaned from the kitchen floor.
“Don’t tell me you’re taking his side,” she deadpanned in his direction. Hoping to distract herself further, she uncorked a bottle of wine.
Harry didn’t move. All she saw were the whiskers above his eyes furrow.
“You miss him too? What kind of mind trick are you playing, Noah Sterling?” she mumbled, grabbing the wine glass and book, and strolling toward Lil’s barn.
She flipped on the studio light and tried to get comfortable in the worn wingback.
It was positioned right in front of the window so Lil could see the bay while she read.
The high-pitched buzzing sounds of cicadas filled the twilight air.
The briny breeze filtered through the screen, but it was still too hot.
She yanked off her robe, revealing her trademark summer tank and navy shorts.
She opened Lil’s window wider and sat, finding it more tolerable.
The worn cushions scratched her humid skin, but she sat there anyway. Sitting in Lil’s chair made her feel connected to her, and she didn’t care how uncomfortable it was. She sipped her wine and opened a very old copy of Wuthering Heights that she’d pulled from the house library.
Dahlia held the yellowed pages to her nose, inhaling the must and hints of vanilla.
Her smile grew as her gaze narrowed in on the bouquet of yellow roses that hung on the wall next to the cupboard door.
Suddenly, her mind shifted focus to Lil’s wall of art.
Dahlia knew Lil to be a humble creative.
So why did she have certain ones lining the walls and others in a bin?
There had to be a reason. Dahlia got up and turned the painting over. It read 6.
She carefully pulled the others off the wall and lined them along the floor and workbench in numerical order.
They ranged from one through twenty-two.
She was convinced it was for an art show.
Then, one by one, keeping them in order, she hung them on the wood wall—that is, until she noticed Lil’s signature tucked inside the right corner of one.
She pried back number eleven, the bright pink rose canvas, from the edge and saw what also looked like a year: ’67.
After over an hour of fully immersing herself in the art quandary, she stood back and looked at Lil’s creative metamorphosis in numerical order.
It turned out there was a rhythm to the paintings, after all.
Dahlia still didn’t quite understand the reasoning behind it, but she knew in her gut the paintings on the wall were more important.
And she was beginning to think it wasn’t for an art show.
She scanned slowly from left to right, pursing her lips.
They needed to be seen, Kara was right. But where?
As she was lost in contemplation, her phone dinged.
It was a sunset selfie of Noah. The Montauk horizon was a beautiful kaleidoscope of orange hues.
She zoomed in; his eyelashes were wet, and there were sand particles stuck to his facial hair.
She wished more than anything she was there with him, enjoying the sunset and getting lost in his presence.
Dahlia could feel the swift beat of her heart through her tank top.
She couldn’t believe she was on his mind during a boys’ trip.
Now show me yours, he wrote.
Dahlia was now visibly sweating. She knew what he meant, but it didn’t stop her mind from drifting to the pages of a steamy romance novel.
Dahlia sent him back the picture she had taken earlier in the garden.
What about you? I want to see ur beautfulL face.
How much had he had to drink? He couldn’t even spell.
She sent him the picture from the garden.
Cute, he wrote.
Then he sent her a crooked selfie of half of him holding a beer by a bonfire, a sure sign he had a few too many, but she didn’t care. She was too excited to care.
Wish u were here.
Yup, he was definitely drunk. Dahlia hesitated. She started to write I do too, but then erased it. She wrote, Have fun— but stopped after she saw the bubble.
Where are you right now? Send me a pic. I want to see u.
Dahlia swallowed hard. I have no makeup on, and this lighting is horrible.
Noah wrote, ?
“Oh, fuck it.” Dahlia held her arm out as long as she could and snapped. She barely looked before sending it. She knew if she looked, she might lose her nerve. I’m in Lil’s studio.
Wow. I cant wait to ahve u irl.
What? Dahlia wrote back. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he wrote, have you in real life.
That made no sense. All the lingering eyes, playful banter, and skin-to-skin contact had been very PG thus far.
She fanned herself and shook her head. Just to be sure she didn’t have a piece of spinach stuck in her teeth or sent something that would be a deal breaker, she pulled up the picture.
She gasped. All she saw were nipples, clear as day through her apparently very sheer top. Oh my gosh. She’d just sexted him.
She covered her face and sank deeper into Lil’s chair.
The next day, in pure Noah form, it was crickets.
Nothing after her last text back asking for a translation.
Dahlia was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she may have accidentally come on too strong with the illicit photo.
But there was nothing she could do about it, and she was not going to make the next move. She was certain of that.
Dahlia jumped into Betty and drove into town to get a few things.
Noah was supposed to return tomorrow, so she decided to busy herself.
The town was bustling, which was no surprise for a Saturday.
The once quiet town of Southold was now overrun by city folks and foreigners, especially on a splendid July weekend.
Dahlia didn’t mind much, though. The North Fork was always considered the more down-to-earth part of the east end, as opposed to the Hamptons.
And after fifteen years of a “keeping up with the Joneses” mindset in Greenwich, this was precisely where she needed to plant herself.
Dahlia ran into the grocery store for dog food and a few staples, like flour and milk. Then headed to the hardware store. This time, with zero flashbacks.
She received a quick text from Daisy:
Louisa is Pop’s first cousin; it’s official! We had dinner last night, and she brought a ton of pics from when they were little. She sent in her DNA a few months ago, so it should arrive soon. Then we can compare it to ours. We have living relatives in France! Eek! Call you tomorrow. Love you!
Dahlia leaned against the paintbrush display.
There was an unexpected release of tension in her shoulders that they now knew more about her pop.
For so long, his life before marrying her grandmother remained a mystery.
She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but part of her had wondered if her pop was a part of Lil’s secret.
There was substantial relief that he was exactly who she thought he was.
She was also relieved she could rely on Daisy to navigate this since she was a French Studies major.
Good work, Detective Daisy! So glad your French Studies are paying off. Love you, trillions. Be safe, Dahlia wrote back.
The drive home was easy. Dahlia draped her hand out the window as the sun faded, feeling the cool tug of wind on her palm.
The pebbles crunched beneath her tires as she pulled into the driveway.
Her eyes couldn’t help but wander to Noah’s.
But he still wasn’t home. Even though she knew he wouldn’t be, she’d hoped he’d changed his mind.
It was okay, though. She had plenty to do and a book to read.
At least she could cross that one off Lil’s list tonight. Wuthering Heights, here she came.
Dahlia considered Lil’s list as she pulled the bags from her trunk. And the secret that kept creeping back into her mind.
You need to know the truth. You deserve the truth.