“Uh, yeah. Gimme a second,” she yelled, bolting to the bathroom mirror. She wiped the smudge of mascara from her lid and checked her breath. It would have to do. She opened the porch door. “Hey.”
“Sorry, are you busy? Hi, boy,” he said, giving Harry a good scratch. He was in a simple white T-shirt, faded jeans, and old Timberlands. The jeans hugged low on his hips, showing a glimpse of his Calvin Kleins, and one cuff was unknowingly tucked into his boot.
She held the air in her lungs as if it would somehow mute this unbridled sensation flooding her insides.
“I can come back.” He slowly looked her up and down. “I didn’t wake you, did I? Cute shirt.”
“Thanks.” Did she look like she just woke up? Dahlia felt the intensity of his stare go right through her like a laser beam. Her hands were damp, and her heart pulsed under her Jason Mraz pink tie-dye shirt. “No, it’s okay. Come on in.” Dahlia waved her hand toward the kitchen.
“Oh, wow, it’s like a time capsule in here,” Noah said eagerly. “Smells like it too.”
“Yeah, I suppose it does.” Was that a diss? Maybe she needed to get some candles and spray some air freshener. She’d gotten used to the signature smell that reminded her of them.
“These recessed cabinets look original.” He ran his strong hand across the surface. A close-up confirmation that his nail beds were indeed attractive. What was it about a man and manly hands? Dahlia’s gulp felt audible. “Just look at the craftsmanship on these. They don’t make stuff like this anymore.” Noah turned to her with a charming grin, as if he knew old house talk would weaken her knees.
Why did he have to look at her like that? A sex-deprived girl could only take so much. Dahlia walked to the coffee pot, feeling her face blush. “Yeah, I think a great-great-uncle made them back in the 1930s.”
“And the wainscotting on the ceilingandthe walls! I bet the farm sink is original too,” he said eagerly as he inspected it.
Dahlia nodded as she topped off her coffee.
“Is that a butler’s pantry? May I?”
“Sure, be my guest.” She remembered how she would find Lil there now and then, sitting on a stool by the window, writing away. To this day, Dahlia didn’t have a clue what she was writing or to whom.
“Very cool. Whoever built this pantry was a real tradesman,” Noah said, knocking on the Palladian Blue cupboard door. “This is oak. What old ships were made of.”
Wasn’t he just a medley of surprises? “You don’t say.”
Noah nodded. “I grew up in an old farmhouse just outside Denver. I loved the creaks and the strange sounds it would make. Uncle Bruce gutted their place and removed all the old charm.” He motioned next door. “There are no squeaks left. It’s sad.”
He sounded like an old soul. And a match for Dahlia’s love of history and the past. “That’s a shame. There was so much history there. Did you know a famous playwright once lived in that house for a summer? And it was said that Einstein once spent the weekend there.” Dahlia grinned with satisfaction, feeling empowered by her catalog of random facts that Spence had never seemed to appreciate.
“You’re kidding!” Noah’s voice was eager. “I had no idea. I’m also a huge history buff. Uncle Bruce never mentioned it. That blows my mind,” he said. “I’m living in a house where Albert Einstein played for a weekend. Very cool.”
Dahlia smiled at the simple yet intriguing man standing before her. On the one hand, his eagerness was youthful and untainted, yet his sensibility was mature and comforting. She almost forgot that he was a reality TV star. To her, he was just the guy next door who would hopefully help her put her house back together.
She picked at the chipped Formica in the built-in nook, stealing a lingering glance.
“You know, I could replace that with soapstone or marble,” Noah said. “The rock quarry should have a scrap that fits. It’s a small area and would go nicely with the butcher block.”
“It would.” Dahlia felt her face light up.
“Okay, so let’s see that refrigerator of yours,” he said, wiggling it from the wall. The veins on his arms bulged, and she could see the tail of some creature sticking out from under his sleeve—a tattoo.
Lordy. Kara would unalive herself with this view. “The stove too. It turns on but then off right away. Should I text Hank’s wife to see if the parts are in?”
“Nah, I’ll look first and see what we can do. I mean, it’s not that old, so it should just be a few adjustments,” Noah said.
Why was this exciting to her? Oh yeah, because Spence barely knew how to use a hammer. Dahlia watched Noah yank back the beastly appliance. Now, the veins on his neck bulged, and his face grew beet red. His sleeve crept up with each movement, revealing more of a scaly tail. Dahlia leaned against the counter, feeling like maybe she should get some popcorn.
“And it looks like you have mice too,” said Noah, waking her from her morning fantasy and back to reality. “Do you have a dustbuster or vacuum?”
“Yeah, sure.” Dahlia grabbed the dustbuster from the closet, feeling like she was under some spell where her anxiety was suddenly masked by longing or even desire. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Dahlia watched him disappear behind the fridge.
