My heart rate rose at his question as I looked up with what I knew was incredulity. “You don’t care if I write?”
He wrinkled his brows as he looked at me in confusion. “Why would I care?”
I shrugged, trying to examine where that feeling was coming from in me. “I’m not sure.” I paused, and then a memory came to mind. “I guess the last guy I dated seriously, Bryon, expressed his displeasure to me when, during tax season, I needed to work late into the night. He said I wasn’t prioritizing our relationship and broke up with me shortly after that. So maybe that made a bigger impact than I thought?”
“When was that?”
I gave that a few seconds of thought. Wow, I hadn’t thought of Bryon for a while. “Two years ago. I was crushed at the time, but upon reflection we absolutely weren’t right for each other, and he did me a favor.”
“Sorry that happened. And yeah, if you were neglecting your health—meaning sleep—for weeks on end while also choosing work, writing or accounting, over me every single time, then we might need to talk. But when you’re inspired”—he waggled his brows at me—“feel free to pick up your laptop.”
I laughed but then sobered, feeling the tendrils of inspiration for my story flowing through my veins. “Um, if you don’t mind, I’d love to grab my laptop. Not that you should get too full of yourself, mister, but I do have some ideas I’d love to get down while they’re actually in my brain.”
He rolled toward me and brushed my mouth. “One request.”
“Name it.”
“Are you able to write in bed? Like sitting here while I sleep? Because I’m beat, but I’d love to go to bed to the music of you typing out a story.” His expression was one I’d only seen a few times from him—all while we’d been up here dealing with everything to do with his parents—he was tentative, unsure. Like he was verbalizing what he wanted but was didn’t know if it would matter. That was a learned behavior, and my heart hurt for the little boy who didn’t get what he needed from the people he should have been able to expect it from. I was also grateful to Mary because without her, I think his childhood would have been devoid of any type of affection.
“I can absolutely type in here.”
Noah’s smile was bright and instantaneous. He hopped out of bed before I could say anything and moved across the room to grab my laptop from where it was charging on a dresser. He hesitated, then also grabbed my AirPods. Sliding back in next to me, he handed both over. “I think I’ve seen you with your earbuds in when you’ve been writing,” he said by way of an explanation for bringing them as well.
“Yeah, I listen to a different playlist for each book,” I explained, unbelievably touched that not only had he paid attention but cared enough to try to ensure I had everything I needed.
He leaned over to turn off the lamp on his side of the bed, then slid down and got comfortable next to me.
“Do you need my lamp off?” I asked.
“Nope. Benefit of my work in Africa and our sleeping quarters where people were working different shifts is that I can sleep through anything.” He paused, then looked up. “Do we need to talk about tonight though? I just realized we got a bit offtrack. Because I loved what happened here.”
I gave him a soft smile. “I did too. Thanks for checking in.”
“Enough for a repeat?”
I raised my brows at him. “Right now?”
He snorted. “No. I need to sleep; you need to write. But soon?”
I nodded. “Soon.” I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss.
I woke my computer and opened my current novel, then read over what I’d written earlier that day and thought of what needed to happen next. With a glance to my left, I noted that Noah was already out. I pulled up my playlist on my phone, made sure the volume was set low enough he wouldn’t hear it through my earbuds, and focused on letting the story flow out.
Ahead of us we had a funeral, decisions about dating, and my secret profession that needed to be shared with those I cared about. But for now it was just me with these characters and a man I was growing all too fond of who supported me with his mere presence in a way I hadn’t known existed out of the fictional worlds I created.
Chapter 20
The Family You Made
Noah
I woke up refreshed and with a clear mind. In other words, the absolute opposite of how I’d assumed I’d start the day of my parents’ funeral. Part of that was due to the time with Jules before I went to bed. Damn, I knew from her books what her romanticized version of sex was, but that was something different for me. The connection I already felt with her was why it was another level, but I also knew that as we got to know each other, our connection would grow. I couldn’t imagine how what we’d shared could be improved upon, but I was happy to find out.
As for the funeral, thanks to Jules, Mary, and Barry—loved that their names rhymed—this day was planned, and I wasn’t stressed about the actual event. How I felt about it had varied as the week unfolded. Mainly, if I was being honest, I wanted it to be over.
There was some work to do with a therapist. After talking to both Mary and Jules the past week, I was realizing there was part of my younger self that felt I had somehow failed my parents. If I was really examining Past Me, I even felt that to an extent after college when I chose to go to Africa.
Jules and I had talked during the week when scheduling the minister, and I realized I had quite a bit of repressed resentment. It came up when we picked the pastor from the local church my parents had attended weekly without fail. I told Jules that the mindfuck I had struggled with all my life was that there were people like my mother and father who purported to be Christian but also behaved in a way that was so far from Christ it wasn’t even funny.
