Page 31 of Be Mine

“You don’t have to; I saw how you were together before you left the club.”

“And how was that?” I’m genuinely curious. I have vague recollections of Friday night. I have no idea how Noah got me out of there without anyone noticing.

“Like you could start a fire from looks alone.” She mock fans herself, before swiping the blinker to turn onto her street.

“That’s how we looked together?”

“Babe, he is fifty shades of fucked up over you. From the moment he clocked you across the room, it was like you were the only one who existed. And he did that thing where he came up behind you and claimed you by wrapping his hand around your throat. It was straight out of a book. I got hotter watching you two for a few minutes than I did for an entire night with Forest.”

Wow.

“You didn’t see anything odd that night?”

“Nope, cops came and spoke to me and Forest. Emmett’s ego was wounded when you left with another guy, but Forest and I were ready to leave. He chose to stay behind. That’s the last anyone’s heard from him.”

Noah managed to drug and kidnap me, and somehow make it like we were two lovers ready to ravage each other. Then he murders a guy, all in one night.

I have so much to mentally unpack later.

“Thanks for helping me out, I appreciate it,” I say to her as I transfer stuff from her car to mine.

“Frankie, any time, babe. I’m here for you.” That means a lot to me. More than she knows.

“I know, and same. If you ever need anything, just ask.”

Chapter Twenty

Frankie

Everyone is still talking about Luke when I get into work Monday morning. So far, it’s been deemed an accident. Luke has a broken hip and leg, as well as a fractured wrist. He’s shaken up, but is coherent and has told some of the co-workers who visited him in the hospital he fell in trying to reach for something and was knocked unconscious. Whoever turned the baler on was unaware he was in there. Fortunately, the baler was mostly empty, and someone was able to find him in time. I don’t know if his memory is genuinely foggy or if he’s been warned to keep his mouth shut. Either way, there’s a sense of relief knowing no one suspects Noah.

I haven’t heard from him since we went to the police station yesterday. Part of me hoped he would call or text, but it’s been deafening silence. My gaze has been fixed down the other end of the store. I’ve found every reason to be on the floor, marking down products, pulling expired stock, and rearranging things that don’t need to be adjusted, in hopes of seeing him. Each time I see a person come through the flap doors, a glimmer of hope takes over me—only to be squashed with disappointment when I realize it’s not him.

My gut is twisted in knots not knowing where he is. Something happened between us this weekend. Something Iwasn’t willing to fully examine while I was there. I was too preoccupied with finding a way out of the situation to sit and explorewhyI was there. Noah practically confessed his love to me. True to his promise, he never harmed me in ways I didn’t want him to. He worshipped my body, cherished me, and yet I never gave him anything in return. Just like when we were kids. I never stood up for him. I never claimed him the way he claimed me. And just like when we were kids, he retreated into obscurity, because without saying the words, I fucking rejected him. Again.

The more time passes, the more I realize there was always an inexplicable pull towards him. My body was aware of him, even if my mind refused to accept it. We connect on a cellular level, and when those atoms collide, it’s like fireworks. Can I look past his transgressions, to see what is underneath all those layers? Yesterday, I wasn’t too sure. But today, they seem trivial and pale in comparison to how my heart aches to see the man with the glacial stare and stony expression.

Taylor and I have been exchanging looks all morning, and I know she’s waiting until Cynthia fucks off somewhere to come talk to me. I try to busy myself. There’s a lull now another holiday is over, so I take inventory and place orders for things we need to refresh. But my mind isn’t in it. I’ve recounted cake toppers three times and misplaced my pen twice as much.

Naturally, once a bundle of work was to be done, some buns on the cooling racks ready to be bagged, Cynthia makes herself scarce. It would typically infuriate us, but I want to talk to Taylor, then go snooping around in search of Noah. I needed to speak to him.

“Let me guess, he hasn’t called?” Taylor was reading me like a book. If she only knew it was a hell of a lot more complex than that.

“No, he hasn’t. I haven’t seen or heard from him since you picked me up from the station.” I mutter, holding my palm to my forehead. I needed to ease the nerves.

“So text him. Who says you have to wait for the man?”

“I would but…”

“He never gave you his number,” she finishes the sentence for me. Clearly, Taylor has been subjected to the ghosting technique, as well.

I shake my head and lean against the cabinet housing some of the cake supplies, thumbing the pendant Noah gave me that sits under my shirt.

“Do you think it was a one-night stand?” she asks and I know where she’s going with this. She doesn’t want to see me embarrassing myself or breaking my heart over something that was only meant to be a little fun.

“No, it was more. I think I fucked up and I need to apologize.”

“Go see if he’s there. If Cynthia comes back, I’ll cover for you, say you have explosive diarrhea or some shit.”

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