He steps over to the counter and picks up a Danish. “You don’t like being alone?”
The gesture brings him close enough that I catch his scent, the same one I noted when I climbed into his truck the night he picked me up. It’s all I can do not to lean closer, to breathe in an intentional lungful.
Instead, I take a bite of the Danish, which is perfectly flaky and delicious. I wonder for the second time where it came from. As someone who bakes, I appreciate the effort that went into its creation.
“I mean, I don’thateit,” I say, answering his question. “But if given the choice, company usually makes me happier.”
I glance down and notice that Noah isn’t wearing any shoes. It’s such a silly thing, but something about his socked feet makes a blush crawl up my cheeks. Like it’s a reminder of this being a shared space where he lives and relaxes and walks aroundwithout his shoes. And now, at least for the next week, it’s where I live too.
“Which makes me wonder why you’reherefor Christmas instead of with your family,” Noah says. “You came here believing you’d be alone the entire time.”
“True, yes,” I say. “But this year, my parents are on a two-week Mediterranean cruise to celebrate their anniversary, and my brother will be with his wife’s family. They’re always happy to have me with them, but holidays with her family—I don’t know. They’re all so focused on Juno and…I know they love me. But it’s hard not to feel like a third wheel.”
“Plus the studying you need to do,” Noah says.
“Right. Yes. So much studying. And the extra cash I’m earning is a nice bonus.”
He takes another bite of Danish. “I’m usually the opposite. I can endure company, but I’m most myself when I’m alone.”
“Really?” I say dryly. “I never would have guessed. When I arrived, you seemed so enthusiastic about my company.”
His mouth twitches the slightest bit like he’s fighting a smile, but he doesn’t break.
“Do you have siblings?” I ask, and he nods.
“Three brothers.”
“Do they enjoy solitude like you do?”
“They’re pretty much the polar opposite of me,” he says. “All three of them.”
“In what way?”
He seems to really consider his answer before he says, “Let’s just say none of them would ever give up a free trip to Italy.” He lifts his Danish. “What do you think?”
“They’re delicious,” I say, accepting the subject change even if I don’t really want to. “Where did they come from?”
“They sell them in the farm store,” he says. “I stocked up before it closed for the season.”
“Thanks for sharing, then.”
“Thanks for sharing your bread.”
“There’s more if you ever want it.” I look toward the two loaves sitting near the toaster. “I won’t be able to eat it all before it goes bad, so you’ll be doing me a favor. I should probably stick one in the freezer.”
“Noted,” Noah says. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence settles between us, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other. This would be the perfect time to ask Noah for help, but now that I have him in front of me, I’m too nervous to actually get the words out. I can’t think of a way to frame them in a way that doesn’t sound like a pickup line.
Which is ridiculous. He said he’d be around if I needed help, and I do. So why am I making this so complicated?
I’m about to take the plunge and just ask when Noah clears his throat.
“So, I was thinking…” He pauses and looks up to catch my gaze. “I assume you haven’t left the house since you got here, with the weather being what it is, but I thought, if you wanted to get out, you might want to go visit the goats.”
“Goats?” I repeat, mostly because I’m pretty sure that was the longest sentence I’ve ever heard Noah utter.
“Sure,” he says, his tone casual. “There was a new one born just a few days ago. She’s barely big enough to fill my hands.”
