Hello, morning sickness.
I hold my breath as Jill draws nearer to my desk, coming up beside me and glancing at my computer.
“Mm-hmm,” she hums knowingly. She’s my right-hand woman here at The Busy Bean Café and Bakery, and clearly, she knows me pretty well.
“Whatever,” I mumble. And then, “What are you doing back here anyway, don’t you have any work you should be doing? Customers you should be serving?”
“Good morning to youtoo,” she responds dryly. “The rush is over and there are only a few stragglers left out there.” She shrugs. “Gillian’s on it.”
My stomach is still flip-flopping violently, and I stare unseeingly at the screen struggling not to breathe through my nose. I can only nod at her in acknowledgment.
“Geez, you reallyarein a bad mood this morning,” she says, frowning down at me. “Well, please don’t shoot the messenger or anything, but you have a visitor.”
“Piper?” I ask. She often drops in on me to chat for a few before she opens the library.
“Nope.” Jill replies, popping her ‘p’ exaggeratedly.
I sigh. “Well, are you going to tell me who it is?”
“I think I’ll just send him back,” she says mildly, shooting a grin over her shoulder as she sweeps from my office.
Him?!
Oh boy.
I prop my elbows on the desk and drop my head into my hands, sucking in a few deep breaths while I attempt to calm my roiling stomach that’s suddenly become even more unsettled at the thought of my impending visitor. It can only be one person, and I’m not sure I have the strength for round two after the way he reacted to my news last night.
I’m embarrassed about the way I behaved, too, the vulnerability and emotion that I let him see. And I’m also inconceivably hurt by the revelation that our night together was so completely forgettable that he literally …forgotit. I know we were both drinking, butstill.
A throat clears and I shoot up from my slouch. Squaring my shoulders and raising my chin defiantly, I meet his eyes across the small room.
“Noah,” I say.
“Lucy,” he nods his hello.
I take in a few more deep breaths, steeling myself for what’s to come as I gesture toward the small chair in front of my desk.
The tension is thick in the air as he steps into the room, turning to close the door behind him. I watch with trepidation as he maneuvers himself to deposit his large bulk on the tiny chair. It creaks under his weight, but he’s surprisingly graceful as he adjusts his long limbs, crossing an ankle to rest on the opposite knee.
He looks so confident and assured, the way he’s seated before me, but his voice belies that certainty when he speaks.
“So …” he starts then stops. He swallows loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
I sigh. “So?”
“So … we need to talk. That’s …” he trails off as though searching for the right words.
“Look, I’m really not in the mood to re-hash it all again,” I say, raising a hand as though to deflect those words. “I think we said all that needed to be said last night.”
“Not even close,” he says, meeting my eyes, and there’s determination there and … something else.
My stomach rolls again and I fear I’ll have to lunge for the garbage can. I fight the nausea, my mouth clamped tightly shut, and silently urge him to continue so I don’t have to speak.
Noah just watches me, his dark brows furrowed and his mouth twisted to one side as he bites on the inside of it. I’ve noticed him doing this before–a nervous habit, I realize. Finally, he asks softly, “Are you okay?”
All I can do is nod, but he doesn’t look convinced.
“Alright, this is clearly not a good time. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to see or talk to me after the way I behaved last night, so let me just get this out–let me just say this quickly–and then I’ll get out of your hair.”
