Page 54 of Play On

Oh, this is set up way too easily for me. I message him back:

I can see you’re going to be unhelpful, so I’ll have to come up with my own. I’ll use #NoahDarbyIsMyDaddy #ImADarbyGirl #DarbyThighsSaveLives #NoahDarbyEdit

Then I start laughing and hit send. Noah is going to besoembarrassed.

I love that he gets that way because it’s the last thing I’d ever expect from a professional athlete. I picture so many of them being used to the adoration that they could never be anything close to embarrassed.

But Noah isn’t like that. And I adore that about him.

Saucy Shorts is typing …

I don’t even want to know if those are real. Aren’t you supposed to be taking a nap? GO TO SLEEP, VIOLET.

I smile and text one more message:

Okay, okay, I’m going to rest now. We’ll talk later. After I’ve had a chance to view #NoahDarbyCalves

I turn off the sound on my phone and set it aside. Then I get out of my jeans, slip under the covers, and vow to take a good, long nap.

And hopefully have some #NoahDarbyEdits of my own running through my head as I do.

* * *

I enter the kitchen in the evening to find it empty, which I expected. My parents always have a large Sunday roast in the afternoon, so we all kind of fend for ourselves for dinner. I’m actually feeling peckish, and leftover roast sounds good, so I must be starting to turn the corner on this stupid head cold.

I open the fridge and poke around for the leftovers. I find roast beef and gravy, so I remove those containers and set them on the worktop. Then I locate some roasted carrots and potatoes, which is perfect. I open the freezer and find some Yorkshire puddings. I’ll just reheat everything in the oven, so it’s all done at the same time.

I hear footsteps as I’m turning on the oven to preheat and turn around to find Mum entering the kitchen.

“Oh hello, Violet, how are you feeling?” she asks, studying me.

“I think I might be getting better. I slept hard after I got home.”

“Good, I’m sure your body needed it,” she says, smiling gently at me. “Summer colds are the worst. How was London?” Mum moves over to the kettle and takes it to the tap, filling it with water.

“It was really good. The art project I designed for the students was a big hit.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic, sweetheart,” she says happily.

“Thank you,” I reply. I pause for a moment. “Even though I was sick, I did see Noah Darby on Friday night.”

“Outside of your Uber ride with him on Wednesday?” she quips.

“You didn’t mention you knew that in your texts,” I say, blushing.

Mum smiles at me. “You didn’t mention it either.”

I smile back at her. “Fair point.”

“So whatisgoing on with you and Noah?” she asks, her eyes inquisitive.

“We hit it off. He’s coming to Dorset this week for a visit. He’s rented a cottage on the coast and we’re going to hang out.”

Mum’s lips purse together in thought. I furrow my brow the second I see it. “What?”

“I shouldn’t say anything.”

I immediately feel defensive. “Well, now I absolutely want to know what you’re thinking.”

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