BELLA DIDN’T KNOW what was happening with Noah, but whatever it was, she liked it.
Nothing was said between them, but he came over to the farmhouse every day. He’d found the list she’d made of what needed doing and while she worked on her business plan for the café, sketching designs in her notebook, or scouring various property websites looking for appropriate café venues, he got to work on whichever thing needed fixing or finishing next.
A part of her wanted to protest, but since he didn’t ask if she needed help, often she didn’t even know he’d fixed something until it was done. Which made refusing next to impossible.
She wanted to find such behavior infuriating, but the truth was, she didn’t. It made her feel cared for instead.
And he didn’t only work on the house. He’d also either make them both a meal or bring down some food from his house. He’d do the pitiful amount of laundry that she had as well, often making extra clothes appear in her pile.
They’d come to an agreement on the food—he’d buy groceries for her while she made sure he kept a running total so she could pay him back when she could.
Every night he stayed over. They didn’t talk about that, either, but at the end of each meal he’d get to his feet, take her hand, and they’d go up to bed together, where he’d make love to her, slow and sweet.
Everything he did for her was like a small gift that she didn’t want to either like or accept, yet she did both.
It made the ache inside her less intense, the void less empty.
It also made her want to reciprocate.
She’d always been a good waitress at her few waitressing jobs because she listened to people. She was observant, too, paying attention to their likes and dislikes, and enjoyed putting them at ease, mainly because being paid to do so took the pressure off the interaction.
Now she wanted to do that for Noah. Serve him and care for him the way he was serving and caring for her.
She started small, bringing him a beer or making him a cup of coffee. He always said thank you, his hard mouth relaxing in that tantalizing almost-smile that made her heart beat fast.
She wasn’t much of a cook, but one morning she made him eggs and was rewarded with an honest-to-God actual smile when she’d brought them to him in bed.
And, yes, his smiles were as addicting as she’d thought they’d be.
She didn’t want to think about selling the house. Or about what her cousins would say when they found out. Or how in a couple of months she would be leaving.
So she didn’t.
Noah was up on the roof replacing a couple of the shingles a week or so later, and she’d gone outside to check on his progress, when she found something leaning against the wall beside the front door.
For a second she wondered why the hell there was a pine tree on her porch. And then she realized that it wasn’t simply a pine tree.
It was a Christmas tree.
She scanned the front yard and the street beyond to see where the tree had come from, because she hadn’t heard anyone deliver it.
But both the yard and the street were empty.
A scraping sound came from overhead and Noah appeared, coming back down the ladder that was leaning against the porch roof. He jumped down onto the snowy ground and dusted off his hands.
“Damnedest thing,” he said, coming up the porch steps. “When I went to get some replacement shingles today, I ran into Cade Mathewson. Apparently he fixed up a few things in the house this summer.”
Cade Mathewson. A familiar name, but like so many of the people connected with Jasper Creek, she couldn’t put a face to it.
“Did he? Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Yeah, I know. Swore he fixed them properly, too. No chance of them breaking over fall.”
“Perhaps he only thought he fixed them?”
“No. Cade knows what he’s doing. If he fixed them, he fixed them.” Abruptly, Noah frowned. “That a tree?”
“What? Oh, yes. It just kind of turned up.”
Noah didn’t seem surprised. “It’s probably from Remy. He brought June a tree every year.”
“Remy?” Bella asked blankly.
“Remy West,” Noah clarified.
Another familiar name. That last summer at Grandma June’s, when they’d all played sardines, and a tall, handsome teenage boy had found them. He’d been Remy West. And he and Keira had had a thing, hadn’t they?
“Oh,” she said, not wanting to give away how little she knew about the town and the people in it. It made her feel ashamed, even though it hadn’t been her fault her mother had taken her away. “I wonder why he left it here, then? He must know Grandma June isn’t here anymore.”
“He knows. It might be that your cousin put him up to it.”
Keira. Tall, beautiful Keira. So much older than Bella and way cooler. A little awe-inspiring even. But Bella had lost touch with her the way she had with JJ and Lila, too.
What had their seasons been like in the farmhouse? Had they found it difficult? Or had they found a little scrap of happiness here the way she had?
You should contact them.
But she wasn’t ready for that. She wanted to exist in this fragile little bubble she’d created with Noah. Where it was just her and him, and the outside world meant nothing.
Bella moved over to the tree, brushing her fingertips through the prickly green needles. “I’ve never had a Christmas tree. Mom didn’t like Christmas so we never got one.”
“We used to.” Noah’s voice was a gentle rumble at her back. “At least until Mom left and then Dad just...forgot.”
Her throat felt thick. She didn’t want to turn and look at him, because by unspoken agreement, they’d avoided talking about emotional stuff. She’d even forgotten it was Christmastime.
“When is Christmas again?” she asked.
“Couple of days.”
“Oh, right. So...what should we do with the tree?” It seemed a stupid question, but she seriously didn’t know. “I didn’t ask for it. I mean, we could put it around behind the back of the house or something.”
Warmth behind her, the familiar scent of snow and Noah mingling with the spicy smell of the pine needles. He wasn’t a man given to casual contact and he didn’t touch her now, even though a part of her very much wanted him to.
But she didn’t say anything, settling for enjoying the delicious heat of his nearness in contrast with the chill in the air.
“There are some decorations up in the attic.” He sounded very close. “I used to help June decorate the tree after Mom left, and she made me go up there and get the box.”
Bella stared at the tree, conscious of Noah at her back, thinking about her grandmother and all the Christmases Bella herself had missed out on. Of the Christmases Noah had missed out on, too. Christmases June had clearly tried to make him part of, because Bella was sure giving one lonely boy some Christmas cheer had been intentional on her grandmother’s part.
Lonely. Yes, that was what they’d both been. But they weren’t so lonely now. And this Christmas could be different. This Christmas they had each other.
Temporary, remember?
Sure, but wanting one Christmas with Noah wasn’t going to change anything. She’d still leave at the end of the season. But before she did, how could having one traditional Christmas hurt? With a tree and decorations. Snow and a fire and hot chocolate. Maybe even presents. Not that she could afford presents, but she could make something. It would be nice to give Noah something in return for everything he’d done for her.
Longing unfurled inside her, a sweet ache for something she never even knew she wanted until now.
“Shall we...?” She stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “Shall we have Christmas, Noah?”
He didn’t speak.
She turned to look at him. His face had that impenetrable look that he got sometimes at night when he held her, or when she caught him looking at her sometimes. She wished she knew what it meant, what was going on behind those enigmatic dark eyes.
“Do you want Christmas?” His voice was expressionless.
Well, he might be expressionless, but Bella realized she wasn’t. “Yes. I think this year, I do. Actually, I think we do.”
Fierce emotion flickered briefly over his features, like a door opening on a raging fire before abruptly shutting. “Yeah, okay. Why not?” He glanced at the tree. “Where do you want this, then? The living room?”
Noah found something to put the tree in, and while he was doing that, Bella ventured up the rickety pull-down stairs that led up into the dusty attic. She didn’t linger, scanning the piled up boxes and old bits of furniture. Eventually she discovered a box that had Christmas written in thick black marker on the side.
The box was large, but not heavy, and she managed to maneuver it downstairs.
Noah had finished erecting the tree and now the living room was full of the scent of pine needles, and the sweet ache in Bella’s chest began to spread out, making it almost hurt to breathe.
She’d never had that scent filling her house, yet, somehow, it was familiar, anyway.
Clasping the box tightly, she brought it into the room, setting it down next to Noah, who was crouched beside the tree, adjusting the bucket the tree stood in.
“It looks great,” she said. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He glanced at the box. “You found it.”
“Yeah.” She pulled the box open, revealing glittering tinsel, baubles, lights and other Christmas paraphernalia, then looked at him. “You want to help me with this?”
The currents in his eyes shifted. “Did you just ask me for help, honey?”
She blushed for no good reason, but didn’t look away. “So? What are you going to do about it?”
The corner of his fascinating mouth quirked. “Apparently I’m going to help you.”
“Excellent.” She pulled out a length of red tinsel and held it out to him. “Make yourself useful, then.”
Noah wasn’t much for artistic draping, so she made the most of showing him how to do it properly, loving the way amusement lit his gaze as she did so. He wasn’t above being teased or given directions to hang things in spots she couldn’t reach, and after a little while, the amusement in his eyes began to take on a familiar heat.
“You’re good at that.” His deep voice was full of approval.
“What?” Her cheeks felt hot. “Hanging decorations?”
“I mean making things look good. June’s tree always looked like someone had emptied the decoration box over it. But the way you’ve done it... It’s like something out of a magazine.”
His praise made her feel warm inside—had anyone ever told her that she was good at something?
“Thanks.” Her cheeks got even hotter. “I like doing that stuff. You know, creating an atmosphere.”
“I bet you could use that for your café.”
She shifted nervously on her feet, hesitant. No one else had seen her design notebook. “I have. I’ve got some sketches of what I want the interior to look like already.”
Instantly, his gaze lit. “Show me.”
A little quiver went through her, the warmth inside her glowing hot. He made her breathless and giddy, a part of her wanting to jump him right there under the Christmas tree, sketches be damned. But she hadn’t finished decorating and she wanted to do that before they got looking at her café design or...other things.
“Later.” She gave him a naughty grin. “The tree’s not finished yet.”
Bending over the nearly empty box, she pushed aside the last bit of tinsel to see if she could see a tree topper. And there, right at the bottom, was a small battered cardboard star painted silver.
Bella lost her breath. Because she recognized that star. She’d made it at school when she’d been a kid and had given it to June.
She hadn’t realized her grandmother had kept it.
“Oh, good,” Noah said from behind her. “You found the star.”
Her star.
Sensing her sudden distress, Noah turned her gently around to face him. “Hey. What’s up?”
She swallowed, gazing down at the dog-eared star in her hands. “This is my star. I made it when I was a kid. I didn’t realize Grandma kept it.”
Noah was silent a moment. Then he took the star from her hand and turned to the tree. “June always let me put the star up. She said it wasn’t Christmas until the star was on the tree.” He reached up and deftly fixed the star right at the top, then turned, his dark gaze focusing on her. “I guess it’s Christmas now.”
Bella’s throat closed, tears in her eyes. So many things she’d missed out on. Things she hadn’t even realized she wanted. But it seemed a little piece of her had remained here all along.
Her grandmother had made sure of it.
Noah’s gaze turned searching. “You okay, honey?”
Oh, God, when his voice got tender... It undid her.
“I didn’t realize she’d kept it,” Bella said. “Mom didn’t go to any of the family stuff that Grandma organized so I never did, either. And then we left and I lost contact with everyone. I just... I thought they’d forgotten about me.”
Noah pulled her gently against him. “You weren’t forgotten, Bella.”
She put her hands to his chest. “You forgot me.”
“I never knew you to start with.”
Bella tilted her head back, looking into the swirling darkness of his eyes. He was such a closed book. As isolated as she had been, though, she had the sense that his isolation had been self-imposed. That he’d cut himself off purposefully.
“Did you ever know anyone, Noah?” she asked. “And did you let anyone really know you?”
BELLA LOOKED UP at him, and Noah had to bite down on his instinctive, defensive response. Because there was no sarcasm in her tone; it was a genuine question.
Yet he still didn’t want to answer it.
Not when you know what the answer’s going to be.
He hadn’t let people know him. A few had tried, but they’d been put off by Hank’s behavior and his reputation. And Noah had been touchy about their sympathy. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, either.
That’s an excuse. You never made any effort to get past that.
And why should he? They’d all kept their distance and he’d been fine with it. He didn’t want anyone to know him, anyway.
“What kind of question is that?” He released her, finding her closeness painful for reasons he couldn’t articulate.
A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “You seem kind of...isolated. And I wondered why.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets, fighting the urge to walk out the room, because he didn’t want to stay and have this discussion.
He’d known helping her with the tree would be a mistake, but she’d looked so wistfully at it when it had appeared and the faint husk in her voice when she’d told him she’d never had a Christmas had made his chest constrict.
This whole week he’d been doing little things for her and she’d let him, and the enjoyment he’d gotten from her simple pleasure had been balm to a wound he hadn’t known was festering.
He’d never made such a difference to a person before and he liked it. He’d liked the cups of coffee, the odd cans of beer and the meals she’d made for him, too. All things he preferred done in a particular way and she’d done them exactly the way he’d preferred. She’d paid attention to him and that made him feel good. He hadn’t been taken care of like that since his mother had left.
So helping her with Christmas seemed like another of those small things.
Except the way she’d looked at that star and the gleam of tears in her eyes hadn’t been a small thing. Neither was the way she looked at him now, as if she wanted to know things about him.
He’d assumed that controlled exposure to his drug of choice would help him control it better, and it was true to a certain extent. It meant his brain wasn’t constantly occupied by thoughts of her.
It was only at night in that bed that the hunger felt too much. As if what she gave him wasn’t enough. As if he wanted more, though what he wanted more of he didn’t know.
What he did know was that he didn’t want to talk about himself.
“I’m not isolated.” He tried to sound casual. “I get plenty of company.”
“With who?”
“You want a list of my friends or something?”
“Noah...”
“I don’t need company, anyway. I like being on my own.” He stared belligerently at her. The look in her eyes was suspiciously like sympathy, or understanding, and it made him feel as brittle as one of those fragile blown-glass baubles she’d put on the tree.
Bella put her hands in her pockets, too, mirroring him. “I thought I liked being on my own, too. But turns out...” Her lovely mouth curved in a shy smile. “I prefer being with you.”
There was no reason for those words to make him feel as if she’d peeled apart his chest and reached for his heart. Yet they did.
Why the hell would she like that? No one else ever had.
A dull anger simmered inside him that he’d successfully ignored for years. Until now.
Until she’d uncovered it, dousing it with gas, making it burn a hell of a lot hotter.
“Why? Because you like having dinner made for you and the house fixed?” He’d meant it to sound dry yet the words came out sharp.
She frowned. “No, of course not. Those are nice things that you do, but that’s not why I like being with you.”
“You don’t know me.” He sounded like an asshole, but he couldn’t seem to adjust his tone. “That’s just the orgasms talking.”
The sparkle in her eyes and the blush in her cheeks that had been there while they’d been decorating the tree slowly drained away. Great. Now he not only sounded like an asshole, he felt like one, too.
“It’s not the orgasms,” she said.
“How do you know?” He should really shut up. “You don’t know me from a goddamn bar of soap.”
“And whose fault is that? You never talk about yourself. You never talk about anything. As soon as I ask a question about you or the conversation moves to a topic you don’t like, you don’t speak. Or you change the subject.” Her chin lifted. “Or you get all stone-faced.”
He wanted to tell her that he didn’t do any of those things. But she was right. He did.
“You’re not exactly chatty yourself,” he said, aware he sounded defensive as hell.
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
So now she was going to be open with him? Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Not when he couldn’t give her the same openness in return.
Couldn’t? Wouldn’t, you mean.
“I don’t need to know anything,” he said flatly. “What I need to do is go buy some paint for the hallway.”
“Didn’t you want to look at those sketches?”
Yeah, he’d said that. And he did want to look at them, because he had a feeling they’d be good. But right now, doing that made him feel as if he’d be getting deeper into something that would overwhelm him if he wasn’t careful.
“Bella...”
She just looked at him. “Okay, here’s something else you might want to know, then. I haven’t been with a guy before. You’re my first.”
He felt like she’d punched him in the gut. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her gaze was very level. “I was a virgin.”
Shock rippled through him. On the stairs, where he’d pushed her down. The hard stairs. And he’d thrust inside her with no care. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that she was a virgin, not when she’d clawed at him in her desperation...
Heat washed through him, possessive and territorial...
Shit, he couldn’t be pleased about that surely?
He ignored it, reaching for anger instead. “You should have told me.”
“Why? What difference would it have made?”
“I might have been gentler. I would at least have taken you to a goddam bed.”
“It didn’t even occur to me.” Challenge glowed in her eyes. “I wanted you. And besides, if I told you, you might have stopped.
Would he?
No. You wouldn’t.
The possessiveness tightened at the same time as a sense of shame gripped him. At himself and what he’d done. At the need inside him that he’d lost of control of that day on the stairs.
He should have gotten a handle on it and he hadn’t.
Yet another reason why being here with her had been a bad idea from the start.
Tension crawled through him, his fingers curling into fists in his pockets. “Anything else you want to tell me? Before I get that paint?”
“There’s plenty I could tell you.” She lifted a shoulder. “You only have to ask.”
He didn’t understand why that made him angrier. “I’m not going to be asking,” he said harshly. “I don’t want to know.”
The way she looked at him felt like she was cutting him to pieces, discovering all his secrets, seeing inside his head.
“It’s all right.” Her voice was soft. “You don’t have to give me anything back. You’ve done a lot for me this week so you get to ask for whatever you want.”
Her. You want her.
The thought was instant and crystal clear, but he couldn’t say it. He had to resist the temptation. He had to prove himself stronger than his father.
“I don’t want anything.” He tried to sound convincing.
“Don’t you?” Bella’s gaze felt like delicate fingers closing around his heart. “Not a single thing?”
“No.” Maybe if he told himself enough times, he’d believe it. “I told you, I don’t want anything. Not from anyone.”
A flicker of distress rippled over her face, then vanished. “Not even...from me?”
The hesitancy in her voice and the spark of hope in her gaze broke him. He had to shut her down. Had to give her the same honesty she’d given him. And maybe once he had, she’d understand.
“Not even from you.” He kept the words flat. “I’m done with wanting things from people, Bella. I almost failed school because I had to look after Dad and I missed out entirely on going to college. I couldn’t date, couldn’t travel. Couldn’t spend time with my friends, all the usual stuff guys my age did. And that’s not even going into the years I didn’t get of him actually being a goddamn father to me. It was like pouring myself into a black hole, and I’m done.” He held her gaze. “I’ll help you fix this house, because I said I would, but that’s it.”
Hurt bloomed in her eyes, but she masked it quickly, black lashes coming down, veiling her gaze. “Okay,” she said. “I understand.”
But she didn’t.
So tell her?
No. He’d told her the truth. He was done with giving pieces of himself to people who didn’t want them. People who took and took and didn’t give anything back.
He’d given away too much. There wasn’t anything left for her.
“I’ll go get that paint,” he said brusquely and brushed past her.