Chapter 21
Elina
Loaded with everything necessary for a reasonably sensible sleep study, I trudge toward the clearing where Noah's house stands. Naturally, he didn't want to stay overnight at the clinic. It took a week of numerous calls to former colleagues to acquire the portable EEG device to record his brain waves while he sleeps, but I succeeded.
Not without pride, I navigate through the densely growing fir trees. As I step onto the clearing, I spot Noah kneeling by the campfire. He's stacking logs and stuffing gaps with newspaper.
I immediately wonder if he's doing this just for me. But despite how close we were on the boat trip last week, to the point where I was on the verge of losing control, I still remind myself that I mustn't entertain such thoughts.
"You're the doctor. He's the patient," I remind myself sternly, yet simultaneously unsure of how much longer this mantra will keep me away from him.
Underneath my newly purchased sneakers, fine branches snap, their crackling betraying my arrival. He only glances up briefly before focusing on igniting the newspaper. The fire flares up but quickly dwindles. Patiently, he holds fine wood shavings to the embers, which eventually catch fire.
"Today, you'll be wired up," I say as I approach him, tapping the bag under my arm. "You'll look like an alien."
He smirks crookedly. "I'm looking forward to it."
Inappropriately, I wink at him. "Even more than I am."
"Do you like sausages?" he asks as if I hadn't just accidentally flirted with him, nodding his head toward the hand-carved sticks with pointed ends, resting on one of the log stools.
Not particularly. I should just say it, but I hesitate. What if he thinks less of me because I barely eat meat? "Yes," I reply, my mind racing to find a solution to my dilemma.
Fortunately, I can rely on my gray matter. "But not as much as marshmallows," I say with a wide grin, pulling out my emergency stash from my handbag. "This is a healthy dinner to my liking."
I had hoped for at least a smile, but he only pokes at the fire with a poker.
I should finally grasp that he's not interested in me. And that it's even for the best. But internally, I just can't stop hoping it could be different. With a long sigh, I let the bag drop to the ground. "Can I help you with anything?"
Skillfully, he blows into the embers, and smoke rises. "The sausages are in the kitchen." The flickering flame reflects in his gaze.
Oh God, how am I going to survive this evening unscathed? Although he probably only sees me as his doctor, I can barely ignore the woman inside me. The one who reminds me in every second that this man is hotter than the fire he just ignited.
"Alright," I reply hastily, spinning on my heel to quickly cool down.
Half an hour later, we sit facing each other at a safe distance. The fire crackles between us, and behind the lake to my right, the sun sets. Filled with anticipation, I pull the first marshmallow out of the flames. "Oh, how delicious. I haven't eaten them like this in ages." I carefully blow over the hot, sticky mass.
"Me neither." His tone holds a wistfulness. And that, even though he has been subsisting solely on sausages so far.
I gaze attentively at him. "I was ten. And you?"
Chewing on his lower lip, he watches the flickering fire. "Twenty-eight."
With anyone else, I'd take it as a joke since I know from his medical records that he turned twenty-nine last January. But something about him makes me suspicious. I cautiously take a bite of my marshmallow and savor the sweet taste spreading on my tongue. "Last summer, then?"
He probably thinks his nod is enough of an answer. But it's not.
"Who was with you?" I ask, risking that it might be his ex-girlfriend whom he still mourns so deeply that he keeps others at arm's length.
With his sneakers, he traces fine lines in the sandy ground before him. "Julian."
So not a woman. I should feel relieved, but Noah's hunched posture, the tense jaw muscles, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest only make it harder for me to swallow.
What if Julian is his son?
What if he lost him? Because his mother took himaway. Or because... "He loved marshmallows." Noah's words leave his mouth without a hint of emotion. The crackling of the fire almost swallows them, yet they immediately cause goose bumps to form on my forearms.
And suddenly, I don't know how to react. What do you say to someone who speaks of their son in the past tense and looks as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders?
