Page 45 of Intermission
Noah wrenches the passenger door open, interrupting my musings. As I climb in, he asks, “Are you in a hurry to get back home?”
“No. I do turn into a pumpkin at midnight, but as long as I make curfew, we’re cool.”
“Do you have a lot of homework this weekend?”
“I finished it right about the time Dr. Hitchings was trying to convince Darla that her Austrian accent wasn’t necessary to the integrity of her character.”
“Whatever that accent was, it wasn’t Austrian.” Noah laughs. “It sounded like a cross between Scottish and... I don’t know...Vietnamese?”
“For real.” I laugh through my grimace. “But, back to your question. No, I’m not in a hurry to get home. I mean, it’s nine o’clock on Friday night.”
With a cockeyed grin, he hums a few bars of a song.
“‘Piano Man’?” I guess. He nods. “Wrong day. In the song, it’s aSaturday.”
“You know me, always changing the lyrics to suit the moment.” He winks and slams the car door. Eliza requires a firm hand.
“I can’t be out too late tonight,” he explains after he cranks the now-lukewarm heat. “I’m on the early shift tomorrow. But I’d like to show you something I helped Mac build a couple summers ago, ifyou’re interested.”
“Sure. A house?”
“Not remotely.” Noah looks over and smiles. “Let me surprise you.”
About three miles outside of Kanton, Noah turns onto a snow-packed gravel road. The county road crews have done an admirable job clearing a path, but Noah is careful to take it slow.
He points at a large Cape Cod style house. “That’s where I live. There’s a set of stairs just inside the garage that lead up to my apartment, so I can come and go as I please without bothering anyone.”
Is he taking me to his—?
“Noah, I don’t think we—” My words cut off when he doesn’t turn into the driveway.
“What’s wrong?”
“Never mind. Sorry. I thought you were going to take me to your apartment.”
“Uh, no.” He shakes his head. “That would be a really bad idea. Besides, this is much better. And we’re almost there.” Noah makes a slow, sharp right into what looks like a field entrance, but wide tire tracks and piles of snow to either side show it’s been recently plowed.
“There’s a stocked pond just down this lane. It’s frozen now, of course, but since Mac likes to go ice fishing, he keeps the path cleared. There aren’t any lights around, and the trees are still small, but the dock—that’s what I helped build—is a great place to stargaze.” The car hits a bump. “Sorry. It’s not really a road.”
“I’m a farm girl.” I grin. “I can take it.”
“A farm girl?” Noah laughs. “You aresonot a farm girl. You live in Parre Hills, the only gated community within a ninety-mile radius.”
“Okay, but it’s kind of in the country, and my mom has a big garden, so it’s almost the same thing.”
“I’m not sure the thousand-acre, combine-driving FFA memberswould agree, but... whatever you say, Farm Girl.” Noah chuckles and shifts the car into park. He pushes the overhead light on. “I’m glad you wore boots. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
I turn sideways in my seat, press my feet against the door, and pull the door handle. The door wrenches open, almost hitting Noah as he comes around to my side of the car.
“Oh! Sorry!” I step onto the pathway’s well-packed snow.
“You’re stealing my chivalry.”
I grasp his offered hand. “I can stage a do-over if it makes you feel better.” Placing the back of my hand across my forehead, I adopt a breathy southern accent. “Oh, de-ah me, Mista Spensa. I do believe I feel a bit of a swoon comin’ on.”
I tip to the right and let myself fall. Noah will catch me.
He does. But then, with a grin, he lets go.
