Noah, too, shared things about his family. That his mom had been in and out of rehab when he was growing up, and how abusive her boyfriends were. One even burned a cigar on his chest after a drunken argument, and from that point on, he and his sister fought daily to survive. That was until his stepfather, Don, stepped in, and things got better. He touched on the football scholarship he received to play at the University of Colorado at Boulder and how he tore his ACL at the end of his third season. With moist eyes, he revealed that Don took on extra shifts at work so that he wouldn’t have to drop out of school. “A shirt-off-your-back kind of guy,” he said. Dahlia just smiled, realizing her feelings for Noah were growing at an express pace.
The stories he told made Dahlia swoon harder. The fact that things hadn’t just been handed to him, like they had for Spence, was the biggest difference. There were also unhealed wounds from their childhood that she was pretty sure manifested into their previous unhealthy relationships. Dahlia’s fear of being alone led her to agree to a marriage where she ironically was more alone. Saying yes to Spence, a man she’d never loved, had felt safe. It meant she would never feel the pain of losing that love, like she had with her parents, Gran, Pop, and later Lil. She was pretty sure Noah’s fear of failure had led him to hang on longer with Josie than he should have too. But that was just speculation.
“Noah, thank you.” She stared at his shirtless torso, knowing in her heart she could do this every day with him. From any logicalstandpoint, it was too early to have these kinds of feelings. Yet she was.
“My pleasure.” He pulled her chair to him, the feet skidding across the linoleum floor. His gaze lingered.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked, stroking her cheek.
“No.” He shook his head. “Thanks for listening. I know some of that was heavy,” he said, leaning closer yet. “I want to tell you how my mom died.”
Dahlia held his trembling hand in reassurance. This felt like a big deal.
“It was a drug overdose, oxycodone. I was thirteen.” His voice cracked. With his admission, Dahlia felt something shift inside her. She was the same age when her parents died at the hands of a drunk driver. “Everyone thought she was getting better. We all thought she was clean, including Don. But …”
“Noah.” She hugged him and didn’t let go. Suddenly, Dahlia’s childhood didn’t seem so bad. At least she’d had two loving parents for a time. “Thank you for telling me.” This seemed like the perfect time to tell him about Daisy. He had just shared something close to his heart, fearing it might scare her away. It was only fair to reciprocate. But she didn’t. She pulled back and gave him a reassuring kiss that said she understood.
“I’ve never been able to be myself with anyone this early on. And I certainly haven’t shared these things about my family, especially about my mom, with many people.”
She grabbed his hand. “Not with Josie?”
“She knew. But we didn’t talk about it. There was an image to keep.” He shrugged his shoulders.
Josie sounded awful, and Dahlia prayed she’d never have to meet her. “If it’s any consolation, I could tell my ex I was on fire, and he wouldn’t care.” She caressed his scruffy face with anendearing smile. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what you went through. No child should ever feel unsafe.” She placed her palm on his scar, knowing the courage it took for him to unearth his past. If only she could do the same. “And I’m so sorry about your mom.”
“It was a long time ago.” He kissed the top of her head and whispered. “I can’t imagine someone not appreciating you. You’re an amazing person. And sexy as hell.”
“Well, thanks.” She hoped he’d still feel the same after he got to know her whole story. Dahlia wondered if his feelings would wear off once he realized how ordinary she was, and there was still the matter of her daughter. After all, he was still part of the mega reality television brand known asHamptons House, and that brought with it its own set of standards. And she was as plain and basic as white walls. Or at least that was how she felt after being married to Spence.
“And if I ever see your ex, I’m going to kick his arse for not treating you better.” He snickered, giving her a smooch, this time on her lips. “No one puts you in the corner. Not on my watch.”
Dahlia’s lungs felt expansive. She felt like a heroine whose lover was ready to duel to the end for her. She’d never tire of this feeling. But was she ready to give up everything for a man again? As much as she didn’t want to be, Dahlia was conflicted.
He pecked her playfully one last time before getting up. “Now, let’s get to work.”
She laughed. “Well, okay then.”
“I’ll be power washing the house if you need me for anything at all.” He winked, putting the dishes in the sink.
“I have one more load of laundry to do, and then I’ll be out.”
“Oh, and I need to run back to the restaurant later. I found this amazing old glass case on Marketplace.”
“Aren’t you full of surprises?” Dahlia put the mugs in the sink.
“Want to come with?”
“I’d love to, but I should probably keep going with all this.” She looked around. “Plus, I have to make some phone calls. Rain check?” She wrapped her hands around his waist like they were old hat at this. “You’re coming back tonight, right?” Dahlia held her breath, hoping that wasn’t too presumptuous. They’d already been together for almost twenty-four hours straight.
“If that’s an invite, then yes.”
“Good. Now get out of here and get to work.” She laughed, tapping him on his extremely firm rear.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dahlia looked around the kitchen at the mess that was left. There was a lightness in her chest. It was an odd reaction to a chore she hated. Yet this time, she was excited to clean up the counter littered with omelet ingredients because it wastheirmess. Hoping to make it to the refrigerator in one trip, she packed her arms, balancing the eggs, cheese, and orange juice. Eying the milk, inching closer, she reached for it. And missed. White liquid ran everywhere. “Shit, shit.”
Dahlia dropped the food onto the counter, hearing athud, and grabbed the hand towel from beside the sink. The power washer was in full force, sending a gnawing vibration through the old paneled walls. She tried to corral the flow, but the milk still dripped down the counter and into the crevice between the cabinet and floor. What a freaking mess. “Haste makes waste,” echoed in her mind. It was another favorite saying of Gran’s. Begrudgingly, she continued to wipe, and when the rag was saturated, she brought out another towel from the linen closet. As she walked back, she sawWuthering Heightsat the corner of the bar, sitting in a puddle.
