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"Yeah." He shrugged it off and addressed her comment instead. "Lyda can be pretty black and white on certain things. She knew Brendan was a hardcore sub, and couldn't see how Chloe, who's basically vanilla adventurous, could make that work. The answer was she couldn't. Not by herself, and not under the terms Lyda defines being a Domme. But Brendan and Chloe bring a lot of things to one another that enhance and define the Dom/sub side, and that makes it work. Sorry. I'm probably going too deep here."
"No. I'm following." This was really what she'd been seeking. An in-depth exploration without the self-consciousness of the spotlight. "It's like Chloe and me. She loves me and she's afraid my life is boring, humdrum. She thinks she needs to save me from it. Her life is so vibrant, it's hard for her to realize most of the time I'm happy with mine not being that way. My experiences...have made me value quietness."
She told herself to be honest, despite the worry she was coming off as colorless as her beige carpet. "I don't need to travel the world or jump out of a plane. To me, working in my craft room, listening to music and knowing, for the next few hours, nothing's going to disturb that, that's a gift."
He'd set aside his empty ice cream dish, had his fingers linked over his knees as he listened to her. "I need to take you sailing sometime. Have you ever been?"
"I went on a big boat one time. One of those tall sailing ships."
"Those are cool, but there's a quiet on a smaller craft I think you'd like. Will you go with me sometime?"
He'd understood, and made her viewpoint, who she was, feel right. "If you don't do something that makes Lyda murder you this weekend," she managed.
He chuckled at that, d
ipped his finger into her dish and stole some of her ice cream. "Lesser miracles."
"Hey." She fenced him away with her spoon, making that grin wreath his face once more as he licked his finger clean. When she was done with her dish, he took it and returned to the kitchen to finish cleanup. Since he'd encouraged her to do her usual things, she went to her craft room. Once there, though, she quickly realized she wanted to hang out with him. So she called out, encouraged him to join her after he finished, if he still wanted to see how she did the collages. To her great pleasure, he did.
She showed him how she collected paper and employed different mediums to give the collages textures. She particularly liked using colors and patterns to create smaller pictures and patterns inside larger ones, like the cat in the hallway.
"I went through a religious phase. One of my first collages was of Jesus' face. I had this great idea of putting together a bunch of faces. Young, old, different races, sexes, species, and that would become the shape of his head, the crown of thorns."
"So how did it turn out?" His brow arched, eyes fixed on her face.
"Close up, it was interesting enough. But unfortunately, two steps away it turned into a man with a lot of tumors on his face. Not the effect I was seeking." She laughed at herself. "I'm babbling, I'm sorry. I'm sure this isn't anywhere near as fascinating to you as it is to me."
"On the contrary. Your face lights up when you talk about the things that interest you. It's like watching a garden bloom in moonlight." He nodded to the corner, where she had a guitar propped. "You play."
When his gaze slid back to her, expecting her answer, she was still trying to untie her tongue. "What was your major at college?" she asked at last.
"Horticulture, poetry. Philosophy. Mechanical engineering for a semester or two." He gave her a wry look. "I only had the money for the first couple years, and then I shifted to auditing classes or paying for them one at a time. I like reading just about anything, learning anything new."
"Okay." That explained how he'd been able to deliver such a beautiful line as if it was commonplace talk. "As far as the guitar, no, I don't play. I bought that for five dollars at a yard sale and then took a couple lessons, but it didn't grab me. I should probably sell it, but I haven't given up on the idea of starting my own bluegrass band yet."
He chuckled. He was on the floor again, his back against her chair, shoulder blades comfortably pressed against her thigh and hip, the position he'd assumed when she started handing him different papers to examine. She'd also given him a pair of scissors to assemble his own ideas. It was an experience she'd never thought she'd share with a date. Though Noah wasn't really a date. Not one like she'd ever experienced.
Under normal circumstances, she would have been flustered, having a handsome man in her home whose intentions were so...undefined. Instead, he was proving to be a relaxing and attentive companion on every level, anticipating things that might make her uncomfortable or self-conscious and putting her at ease before they could take too firm a grip on her psyche.
Chloe had told her that Brendan opened himself up to a wider range of experiences because he didn't try to control the path chosen for him. He doesn't think in terms of "I'm not interested in that", unless it's something he's already experienced and really disliked. He'll try anything once, as long as he knows it's something that interests me or the people we're with.
Did Noah accommodate what she wanted for that reason? Though she'd remained on high alert for any flicker of boredom from him, she'd come up empty.
At length, it was getting close to her bedtime. Noah agreed they needed to be up early tomorrow to get a good start on the floor, if she was going to maximize the time she had his labor at her disposal.
"The good thing is we're already going to save some time," he told her. "The floor beneath the linoleum is in good shape. I can lay the plywood foundation right over it."
She'd noted him checking the kitchen floor earlier, and now she knew he'd been testing for rot. She made an agreeable noise as he rose to help her clean up. In the small space, they brushed against one another quite often, his bare skin and male scent so close.
When they were done, it seemed very natural for him to be gazing down at her. Before she could think of what to do, he'd slid his arms around her, drawing her against him for a light embrace. A hug. "Thanks for dinner and the place to sleep."
"I feel like I should be thanking you. You made dinner, and tomorrow you're helping me tile." She gave a nervous laugh as her palms slid over his shoulders, down his back. He was roped muscle, as firm and resilient as he looked, and his hug was a far stronger, more reassuring feeling than she'd expected, such that she held on for an extra moment or two. He didn't pull away, waiting until she did. Her thighs brushed against his. She felt like a teenager, her eyes lowering because she was embarrassed by her bright cheeks. His lips brushed her temple.
"Good night, Gen."
*
She closed her door to change into her nightgown, but once she turned off the light, she opened it again. She'd told him to do the same, since the small house circulated air better with the doors open. When she slid into bed, she was facing the hallway, and she saw he was lying in bed, under the sheet. He was reading a book about landscaping. It looked like an older book, the hardback cover worn, and she wondered if he'd borrowed it from Lyda.
