He takes another bite. “You’re from Harvest Hollow?”
“Oh, no—that’s just where my brother lives. We’re from New York, originally. Which is where I was in nursing school. But my brother played for the Appies, and now he works for the team, so he still lives there.”
Noah freezes, a forkful of eggs hovering over his plate. “Your brother played hockey?”
Pride swells behind my ribs. “Yeah. Just retired a couple of years ago.” I slide my phone out of my back jeans pocket and pull up a recent picture of Alec holding Juno, her chubby toddler hands lifting up to squeeze his cheeks, then hand it over to Noah. “That’s him and his daughter. Well, technically stepdaughter. But she’s totally his. He’s the only dad she’s ever known.”
I have no idea why I’m talking so much. Why I’m telling Noah such personal details of my life. Maybe it’s the nerves. Or a weird attempt to make him want to be friends with me?
I bite my lip as Noah studies the picture, then looks up, eyebrows lifted. “That’s Alec Sheridan.”
“Yeah, it is. Are you a fan?”
“A bit,” he says. “I actually met him once. Five, six years ago?”
“Really? Where?”
He frowns, then shovels in a few more bites of food. I’m not sure if he’s embarrassed to have been a fan or if something else isgoing on, but he definitely doesn’t want to tell me about meeting my brother.
“Let me guess,” I say, trying to ease the tension. “You wore his jersey to a game and waited outside the stadium so he could sign it for you?”
Noah’s mouth quirks up to the side. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close. “Not quite,” he says simply.
I take a bite of my toast, which reallyisdelicious. “You followed his team’s travel bus and accosted him in a hotel parking lot?”
Noah huffs out a laugh. “Definitely not.”
“Don’t laugh. It’s happened more than once.”
Noah gives me a sideways glance. “I don’t envy him that. I would hate being famous.”
“Do people sometimes think youarefamous?” I ask, and he lifts his eyebrows, like he doesn’t quite understand my question.
“You look a lot like Flint Hawthorne,” I say. “And with the same last name…? I don’t know, just wondering how often people make the connection.”
He shrugs. “More when I’m clean-shaven.”
“Ah,” I say around another bite of toast. “Which is why you wear a beard.”
He gives me another almost smile. “You’re figuring me out.”
Hah.Not hardly. But that tiny quirk of his lips does feel like a small victory.
“Okay, so you weren’t an overzealous fan. How did you meet Alec, then? Would he remember you?”
“It was nothing,” Noah says. “A work thing. I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me.” He stands from his barstool and carries his empty plate around the island to the sink. “Thank you for this,” he says. “It wasn’t necessary, but it was delicious.”
“What kind of work thing?” I ask, my curiosity officially piqued. “You haven’t always worked at the farm?”
Noah’s expression immediately shutters closed. “Only been here a few weeks,” he says as he reaches for his coat. “Thanks again for breakfast. Leave the dishes, and I’ll do them after I get back. Right now, I need to check on the goats.”
Okay,so Noah doesn’t like to talk about his work.
Halfway out the door, he pauses and looks at me over his shoulder. “We’re supposed to get more snow tomorrow.”
I wait for him to add something else, but he just stands there, letting cold air blast into the kitchen.
I fold my arms across my chest, rubbing my hands over my biceps to chase away the chill. “Why does that sound like a warning?”
