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She giggles and takes the red sheets from my hand. “You’re so corny.”
“Just being a gentleman, really. Uh, do you want to wash up?”
She looks down at the smudged gown and back at me. “Please.”
“Okay, your room is the second one at the end of the hall. It has its own bathroom, so just knock yourself out.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll get you something to eat since you must be starving, and quite frankly, so am I. So, choices are leftover lasagna or a sandwich.”
“Lasagna? Did you cooked it yourself?”
“Yes, I did.”
She fakes a grimace. “So, there’s a chance I’m going to get sick if I consume it?”
Placing my hands over my chest, I feign a hurt look. “Noelle…”
She laughs. “I’m joking, I’m joking. And yes, I’ll like to try your lasagna, even if it´s way past dinner time.”
I nod my head to the direction of the stairs. “Go wash up.”
“Yes, boss.”
She returns just in time as I’m done setting the table. Looking up, I’m about to say something when I freeze mid-sentence, shock reverberating through me. “Wh—where did you get that?”
She’s wearing an old Nirvana castoff that belonged to Vanessa. Well, it belongs to me. My wife was just fond of wearing it when she was painting in the basement, but now it hangs loosely on Noelle’s slender frame.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put back the dress again, so I looked in the closet. It was in a small laundry basket. I thought it was yours.”
I say nothing, still staring at her. She looks just like Vanessa, except for the green eyes and the wavy blonde hair. Vanessa’s hair was dark and she was blue-eyed. They were both similar in a way, in build and height, in attitude and personality. Was this why I’d taken it upon myself to save Noelle from her date that night? Was I projecting a part of my past? No, I saved Noelle that night because I saw how she wanted to be away from that creep. That was it, and nothing more. There’s no coincidence. None at all.
“Maverick?” She tilts her head and stares at me. “Do you want me to take this shirt off? Should I change?”
“Uh, sorry. No, no, it’s fine. I don’t…. mind. Um.” I swallow. “Will you—will you like some vinaigrette or just plain?”
“Plain works for me just fine, thank you.”
Nodding, I place the steaming bowl of lasagna, along with a small plate of chili. She thanks me with a smile.
A distant memory of Vanessa flits through my mind and I quickly blink it away. Taking a seat across from her, I watch her dress her lasagna with a spoonful of chili, stirring it delicately. Seeing her in that shirt brings me back to my past, a place that I’ve always buried in the deepest recesses of my brain. It’s been so long since I let myself go there. Since I allowed myself to feel this, and Noelle’s doing that all too easily, sitting at the dining table and sharing a meal with me, while wearing an old shirt of my late wife’s favorite band.
“Hmm,” Noelle purrs through a mouthful of food, nodding her head in approval. When she swallows, she says, “This. This is the kind of meal that can put Guy Fieri out of business.”
I gaze at her steadily. “That good, huh?”
“The best. The very best.” She raises her brows. “You’re not eating?”
“Not hungry.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “More for me, then, I guess.” She raises her spoon to her mouth for another bite. “Okay, you’ve managed to convince me. This is a ten.” She licks her lips. “Mm. How’d you learn how to cook so good?”
“My late wife taught me. She was teaching culinary school when we met. I guess it’s easy to say she did a good job with that, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, she absolutely did.” Then after a pause, she says, “Tell me about her.”
My head rears back. “You want to know about her?”
