Page 72 of Brim Over Boot
Probably taking his lunch break.
After returning my finished horse to her stall, I wash up and head to my truck to grab the food I brought from home. Ash made mac and cheese yesterday, along with these delicious little cherry tarts. I pop one in my mouth on my way back to the stables. Noah isn’t in his own vehicle, which means he must be inside.
Not that I’m looking for him or anything.
There’s a break room near the arena that has a kitchenette, so I head that way to heat up my food. Unsurprisingly, I find Noah there, seated at the small table. I head to the microwave, putting my mac and cheese inside and setting the timer.
Noah doesn’t say anything. I eye his lunch, but he looks to be mostly done, on to dessert now.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He angles the container my way. “Strawberry cream pie. Want a bite?”
I shiver, taking an involuntary step back. “Oh, hell no. Can’t stand the stuff.”
Not after eating so much of it on my tenth birthday that I spent the entire following day in the bathroom.
“That so?” Noah says, a soft smirk on his face. He takes another bite.
What’s he so happy about?
The microwave beeps, and I take my food out. I debate whether I should stand or sit before deciding I’m being ridiculous. Not sitting would be like letting him win.
Win what, I’m not sure.
I plunk down in a seat.
“Smells good,” he says.
I eye him as I chew. “Why the fuck are you being so…nice?”
He’s been like this all morning. Affable. Smiling and in what I can only describe as agood mood.
Noah is never in a good mood. He’s a surly bastard.
He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. “I’m always nice.”
I bark a laugh. “Fuck off. No, you’re not.”
He sighs, closing his eyes for a second before setting his container down. “Your experience is not universal, Colton. Usually, Iamnice.”
I frown. So he’s justnot niceto me. That shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
Why am I even surprised, though? It’s not news that Noah and I have a relationship built on rivalry and downright animosity. Of course Noah isn’t nice to me.
Except—he has been today. What does that mean?
I flush, recalling last night in Noah’s barn. Is he…buttering me up? Being nice so I’ll come to heel when he calls?
Why the fuck doesn’t that piss me off like it should?
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “It doesn’t mean I trust you.”
Something flickers in his gaze before he crosses his arms. “Do you need to?”
Yes, I think to myself.
“No,” I answer. “Why would I?”
