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Oh, well. He was a grown man. If he wanted to risk his safety, it was his concern. She started to leave. “Do you need anything else?”
“No. I won’t be long.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him start to shake his head, then close his eyes.
He probably doesn’t think I can see him.
Once again, Noelle’s conscience twisted her stomach.
“You know...” she started. “Belinda isn’t going to be happy with you. She was expecting you for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I’m sure she’ll survive.” There was an odd note to his words. Disbelief or doubt?
I don’t make a habit of staying where I’m not wanted. His comment seemed intent on repeating itself in her brain.
“Survive? Sure,” she replied. “That doesn’t mean she won’t be disappointed. Thanksgiving is a big deal to her. God knows she cooks enough for the entire state—and we’re talking about a woman who gave up cooking when Ned made his first million. She’ll hunt you down if you aren’t around to try her sweet potato casserole.”
“There’s an image,” he said with a soft laugh.
“But not far off. I’m willing to bet she was up early making something special for you.”
“Something special?”
“That’s the way the Frybergs do things. Seems to me the least you can do is stick around long enough to try whatever it is.”
Noelle watched as his eyelashes swept downward and he glanced at the tile floor. He had pretty eyelashes too. When he raised his gaze, his eyes had an odd glint to them. The light looked right through her, and her argument.
“Is this your way of asking me not to fly?”
“I’m not asking you anything,” she immediately replied. “I’m thinking of Belinda’s feelings.”
What was supposed to be nonchalance came out sounding way too affected, and they both knew it. Truth was, she didn’t want to deal with a guilty conscience should something happen. “Belinda likes you.”
The corners of Hammond’s mouth twitched like they wanted to smile. “Nice to know one member of the Fryberg family likes me.”
“Don’t get too flattered—Belinda likes everyone.” Apparently, her conscience wasn’t bothering her too much to stop being bratty.
To her surprise, he laughed. Not a chuckle, like previously, but a bark of a laugh that seemed to burst out of him unexpectedly. “Well played, Mrs. Fryberg. Tell me, are you always so upfront with your opinions?”
Honestly? Quite the opposite. She much preferred adaptation and assimilation to challenge. Hammond brought out an edge she hadn’t known she had. “Not always,” she replied.
“I’ll take that as a compliment then.” He crossed his arms, causing the T-shirt to stretch tighter. “There aren’t a lot of people in this world who would say boo to me, let alone challenge me as much as you have these past twenty-four hours. It’s been very entertaining.”
Noelle wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or feel condescended to. “I wasn’t trying to entertain you,” she said.
“I know, which makes me appreciate it even more. You’ve got backbone.”
So, flattered it was. “You’re complimenting me for being rude to you.”
“Not rude. Honest. I like knowing where I stand with people. You may not like me, but at least you don’t pretend, which is more than I can say for a lot of people.”
He may have meant to be complimentary, but his words struck her uncomfortably. They pressed on her shoulders along with his comment from earlier. If he was trying to prick her conscience this morning, it worked. She took a long look at him. Tall, handsome, arrogant, and yet... Maybe it was the concussion misleading her, or maybe the injury shifted a mask, but she was seeing something in his expression she hadn’t noticed before. It almost looked like...
Vulnerability.
The chip slipped a little off her shoulder. “I don’t dislike you,” she said, toeing the tile. “Not entirely. Like, I’d feel bad if you crashed your plane and died or something.”
“Your kindness overwhelms.”
“What can I say? I’m a giver.” They smiled at one another, the air between them thawing a little more. The guy wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t talking about gutting tradition.
“Seriously,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to see anyone—you—do anything foolish.”
“So now you’re calling me foolish, are you?”
“I—”
“Relax, I’m joking. I know what you were trying to say. And I thank you.”
“For what?” She hadn’t done anything special.
