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I wouldn’t admit it, but being around Noelle makes me want to drive with the windows down and the music blaring, one hand on the wheel and the other on a pretty girl’s thigh. She’s a walking time machine, taking me back to a more carefree phase of my life. Before I was a father, when I was still a kid myself.
Antonio and I arrive back at the lodge just as Frida and Noelle are switching on the outdoor tree lights. It looks fantastic. I’d forgotten we had a bunch of pine cones in storage, which they’ve wired to the branches to give the tree a cozy yet rustic look. It’s bright and festive without being over the top.
Stepping inside, I’m hit with the scent of garlic and tomato. Sawyer’s made homemade pizza from scratch. One of my favorites. All of us, including Frida and Antonio, sit down to dinner. The food is delicious, as can always be expected when Sawyer’s had a hand in the meal.
Noelle hums with pleasure as she bites into her third slice. "Please tell me you plan on opening your own restaurant someday."
“I always tell him he should open one here,” Frida says.
“Nah.” Sawyer shakes his head. “I'm happy to let other people take on the risk. Though, that's not to say I don't hold strong opinions about how a kitchen should be run."
“Did you go to culinary school?” Noelle asks.
I chuckle at the thought. “Sawyer couldn’t get out of school fast enough.”
“It’s true,” he says. “I hated school. Too much sitting around, not enough hands-on learning. And cooking's one of those things you learn best by doing and tasting, in my opinion."
"I'm kind of the same way,” Noelle says. “I mean, Icansit at a desk for hours, but my mind always wanders. Most of the time I just feel like I'm going through the motions."
“Sawyer doesn’t need a fancy degree,” Antonio says. “His cooking comes from the heart. From his love for it.”
Frida nods. My son glances at me like he’s waiting for me to disagree or interject. But I’ll be the first to tell people he’s the best at what he does. He thinks I don’t see it, but I know how hard he’s capable of working. I just wish he’d channel that passion into something for himself. His own restaurant, or his own family. Someone to cook for. A place to call home.
“Is that true?” Noelle asks him. “Do you love it?”
Sawyer shrugs. “I guess I must, if I'm still doing it after all these years.”
Frida and Antonio bid us goodnight and leave before we can force them to eat more pizza. After a few taut moments of silence, Sawyer playfully goads Noelle to eat another slice.
“If I put anything else inside me,” she says, “I’m going to hurl.”
“I think you’ve got more room in there than you think,” he says. “In fact, I bet you could fit two more pieces if you tried.”
“You think so, huh?” Noelle eyes me from across the table. I shake my head. Sawyer’s been laying it on thick since we got back this morning, and she doesn’t seem disinterested. She’s probably wondering when I’m gonna give the two of them some privacy. Still, nothing about her gaze saysgo away, old man.
“I am going to need a hot shower tonight,” she says, stretching her arms overhead. “Or a bath. I’d kill for a bubble bath.”
“Dad’s got a hot tub.” Sawyer turns to me. “Is it open?”
I’m struck by the image of Noelle in a bikini, her skin steaming in the cold night air as she rises from the water, dripping...
“It is,” I say.
“Now, that would be a dream come true,” she says. “Can we use it, Colton? Please?”
Sawyer shoots me an earnest look. I know what he’s after; a little under-the-bubbles action from his new stepsister. I want to ask him what the hell he’s thinking, but he knows his mother’s track record as well as I do. It’s only a matter of time before he and Noelle are no longer related.
“Go for it,” I say.
The two share a conspiratorial grin and head upstairs to change. It’s not until I start gathering the dishes that I notice Sawyer wasn’t drinking tonight.
I rinse off the plates and glasses then pop ‘em in the dishwasher. Bracing my hands against the edge of the counter, I fight to swallow the feeling that rises into my throat. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in decades. Not quite jealousy. More like...envy. Envy that my own days of fooling around in hot tubs are far behind me.
Footsteps thud on the stairs and then the hardwood floor.
“You’re not coming in with us?” Noelle asks.
“Nah,” I say, tightening my grip on the countertop. “You two enjoy.”
