Always the Last to Know(87)

“I’m glad we’re friends again.”

“Me too, Noah. I missed you.” There it was, my heart on a plate, waiting for him.

He nodded. “Same.”

A man of few words. We looked at each other a long minute. “Okay,” he said briskly. “What’s in that glass place there?”

“A whole lotta fun, that’s what,” I said, a little relieved. “Off we go!”

The conservatory was fun, a creative array of biospheres to explore. I tucked the hurt away, not saying anything about how things could’ve been if only he’d been a little more open-minded back then, and just . . . relaxed.

But Noah knew me. He could practically read my mind, and I could read his. We weren’t going to have a summer romance. At the end of the day, I’d be coming back here, and he had a child and a full life in Stoningham, and if we broke each other’s hearts again, it would be unbearable.

For just this day, we’d be friends again, like we’d been before we ever started dating, when just being together and talking was as uncomplicated and easy and as natural as breathing. For this day, I’d pretend not to be in love with him, because there was simply nowhere to go with that without leading to hurt. I’d cut off my hand before I hurt Noah Sebastian Pelletier again.

We ended up eating dinner at a little Italian restaurant and drove home late. I fell asleep at some point and woke up as we pulled off the highway to Stoningham.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No need to be sorry.”

“This was a great day.”

“It was.”

I guess the chatty part of it had ended, though. Noah didn’t say anything else as we drove through town, past the now-closed shops and restaurants. I thought about asking him to drop me off at my parents’ so I could check on my dad, but it was almost eleven.

Pepper had been returned, and as soon as we pulled into my driveway, I heard her happy barking. Noah got out, too, and a warm tingle began low in my stomach, spreading to my arms and legs.

If he kissed me, if he wanted to stay, I’d be helpless to say no, given the lust factor, the love, the everything he was.

He walked me up to the porch. “How’s the roof?” he asked.

“Still leaking in a hard rain.”

“I’ll try to come over one day this week. There’s a storm due about Wednesday.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get to it.”

“Why does the image of you on a ladder make me think of ambulances? Save your mother the worry. Let me do it.”

Pepper was going crazy inside, so I opened the door and let her out. She waggled at me, licking my hands, and I bent down to pet her. She repeated the action on Noah with a little leg hump attempt. Like owner, like dog. “Off you go, girl,” he said, sending her down the steps with a gentle shove.

“Want . . . coffee? Or water? I have water.”

“I’m good.” The wind blew then, and he pushed my hair back, his fingers sliding against my scalp. I closed my eyes for just a second. Then I was in his arms, and he was hugging me . . . not kissing, but a full-on, all-enveloping hug that made me feel so good, so safe and so . . . loved. I could feel his heart slamming against my chest. He smelled like home. Felt so perfect. I hugged him back for all I was worth, feeling his solid muscle, his collarbone against my cheek.

“I better go,” he whispered.

“Okay.” Neither of us let go. For a second, he hugged me that much closer, and every inch of me wanted him.

Then he stepped back, took a shaky breath and said, “Okay. Bye.”

And that was that. A second later, he started up his truck and backed out, and I stood there, watching him leave.

Story of my life.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE





Juliet


Juliet hated throwing parties. This was unfortunate, given that she was doing just that.

Even having her small book club over caused her a great deal of agita—what drinks should she serve? If she made cocktails, would everyone be okay to drive? Was wine boring? Should she have baked something? Why had she chosen a nonfiction book? Was popcorn an acceptable snack?

This party was ten times the size of her book club. Had she had a couple of horse tranquilizers, she would happily take them. At least she had help for this one, but the stress level was even higher, given the work week she’d had.

But it was May first, and this was their tradition, hers and Oliver’s. When they first moved to Stoningham, bought the old house that had once stood here, torn it down and created this gorgeous structure of wood and glass, they’d had a housewarming party on the first of May. It became a tradition. Cocktails served by a bartender, caterers with trays of food, fairy lights strung in the trees, the house filled with bouquets of lilacs, and the rooftop deck shaded by the retractable awning. Square cement planters burst with ornamental grasses, and every table had a centerpiece—pots of live moss and ferns, very Brooklyn, very cool. The food was all farm-to-table, and four high school girls were earning twenty-five dollars an hour to serve and clear.

Juliet knew her house was extraordinary—a slender, four-story structure of dark wood and glass. It was an upside-down house—The ground floor had a beautiful entryway, a mudroom, a family room, a game or craft room, depending on the girls’ interests, and Oliver’s study. The second floor held the bedrooms—four of them, three full baths, as well as a cozy reading room with couches where she and Oliver read to the girls at night, or where they now read to themselves. The third floor held the huge kitchen, dining room and Juliet’s spacious office, complete with antique drafting table and a huge desk for her computer monitors.