I’m not sure what, precisely, he’s insinuating. Maybe he’s worried my cooking is some wayward attempt to woo him and he might give me the wrong impression if he keeps eating the meals I prepare. But if he can saunter into the living room and crash my study party and claim it’s no big deal, then I can make him soup and leave it on the stove like it’s no big deal.
“Of course it isn’t.” I step a little closer and lift a hand to pat him on his chest. “Don’t overthink it, Noah. We both need to eat. The soup is nice. We can share it like adults.”
I can’t be sure, but as I make my way upstairs, I think I might hear Noah laugh.
***
Once I’m in my room, I retrieve my cell phone from where I left it charging and see a missed call from Evie.
I call her back, putting the call on speaker before I kick off my shoes and climb into bed fully dressed. I look longingly at the fireplace on the far wall and wonder what it would take to get Noah to build a fire for me up here.
Evie answers on the second ring, just as I’m tucking the covers up over my icy feet.
“Hey! How is it?” she asks. She sounds breathless, like she’s in the middle of something, but with Juno, it could be anything. That little girl is adorable, but she’s a spitfire if ever there was one.
“It’s freezing,” I say. “I feel like I’m living in a winter wonderland.”
“You got more snow down there than we did here, but we’re covered up, too,” Evie says. “Juno thinks it’s amazing, but the cold is making Alec’s knee hurt, so I’ll be happy when things get back to normal.” She grunts, and I hear athunkthrough the phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Cleaning out the fridge,” she says. “When did I buy tomato juice? This stuff expired six months ago. Ohh! I thought I didn’t have any pickles left! Yes!”
I roll my eyes at Evie’s inner monologue, but honestly, it makes me happy to hear her rambling on about nothing. She spent too long in a bad marriage, then too long worrying about how to recover after her divorce. She deserves to have silly conversations about pickles and expired tomato juice.
My brother’s voice sounds through the phone. “You should let me finish this,” he says.
“I’m almost done,” Evie says. “And look! I found pickles!”
“Megan, why is she craving pickles?” Alec asks. “I thought it was a myth that pregnant women crave pickles.”
I must be on speaker phone now, because both of their voices are coming through the phone loud and clear.
“Not a myth,” I say. “Though no one really knows why it happens. It could be the salt. Or the power of suggestion. Pregnant women all want pickles because in their mind, they think they’re supposed to.”
“I don’t care what the reason is,” Evie says, her mouth obviously full. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“Hey, I have a question for you,” I say to my brother. “But then you have to leave so I can talk to Evie for real.”
“Okay, shoot,” Alec says. “How are you, by the way? Staying warm?”
“Perfectly warm,” I say. “Do you remember ever meeting a Noah Hawthorne?”
“That’s the guy who’s there with you? The cousin?”
“Yeah. He said he’s met you before, but he didn’t think you’d remember him.”
“Did he say when? Or why?” Alec asks.
“Just that it was a work thing.”
“That’s weird,” Evie says. “What kind of work thing?”
“He didn’t say. He isn’t exactly the chattiest guy,” I say.
“I met with so many people,” Alec says. “Could have been anything. Something contract related or maybe an advertising deal of some kind?”
“What about physical therapy or training?” Evie asks.
