11. Noah - July
ELEVEN
Noah - July
HOME - PHILLIP PHILLIPS
With a truckload of boxes, the cutest, fluffiest passenger prince you ever did see, and an unusual amount of caffeine coursing through my veins, I finally arrived as Woodstone Falls’ newest resident.
I’d accepted the teaching position at Woodstone Elementary, set to start when the new school year kicked off. The long drive was grueling, but the thought of a fresh start was exciting.
The small town unfolded before me like a scene from a storybook as I drove in. Tree-lined streets wound through the heart of the town, their leafy branches creating a natural canopy that dappled the sidewalks with sunlight. Quaint, well-kept homes with front porches adorned with rocking chairs and hanging flower baskets added to the charm.
The early summer air carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, creating a soothing symphony of whispers. In the distance, the sound of a nearby creek added to the serene ambiance.
As I pulled up, I saw Dotty waiting eagerly in the driveway, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. The moment I stepped out, she threw her arms around me.
I hugged her back, but she held on tightly.
“Dotty, I love you, and I missed you too, but I’ve been stuck in that moving truck forever.”
“Sorry,” she said with one last squeeze before letting go, her grin never fading. “You’re officially a Woodstonian! Or… Woodstoner? I have no idea. But you’re here!”
Trent strolled up behind her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, giving her a soft kiss to the temple. “Let the girl breathe, sunshine,” he teased, giving me a friendly nod.
Dotty rolled her eyes playfully and turned back to me. “How was the drive?”
“Not bad,” I said, taking in the rolling hills in the distance, dotted with weathered barns and grazing cattle.
Trent’s old house, my new home, was a charming single-story home with a wide wrap-around porch, perfect for lazy afternoons. Its white clapboard siding looked freshly painted, and the deep blue shutters added a pop of color against the backdrop of lush greenery.
It was perfect.
Colt’s SUV pulled into the driveway. As soon as the vehicle halted, Sawyer swung open the passenger door and stepped out.
He made his way toward me with a smirk on his face. “Hey, Noah!”
Colt tipped his chin in a subtle, welcoming nod.
Just as I thought Dorian might have stayed behind, the back door swung open. He stepped out, and a rush of electricity shot through me, like my pulse tripped over itself. I took a breath, trying to shake it off, but the reaction still whirled beneath my skin.
Goddamn it.
Over the last several months, I tried to convince myself that his effect on me was purely situational.
I tried to dismiss the way his gaze made my heart race as mere residual anxiety after the whole ordeal with John, not because I liked him.
I definitely didn’t like the man who texted me weekly to check in on my dog, or the one who helped me through a panic attack.
But as Dorian stood there, in his worn jeans, cowboy boots, and glasses that only seemed to add to the effect on me, I knew I was wrong.
So unfortunately, wrong.
“Officially a Woodstonian. Welcome,” Dorian said, crossing his arms loosely over his muscular chest. His gaze briefly met mine, and my stomach fluttered.
I forced a smile, trying to keep my composure, but it was harder than I wanted it to be.
Damn it, why did he have to look so good? Why did everything about him seem to affect me so easily?
“I knew it was Woodstonian!” Dotty chuckled.
“Thanks. It’s good to be here,” I replied.
“It’s good to have you here,” Dorian said, his gaze briefly flicking to my lips before meeting my eyes.
I swallowed, the brief moment stretching out like a current just beneath the surface that I didn’t know how to navigate.
Dotty clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. “Okay, let’s get everything unloaded!”
Sawyer grabbed the back of the moving truck, pulling it open with a dramatic flourish. “I call dibs on the light ones.”
Colt rolled his eyes as he strode past him. “Says the professional athlete.”
“I’m here for moral support,” Sawyer shot back with a grin, already lifting a small box as proof.
Dorian said nothing, stepping forward to grab a heavier crate, his movements efficient. I caught his eye for a brief second, and the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. My heart gave a traitorous lurch.
Dotty tugged me inside, chattering on about all the ways we’d make it cozy, making me feel at home. But my attention kept flickering back to the group unloading the truck—particularly to Dorian, whose presence somehow demanded my focus.
I did my best to ignore him as he unloaded box after box, his muscular arms flexing with each lift, his shirt pulling tight across his broad shoulders.
Honestly, those arms should not have been the center of my attention, but somehow, they were. Every time he moved, the muscles in his back shifted under his shirt, and I had to look away.
It wasn’t just his strength that was getting to me. The way he grunted when he lifted something heavy, the sweat gathering at the nape of his neck, dripping down to his shirt collar—it all seemed so… effortlessly masculine. It wasn’t until I caught myself staring a little too long at the way his jeans hugged his hips as he bent over that I forced myself to focus on something else. Anything else.
Because the last thing I needed was to get caught watching him like that.
A couple hours later, the truck was unloaded, and Dotty joined the others to fix the sagging gutter on the side of the house.
I stepped inside the house, walking through the living room, which was now a mess of open boxes and crumpled packing paper. I sank into a kitchen chair, sorting through the contents, carefully unpacking the items.
Then I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, finding Dorian in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes studying me.
Walker trotted over to him, tail wagging furiously as he sniffed at him with excitement. Dorian dropped to one knee to meet him at eye level, his hand outstretched. Walker leaned into him, letting out a happy whine.
“I’m glad you decided to keep him.” He paused, then smiled—a small, effortless gesture that pulled at something inside me. His dimple flashed for a brief second.
“Well, no one claimed him… unless you count me.”
“I definitely count you.” Dorian’s smile deepened as he scratched behind Walker’s ears. “It’s nice to finally meet you, buddy.”
He straightened up, glancing around the room, his eyes briefly skimming over the mess.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
I paused mid-motion and looked up at him. “I’ve got it covered.” I swallowed, then gave a half-smile.
He glanced at the box I was now neglecting, then back at me.
His lips pulled up at the corners. “You sure?”
“Yeah, you’ve helped enough today.”
He gave a slow nod, not quite satisfied, but he didn’t push it. I bent down to open the next box, but the edge of the cardboard caught my finger, and I let out a hiss, pulling my hand away instinctively.
“Shit,” I muttered, inspecting the small cut.
Before I could even think of grabbing something to clean it, Dorian was there, stepping closer. His hand reached out, taking my wrist with surprising care. I froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness.
“That’s gonna need a bandage,” he said, his voice low as his thumb brushed over my skin. His touch was gentle, sending a shiver up my spine.
“It’s fine,” I said, trying to pull my wrist back, but he didn’t let go. “Just a paper cut.”
Dorian looked down at my hand and then back to me, his expression tender. “Better safe than sorry,” he said, his fingers still holding my wrist lightly. “Let me grab something for it. I think Trent left a first aid kit in the bathroom.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped away, disappearing into the other room.
I glanced down at my finger, the tiny red line staring back at me. I was thankful for the sting, a sharp distraction that pulled my focus from being in his proximity.
He returned a moment later, and moved without a word, taking a Band-Aid from the small kit in his hand. I opened my mouth to tell him I could handle it, but before I could get the words out, his fingers were already at my wrist again.
He unwrapped the bandage with careful, precise movements before gently taking my hand in his. I could feel the heat of his skin as he placed the bandage over the cut, his touch tender and steady.
“Really, I’m fine,” I said softly, trying to pull my hand back, but he still didn’t let go, didn’t respond, just smoothed the bandage into place.
He looked up at me from where he knelt beside me. His eyes were as captivating as the rest of him—deep, rich brown, holding something more beneath the surface.
Dotty’s voice cut through the silence as the door creaked open. “How’s it go?—”
I jerked back, my hand instinctively pulling away from his, heat rushing to my cheeks as Dotty’s eyes flashed between us.
Dorian stood, his expression shifting to neutral as he cleared his throat.
“Minor injury handled,” he said with a forced smile toward his sister. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Everything okay?” Dotty asked.
I flashed Dotty a quick smile. “Yeah, just a paper cut,” I said a little too quickly.
Dotty’s gaze flicked between Dorian and me, a crease forming between her brows. She didn’t press, though, and turned toward the door as Dorian stepped out.
“Have a good night,” he called, the door clicking softly behind him.
I stood there, taking in the scattered boxes around me. The room, a mess just hours ago, was starting to come together.
As the evening stretched on, I found myself grateful for Dotty’s company. We fell into a rhythm, chatting like no time had passed at all. She didn’t need to stay, but she did, diving into the mess with me without complaint, making jokes to keep things light as we unpacked and sorted. Her laughter cut through the quiet, and I realized how much I’d missed this—her presence, her voice, her ability to make everything feel normal again.
Dotty suggested taking me to her cabin for dinner, but I waved it off, urging her to spend time with Trent instead. After a full day of unpacking, I was craving some alone time.
Crouching down to give Walker a scratch behind the ears, I whispered, “I think I like our new home, buddy.”
His ears perked up, and he nudged his head into my hand, as if he agreed.