Page 44 of Coming Home

Showered and changed into a short, green, sunflower-patterned T-shirt dress, she descended from the sleeping loft to find the table set. Her scrapbooking supplies had been tucked back into her bedazzled crafting kit and moved to the desk near the front window. The salad bowl, which he’d clearly brought from home, a glass dish of lasagna, and a platter of unburnt garlic bread sat on the counter. A set of pint glasses and silverware flanked white ceramic plates and bowls trimmed in swirls of bright rainbows on the table.

“This looks great,” she said, inhaling the delicious aroma.

Stepping close, Noah brushed a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear. “You look beautiful.”

No smile erupted because a permanent one was Gorilla-glued to her face. She fought the urge to pinch herself just to confirm this wasn’t a dream, just in case it was.

If it is, let me keep sleeping.

She settled at the table while Noah made their plates. He’d changed from the blue jeans and T-shirt he’d worn earlier into a different pair of jeans and a black T-shirt withFarmer’s Alein white block lettering. The shirt molded over his sculpted chest and cut torso.

“What?” Noah’s eyebrow cocked, and a smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Just admiring you inthatT-shirt.” She winked and picked up a fork.

A rumble of laughter skipped out of him. “Nat Owens, do not objectify me.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to grab your cider and my beer out of the fridge. Try not to ogle my ass as I do so.”

As Noah strode to the fridge, the laughter belted out of her. With a seductive sway of his hips that rivaled Jessica Rabbit, he sauntered to the fridge, opened it, and bent over. Head twisted over his shoulder, he winked with a cheeky smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” she giggled.

This was the best part about Noah. Well, they were all the best parts. He always made her laugh or smile or both. Even in the darkest of moments, his light shined so bright. Its brightness seemed to almost say it was all only for her. The crush-sick little girl and teenager who had daydreamed about this were floored that their fantasies didn’t hold a candle to the reality of Noah.

In his usual stride, he returned to the table and placed the bottles of watermelon cider and pale ale on the table. With the bottle opener from his keychain, he popped each bottle and poured them into their glasses.

“Before we do theveryadult thing of talking,” she said, glass in hand. “A toast to the chef.”

They clinked glasses.

“So, you finally went full vegetarian?” She forked up a bite of cheesy lasagna.

“Yeah. I couldn’t stomach it anymore. The smell…” His eyes shifted to the darkness outside the window.

Those blue eyes saw so much but had seen even more. Much more than the charming smile and amiable personality showed the world. At times, the unsaid seemed to weigh heavy on him.That heaviness sometimes cast shadows under his eyes after suspected sleepless nights, kidnapped him to a different place while his body remained in the room, and pinned a rigidity to his jaw.

They’d never really spoken about what happened during his two deployments. What he’d seen. What he’d done. She knew he’d been injured but never pushed. Instead, she just allowed herself to be there in quiet acceptance. After all, she understood the pain of things you could…or wouldn’t talk about.

“It’s really good,” she commented, taking another bite.

Noah’s gaze drifted back to her. “Thanks.”

“There’re so many vegetarian options for things. Even wings. I had some decent cauliflower wings back in Boston.”

His face contorted into a grimace. “I draw the line there! Daryl’s wings and pizza with Clayton is the exception. Can’t break tradition.”

Nat nodded.

Once a week since they’d been fourteen, minus the time both lived in different places, Clayton and Noah grabbed takeout from Daryl’s Pizzeria. It started as a post-game tradition on Wednesday nights after their JV football games. It was just one of the many traditions they had.

“Clayton,” she said, nibbling on her lip.

“Clayton,” he repeated.

“If this isn’t a one-time thing, that is one six-foot-five hurdle we’ll need to get over.” Nat’s mouth dropped open. Her breath caught. “Oh, my goddess…our fathers…our mothers.”

How would their families react to this? How would this impact the dynamic between the attached-at-the-hip Wilson and Owens clans? Nat liked the idea of it pulling them even closer, but her stomach swirled with misgiving that this relationship, if it was that, wouldn’t be welcomed. He was ten years older thanher. Their families were so close. If this didn’t go anywhere or ended badly, it may impact that closeness for everyone.

Noah reached across the table, threading his fingers in hers. “We don’t have to tell them. Not right away. We don’t have to tell anyone. We can figureusout first and then tell others.”

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