“Dahlia?” Noah asked.
“Yeah?” She turned back, holding on to the bit of air that was left.
“Want to grab dinner when I get back? I heard there’s a movie on the lawn in Greenport on Sunday.”
“Yeah, okay.” She turned away, biting her lip. She’d forgotten how turbulent dating could be. Perhaps she’d never really known. But a little voice inside her head told her it would be worth finding out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
July 8
It had been twenty-nine hours since Dahlia last saw Noah. During that time, she went for a sunrise swim, biked to the farmers market, and repainted all the baseboards and the wainscoting in the kitchen. She also snapped a few more pictures of the garden and did something so unlike Dahlia that even Kara would be surprised—she took a selfie smelling a single white rose in Lil’s European-inspired gardens, which still needed lots of work in the background.
The sun melted into the distance as her feet sank into the cold sand. She ached for Noah in a way she hadn’t before. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the warmth of his hand on the nape of her neck and imagined it slowly wandering to her breasts. She could feel the inferno of his gaze as the rush of water grazed her hot skin. Dahlia walked up from the beach, trying to steady her mind. It had been so long since she felt any way about a guy, and she was still unsure how it would all work. All she knew was that shewanted him in a way she’dneverwanted Spence. Noah was making her realize exactly what she’d been missing in her life. After this, there was no going back to a lifeless and indifferent existence.
They texted back and forth a bit, but it was all business. Noah’s last text read,When I get back …
Dahlia waited with bated breath, anticipating his next message. Maybe she was fooling herself, but she was hoping he would declare his deepest desires to her and say something like,I’m going to ravage every inch of your body.
Instead, it read,I’m going to power wash your house.
Dahlia blew the hair from her eyes. She wanted desperately for McHandy to make a move.
Harry groaned from the kitchen floor.
“Don’t tell me you’re taking his side,” she deadpanned in his direction. Hoping to distract herself further, she uncorked a bottle of wine.
Harry didn’t move. All she saw were the whiskers above his eyes furrow.
“You miss him too? What kind of mind trick are you playing, Noah Sterling?” she mumbled, grabbing the wine glass and book, and strolling toward Lil’s barn.
She flipped on the studio light and tried to get comfortable in the worn wingback. It was positioned right in front of the window so Lil could see the bay while she read. The high-pitched buzzing sounds of cicadas filled the twilight air. The briny breeze filtered through the screen, but it was still too hot. She yanked off her robe, revealing her trademark summer tank and navy shorts. She opened Lil’s window wider and sat, finding it more tolerable.
The worn cushions scratched her humid skin, but she sat there anyway. Sitting in Lil’s chair made her feel connected to her, and she didn’t care how uncomfortable it was. She sipped her wine andopened a very old copy ofWuthering Heightsthat she’d pulled from the house library.
Dahlia held the yellowed pages to her nose, inhaling the must and hints of vanilla. Her smile grew as her gaze narrowed in on the bouquet of yellow roses that hung on the wall next to the cupboard door. Suddenly, her mind shifted focus to Lil’s wall of art. Dahlia knew Lil to be a humble creative. So why did she have certain ones lining the walls and others in a bin? There had to be a reason. Dahlia got up and turned the painting over. It read6.
She carefully pulled the others off the wall and lined them along the floor and workbench in numerical order. They ranged from one through twenty-two. She was convinced it was for an art show. Then, one by one, keeping them in order, she hung them on the wood wall—that is, until she noticed Lil’s signature tucked inside the right corner of one. She pried back number eleven, the bright pink rose canvas, from the edge and saw what also looked like a year: ’67.
After over an hour of fully immersing herself in the art quandary, she stood back and looked at Lil’s creative metamorphosis in numerical order. It turned out there was a rhythm to the paintings, after all. Dahlia still didn’t quite understand the reasoning behind it, but she knew in her gut the paintings on the wall were more important. And she was beginning to think it wasn’t for an art show. She scanned slowly from left to right, pursing her lips. They needed to be seen, Kara was right. But where?
As she was lost in contemplation, her phone dinged.
It was a sunset selfie of Noah. The Montauk horizon was a beautiful kaleidoscope of orange hues. She zoomed in; his eyelashes were wet, and there were sand particles stuck to his facial hair. She wished more than anything she was there with him, enjoying the sunset and getting lost in his presence. Dahlia could feel the swift beat of her heart through her tank top. She couldn’t believe she was on his mind during a boys’ trip.
Now show me yours,he wrote.
Dahlia was now visibly sweating. She knew what he meant, but it didn’t stop her mind from drifting to the pages of a steamy romance novel.
Dahlia sent him back the picture she had taken earlier in the garden.
What about you? I want to see ur beautfulL face.
How much had he had to drink? He couldn’t even spell.
She sent him the picture from the garden.
Cute,he wrote.
