I let out a little gasp. “There is a brand new baby goat here, and you’re only telling me about it now?”
His lips tick up the slightest bit, and I find myself itching to push for more, to see if I can make him smile for real.
“This is only, what, our third conversation?” he says.
“Fourth, I think? But it’s a newborn baby goat, Noah! It should have been the first thing you mentioned!”
“Welcome to Stonebrook Farm. There’s a baby goat in the barn?”
“Yes! That would have been perfect!” I love that we’re talking like this. That he’s letting me tease him.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Point taken. If there are any other baby animals born while you’re here, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.” His tone is easy and playful, and a warm satisfaction spreads through my bones. For a man who comes across as so serious, it’s particularly gratifying to make him happy. To see him loosen up a little.
“Thank you very much,” I say. “I would appreciate it.”
He studies me for a moment before he asks, “Should we go now?”
We.Shouldwego now.
Up until right this moment, I assumed he was only making a suggestion—giving me a way to occupy my own time. But going to the barnwith him—that has a different vibe.
Is he asking because he wants to spend time with me? After all that talk of preferring solitude? Or does he just feel sorry for me? Things didn’t seem so bad last night, and hedidleave a box of Danishes for me. He’s either had a change of heart or he really likes my bread and doesn’t want to feel guilty for eating it all.
Either way, after the welcome he gave me—ordidn’tgive me—an actual invitation to spend time with him feels like a big shift.
“You know what? Some other time,” Noah adds when I fail to respond.
“No, no! Now is good,” I quickly say. “Just give me a second to grab my coat.” I pop one last bite of Danish into my mouth and head for the stairs.
I won’t say no toanybaby animal, but I’m self aware enough to own that the speed that takes me up to my room and back down again, coat and scarf in hand, doesn’t have anything to do with livestock, newborn or not.
The air is chilly when we step outside, the sky a crisp bright blue. Noah warned me we were getting more snow, but it doesn’t look like more than a few inches fell. “How long will this stick around?” I ask as we walk toward the barn. I can just see it in the distance.
“Not long. We’re supposed to get another six inches tomorrow night, but it's supposed to warm up after that, so it’ll melt pretty quick.”
“Do you think it’ll impact the reunion?” It’s the twenty-first now, and the reunion is scheduled for Christmas Eve. If we’re getting more snow tomorrow, it seems unlikely the roads will be clear.
“It might,” he says. “But I doubt it. It should all melt in time.”
“That seems totally wild to me,” I say. “When it snows in New York, it sticks around forever.”
“We might be in the mountains, but we’re still in the South,” Noah says. “Cold comes in snaps more than spells.” There’s a slight Southern twinge to his accent that I’ve never noticed before, and it makes me smile.
“What?” he says as he looks over at me.
“Nothing.” I push my hands into the pockets of my coat, wishing I’d thought to grab my gloves. “You just sounded Southern when you said that. I haven’t noticed your accent before.”
He shrugs as we approach the barn door. “It comes out more when I’m in Silver Creek. Or when I’m talking to my family.”
“I get that,” I say. “I don’t think I sound like I’m from New York, but my college roommate is from Brooklyn, and when we’re talking, she pulls an accent out of me that I don’t usually have.”
“Do you live in the city?” he asks.
“I was there for nursing school. But I grew up in White Plains, about an hour north.”
The heavy barn door creaks and groans as Noah slides it open, and the smell of hay hits my nose. “I’ve never been to New York City,” he says as he motions me into the barn.
I step through the door, happy to find that the air inside is significantly warmer. Across the barn, a goat with big white ears pokes its head over a stall door and lets out a welcomingmeh-eh-eh-eh-eh.
