Page 64 of Half Baked

“That won’t happen again, Maddie,” he said, certainty covering his face. “For one thing, I won’t be seeing my father again, and for another, I’m done giving him control over me. There’s no making the man happy, and I refuse to try.”

I gasped. “He wanted you to break up with me?” I knew his mother didn’t approve of me, but his father too?

He shook his head, frustration filling his eyes. “No. While he knew I had someone here, he doesn’t know anythingaboutyou. It wasn’t you. It was me. What he convinced me about myself. But he’s wrong. I just had to get him out of my head. I’m sorry I hurt you during the process.”

“And is he out of your head?”

He hesitated. “No. I suspect he’ll always be there, whispering that I’m worthless. That I fail everyone. But now I know he’s a liar.”

I reached out and took his hand and squeezed. “You’re not worthless. You are so very far from it, but I can’t take you running away like that again, Noah. I can handle one night, but not weeks.”

“I know, and I swear, I won’t do that to you again.”

Holding his gaze, I squeezed his hand once more. “If you run again, I won’t be there when you come back. You need to know that before we start this again.”

He swallowed. “That’s only fair.”

I took a step closer to him, inches between us. “We don’t have appointments with my old neighbors, which means we can go whenever we want. Do you want to show me your bedroom?”

His eyes were stormy with conflict. “I’m going to need you to tell me what you want, Maddie. Otherwise, I’m going to presume we’re still in the friend zone.”

“I’m scared,” I admitted in a whisper. “I’m terrified you’re going to hurt me again.”

“I know,” he said, sorrow filling his words. “You have no idea how sorry I am, but I’m here, and I’m not leaving again. The only way I’ll leave you is if you tell me to go.”

I pulled my hand away from his, and disappointment filled his eyes, but then he looked startled when I rested my hands on his chest. The muscles under his shirt were firm under my palms. “I don’t want to be just friends with you.”

“Then what do you want, Maddie?” his asked, his voice husky.

I swallowed, holding his gaze. “I wantyou, Noah. As more than friends.”

His free hand lifted to my cheek, and he brushed his thumb along my cheekbone, staring into my eyes before he lowered his face to mine. His lips were soft, the pressure gentle as though he was giving me a chance to back out.

Need flooded my veins and my mouth parted as I slipped a hand up to his neck, pulling him closer.

Wrapping a hand around my back, he pulled me flush to his chest as his kiss turned hungry.

I kissed him back, just as hungry, needing so much more.

He pulled back, gathering my hands in one of his. “I want you, more than you could possibly know,” he said breathlessly, “but when I sleep with you, Maddie, I want it to be special. Not something we fit in before we meet your old neighbors.”

His words sent a thrill through my blood, making me want him even more. But I liked that he wanted to wait. “I want that too.”

He kissed me again, making it clear that his postponement of our first time wasn’t due to a lack of interest. Then he lifted his head and grinned. “You’re making it hard for me to stick to my honorable intentions.”

I took a step backward, resisting the urge to convince him to stay. “Then let’s get started. I have to be back at work at five.”

“And we should probably get to your house by four-thirty. You can show me your aunt’s bedtime routine, and it’ll help her get comfortable with me being there.”

“I really appreciate you doing this, Noah.”

He reached for my hand. “Maddie, like I said, I want to help you in every way I can.”

He locked up his house, and we decided to take my car. If we were pressed for time, I could just take him to my house to go over everything, and I’d bring him home after I got off work.

I headed toward my old neighborhood, which was only a half mile away. I parked in front of the house I’d shared with my mother from when I was a toddler to my teenage years, and the familiar melancholy of everything I’d lost swept over me. The house was still the same pale tan with black shutters, and while the bushes out front were bigger, they were neatly trimmed. The place looked nearly identical to the one in my head, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Now, it was just a house. Still, the memories kept flooding me—planting flowers along the sidewalk from the driveway to the house, playing in my turtle sandbox in the back yard, learning how to ride my bike in the street I’d just driven down—and I fought tears.

What would our lives have been like now if she were still alive? Would I have come back to Cockamamie after college? Would I have gotten married and had kids? I had a hard time imagining my mom as a grandmother, but that was probably because she’d only been thirty-eight at the time of her death. I had no doubt she would have been an incredible one.

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