Page 13 of Reconnected Hearts
Then a dozen more.
Then another.
I suppose that finally, Noah and I are peacefully coexisting without wanting to bite each other's heads off. It’s truthfully a bit worrying that he hasn’t made a single snide remark, but I remind myself that it’s not my job to be concerned about him. It’s my instinct to want to comfort the people around me, but I am trying to change that. The last time I was asked to abandon every single one of my principals was when Jace asked me to still be “friends” after he'd cheated. The worst part is thatI nearly said yes. I missed him, and still loved him and I still felt the desire to make him happy. I’ve learned now that it isn’t my job to do that. I can’t let people in who might hurt me. I must stand by my gut, no matter how sad Noah looks slouched in his seat, staring up aimlessly at the ceiling.
Nearly an hour later, we’re finally allowed off the plane. I gather my things and, without so much as sparing him a single glance, crawl over Noah to the aisle. I push ahead of all the people, far too exhausted to care about trivialities such as manners and feel like I can finally breathe again when I make it onto the loading bridge and into the airport. I’m sure the airport is nice and all, but I’m not paying attention to anything but the floor below me as I follow the flow of people to the baggage claim. I cannot wait to get to the hotel, change into clean clothes, and finally sleep off this long day.
As we pass through the translucent, revolving doors that mark the separation of the secured gates from the baggage claims and check-in desks, I notice Noah is following right behind me, entirely too close for comfort. His cologne invades my nostrils. I opt to ignore him, figuring he’s just as done with the day as I am and is only trying to collect his bags as quickly as possible.
I wait by the revolving luggage carousel for my suitcase to appear, Noah lingering a few feet away. I pass the time by letting my dad know that with any luck, I’ll arrive in time for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow evening. I’m not sure I really believe that, but I’ll say anything to keep him from calling me in a panic, worried that I won’t make it for the wedding that Iso desperatelyhave to be there for. Yeah, right. I’ll catch the next wedding, bring two gifts instead of one, and we’ll call it even.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Noah has already retrieved his bag, but he doesn’t seem to have any intention of meeting up with the shuttles outside. He’s just standing there, staring blankly at the carousel spinning around and around. I tell myself that he probably just has another bag that he’s waiting for. I shouldn’t care. No, Idon’tcare. Whatever the hell he’s doing is not my problem.
Only, by the time my bag—one of the last to come through—appears, not only is Noah still lurking, but he’s also moved noticeably closer.
My skin tingles at the closeness.Probably just a form of allergic reaction, I tell myself.
“Can I help you?” I ask, sizing him up in one quick glance. His body language isn’t at all tense or aggressive. In fact, it’s rather lazy and passive.
He blinks at me, and I amsurethere’s nothing going on in his brain. But, hey—that’s not much of a surprise. I could’ve guessed that back in college, when he was asked to describe the characters inPride and Prejudiceand his response was “prideful.”
“What?” He sweeps a curl out of his face, leaning against his case and crossing his arms. I find myself mirroring his posture, my own arms folded across my chest. Realizing what I have done, I immediately uncross them, silently berating myself for subconsciously echoing his body language.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re following me. What, you wanna get me alone so you can drag me into a dark corner and stab me when no one’s looking?”
His eyebrows raise to his hairline and he scoffs in disbelief. “Okay, chill out, Veronica Mars. I’m notfollowingyou, and I’m definitely not plotting your demise. I’mwaitingfor you. So you aren’t stuck in this eerily empty airport and on the shuttle alone. I’ve got little sisters. I’ve read up about what happens to pretty, young women late at night. As much as you annoy me—which, believe me, is alot—I’d really rather not see you on a true crime documentary, alright?”
My heart leaps a little in surprise. Okay, so maybe—justmaybe—that’s a nice sentiment.
As much as I don’t need any protection (thank you to my overbearing, yet practical mother for funding six years of martial arts classes), Noah has good intentions, and it is sort of nice to not have to ride to the hotel alone in one of those grimy vans that definitely harvest some incurable disease.
Not that I’m going to cut him a break, though. One nice gesture cannot repair years of bullying.
“Noah Laurier, you think I’mpretty?”
Noah throws his head back in exasperation and groans. “You are impossible! Lucy, just get your bag so we can leave!”
Snickering to myself I go after my suitcase, which has nearly made it all the way to the other end of the carousel in the time I spent talking with Noah. I purposely move without any particular rush, just to annoy him. I know I probably shouldn’t get so much amusement from his displeasure, but his dumb frown is just so entertaining. I simply cannot take him seriously.
“Lucy!” he angrily calls out at me after my third time reaching for and “missing” my bag.
“Alright, alright!” I laugh as I finally grab the luggage and stroll back over to him. Side-by-side, with a good amount of distance between us, because, you know,man germs, we walk out just in time to catch the last shuttle of the night to the hotel. I breathe a silent sigh of relief because it would’ve been just my luck to miss the ride. I never would’ve heard the end of it from Noah.Especiallysince I would be entirely to blame for playing around.
He sits next to me in the row furthest from the driver even though there are plenty of other open seats. I don’t bother trying to move away from him. As much as I hate to admit it, it does feel kind of nice to have a familiar face beside me, even if he is incredibly good at getting on my nerves.
I look over at him. He stares out the window with an earbud plugged into the ear opposite of me. I don’t mean to stare, but I find myself studying how he moves his head to music. It’s sort of cute how his hair flops up and down.
But then he catches me watching him and winks suggestively at me.I quickly avert my gaze, annoyed that I had allowed myself to be distracted by his physicality, even for a moment.
Noah Laurier isnotmy type, I tryso hardto convince myself.
CHAPTER8
NOAH
Lucy and I are the last to arrive at the hotel. There isn’t another soul in sight by the time we reach the lobby. It’s eerily quiet other than an older lady behind the desk idly watching the news on one of the surrounding televisions. When she sees us coming, she raises her eyebrows in surprise.
“Flight 282?” she asks.
