“What?”
“I’d planned on making us dinner tonight at my house. Already got everything going.”
Maybe a little much for a first date. A little too intimate.
Intimate. Noah’s house. No other people. His bedroom. If we were going to go too fast, might as well do it right.
“Sure. That sounds great.”
“Really?” The happy surprise on his face made me even more certain.
“Yeah. That sounds perfect.”
BY THEtime we got to Noah’s apartment, Harper had mostly quit shaking. After less than five minutes and a thorough sniffing of the entire space, she was playing with Ron and Andy as if nothing had ever happened.
“I know it’s summer and all, and stew is too heavy, but I thought it would be easy. I threw it on before I left for our date and let it cook. Hope you don’t mind.”
The aroma, spicy and warm, made my stomach growl. “I’m starving. A hearty meal sounds great. It smells wonderful.”
He grinned at me. “It’stchaka. It’s got pork, pumpkin, hominy, beans, and stuff. Thought it might be fun to make something you’ve probably never had.”
“So it’s from Haiti?”
“Yeah. One of the local dishes. It’s my favorite. It probably won’t be too different. If you’ve ever had Creole food, it’s pretty similar.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great.” One of the reasons I’d given up on Noah ever being a reality was his devotion to the church. He’d always planned on staying in Haiti, not even returning to the States for sabbaticals like his parents. Yet in all my excitement and twitterpation, I managed to overlook the whole religious thing that had put such a sudden and painful ending to our first kiss.
Maybe Noah sensed my sudden unease. He seemed aware of everything else without being told. “This will take me several more minutes. I still need to cook the rice and stuff. Make yourself at home. Feel free to take a tour of the place. It’s tiny, so it won’t take long.”
“Okay. I’ll check on the dogs too.”
I found the dogs in the bedroom. All three had curled up on a large plush doggy bed. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. Harper opened her eyes and started to move, but I patted her head softly till she fell back asleep. I sent the picture as a text to Kayla, knowing she’d show it to Bailey.
On a date with Noah!
Noah’s bed wasn’t anything special. Wasn’t even a queen. We’d have the sheets in a complete mess within minutes. With a shake of my head, I shoved the thought away and forced myself to look anywhere else but the bed.
In size the apartment was nearly the same as mine. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, bedroom. Noah didn’t have a spare room like me. Our apartments were roughly the same layout, but there was a different feel to Noah’s. Though spotless, clean, and well cared for, it felt cheap and poorly made. The furniture didn’t help combat that impression either. I was willing to bet he’d gotten it all at a thrift store. None of it matched. The walls had very little art, with only a couple of pieces that were obviously from Haiti. There was only one picture of his parents. I walked over to where it sat on the middle shelf of a small bookcase. My phone vibrated before I made it there. Kayla.
Yay! We need to do lunch this week. I want all the details!
Smiling to myself, I replaced my phone and picked up the picture. Judging from Noah’s pimply complexion and looking like he was on his way out of his gangly stage, I figured he was around sixteen or seventeen in the photo. I’d forgotten what his parents looked like and how they’d made me feel, but it all came rushing back. Both of them sat primly on either side of Noah. Both smiled, but their expressions were tight, controlled. I had a vague memory of his father being handsome. While there were traces of that, the man was too thin. He looked sick. Noah’s mom might have been pretty, but the lack of makeup and the hair pulled back tight behind her head made her look severe.
“There you are.”
I jumped slightly and turned, finding Noah at my back. A slice of guilt cut through me, like I’d been caught doing something wrong. Which made no sense. “Sorry. I was looking at this picture. I’d forgotten what your folks looked like.”
“No need to be sorry.” He reached out and took the photo from my hands. A shadow fell over his face. “Another missionary family took this photo. It was right before my senior year. About three months before Dad died.”
“Oh.” I opened my mouth to say something, but despite being trained on what to say in any social situation, I was at a loss. None of the normal platitudes seemed right. More insulting than anything. “You were so young.”
He gave a sad smile. “Yeah. Cancer. He didn’t want treatment.”
“Really? Was it a faith thing? Expecting God to heal him?” Was I supposed to ask questions?
“No. He didn’t want to take the time. He’d have to come back to the States, and there was mission work to do. There was always mission work to do. And he did it. Even on the day he died. He was still saving the sinners.” Noah’s laugh didn’t hold any humor. “No. He wasn’t claiming that God was going to heal him. I was. I was certain of it. But Dad never said any such thing.”
Again I had no clue what to say to that.
