How hard can it be to find a guy in a pink hoodie?
I keep asking myself this as I cruise through downtown Burlington. I regretted getting mad almost immediately, but he was already gone.
What have I done? Yes, he acted like a sulky toddler, but I should not have let him press my buttons. What is my mom going to say if I arrive home without our new tenant? And what if Noah decides to wash his hands of me? All the awful possibilities are making me panic. I’ve got zero other options for farm help right now. I need Noah, and now I’ve completely alienated him.
Ugh. I hate to admit this because he’s such a jerk, but he is gorgeous. Even in his ridiculous surfer-dude clothing, he is stunning. Dark hair flopping onto his forehead, brown eyes with lashes longer than mine, and a lush, scowling mouth.
Of course, his good looks made me nervous, and then it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I could see that I was bugging him, yet I still could not shut up. Is there some kind of surgery I can get to lock my mouth in case of emergencies?
Despite Noah’s remark, Burlington is a very big place when you’re looking for a lost hockey player. I park the car and start searching on foot. As I speed-walk the main street, I call Rocky.
“I’ve lost Noah,” I say as soon as she answers.
“Already? Where?” she asks.
“If I knew, he wouldn’t be lost.” My normal speech patterns are back now that Noah is not here.
“No, no. I meant where did you last see him?” From the noise at her end, I know she’s putting on shoes and getting ready to help. This is why I love Rocky.
“I shoved him out of the car on Church Street,” I say.
Rocky laughs. “Mon dieu, why did you do that?”
“He’s very irritating. And he insulted Burlington.”
“Oh no. That’s a federal offense for sure. All right, I’m heading out onto campus. Where should I look?”
“Maybe the arena? It’s the natural habitat of hockey players.” I have no idea where Noah might go, and again panic grips me. Why did I throw him out? What is wrong with me?
“What’s he wearing?”
“A pink hoodie, board shorts, and flip-flops. All he’s missing is a surfboard.” It’s a look that would be ridiculous on anyone else but looked perfect on Noah. His tanned skin against the pink cotton, his muscular legs in the board shorts, even the hair on his calves looked hot. Is it any wonder I was reduced to a babbling mess?
“Well, he shouldn’t be too hard to find,” Rocky says. “Should I send out an S.O.S. to the whole team?”
“No. Please don’t. I’m really hoping to find him, apologize, and make like this never happened.”
She laughs again. “I can’t believe you got mad at him. You’re always so nice. Okay, I’m looking through the Green Bean now.”
“Thank you so much.” I’m feeling worse and worse. It’s completely out of character for me to throw a hissy fit. Poor Noah. He’s never even been here before, and he doesn’t even know where home is. Although he looks like the kind of guy who would pull out a credit card and wave it at any problem. And I have all his stuff in the back of the Explorer. Well, he has his phone. He could call my mom and say what? Your daughter is insane, and I no longer want to live with you guys.
“Zee, I can hear you starting to hyperventilate,” Rocky says. “Calm yourself. We’ll find him.”
“My mother’s going to kill me!” I am going full-blown panic attack now. I’m going to run so I can cover more ground and try to calm down. “I’m hanging up now. Call me if you see him.”
I search everywhere, including two Starbucks, but I can’t find Noah. For one second, I consider going to the police, but that seems ridiculous. Losing a 22-year-old man isn’t the same as losing a child. I check in with Rocky, but she’s seen no trace of Noah.
Darn. Well, maybe I should just go home. He’ll call my mother eventually. But the idea of going home and having to explain everything is humiliating.
My phone vibrates. It’s my mother.
“Zoe.” Her voice is completely normal. “Noah Goodwin is here. When will you be home?”
He’s there? Now I have a zillion questions, but I keep them to myself. “I’m on my way.”
The drive from Burlington to Shelburne usually takes fifteen minutes, but I make it in ten. There’s a car in the driveway that I don’t recognize.
I burst into the kitchen. Everyone is talking, but they stop and look at me. Noah is there in all his pink magnificence. He looks surprisingly relaxed with a coffee and the peach bran muffins I baked in front of him.
Then I notice who is on the other side of him: Helen Hendriks. She’s looking at Noah like he’s more delicious than any muffin.
Helen is my teammate at Moo U. We’re not enemies, but we’re definitely not friends. The biggest reason is that we’re in constant competition for the last defense spot every game. And she’s usually the one who wins it. Unlike a superstar like Noah, I’m a bubble player who gets scratched a lot.
Now it seems like Helen is going to swoop in here and take over Noah too. Not that I thought for a moment that I would have a chance with him, but does Helen have to win all the time?
“Did you get everything done?” my mother asks me.
“Uh, yes?” My answer sounds like more of a question.
“Noah said you had things to do in Burlington. That’s why Helen gave him a ride here,” my mother adds.
Okay, he may be a huge grouch, but I’m extremely grateful to Noah for not throwing me under the bus. I smile at him, but he doesn’t respond. Oh right, his face is set in a permanent scowl. Maybe his first girlfriend told him he looked hotter when he frowned and now that’s his look.
“Thanks for driving,” I say to Helen. She doesn’t even bother looking at me because Noah is in the room. She’s wearing a short denim skirt and flowery top that is kind of see-through. Naturally Noah gets rescued by someone glamorous like Helen, and not a 60-year-old farmer.
“Not a problem. I recognized Noah the moment I saw him. The men’s hockey team is pretty excited to get you.” Then she flutters her heavily mascaraed lashes. The men’s team can’t be more excited than Helen about Noah’s arrival.
The man himself looks down modestly. Oh please, the last thing his ego needs is flattery. Now that I realize he’s okay, I’m still mad at him.
Helen is stuck on Team Compliment. “Your father is such a legendary hockey player. One of the toughest guys in the game. I’ve always tried to pattern my game after his.”
This is the biggest crock I’ve ever heard. Helen’s game is as tough as a toothless gerbil. My only comfort is that Noah is regarding her like something he needs to scrape off his shoe.
She continues to talk about hockey and the huge role that Noah is going to play. My mother fawns over him too, asking him questions about his family and offering him more coffee and muffins. If this is how most women treat him, it’s no wonder that he’s so arrogant.
Nobody talks to me. It feels like I interrupted an interesting conversation, and now I want to flee my own kitchen. “Well, I’m going to head out and do the early chores.”
Noah gets up too. “Better see what I’m in for.” His low voice has a slight California lilt, which makes me think of surf movies and stoners.
“And I should get back to my friends,” Helen says.
The three of us walk outside together. She turns to Noah. “You’ve got my number. Call me anytime you need a ride.” The way she emphasizes the word “ride” suggests no car will be involved.
Noah thanks her politely. Does he not understand that Helen is coming on to him, or is he ignoring her? The third possibility is so many women come on to him that he doesn’t even notice anymore. I’ve lived with Derek his whole life, but I can see that life with Noah will be different. Oh my goodness, will he bring girlfriends home? Because my bedroom is right next to his, and I do not want to be the audience to his conquests.
Helen lingers but finally realizes that grouchy Noah is not going to fulfil her sexual fantasies in our driveway and leaves.
My temper tantrum and ensuing panic attack have had one positive result: I’ve stopped babbling nonstop. Or maybe I’m getting used to his chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and ripped thighs. No, strike that, I will never get used to Noah’s gorgeousness.
Of course, he says very little. How does the farm look to him? Our place isn’t as tidy and professional as our neighbors’. We have a nice barn, but my dad built the wonky outbuildings. Still, they’re all precious to me.
Mr. Too Cool for Life doesn’t say a word as I point out all the farm highlights. The only time he seems interested is when I show him the animals. I hope he’s not an animal lover because then I might have to like him. Noah is confirming my theory that really good-looking guys are conceited jerks. Not that I have a ton of personal experience in this area, but I’ve seen enough movies.
“This is Hammy.” The big pig lurches towards us.
“Hey.” Noah reaches out a hand. Hammy sniffs it and then raises her face in an expression that almost looks like disappointment.
I laugh. And Noah smiles for the first time. If I thought he was attractive when he scowled, it’s nothing compared to this. The smile softens the angular planes of his face and gives him a boyish sweetness. I feel an actual thump in my chest, then shake my head. Noah Goodwin is a big jerk, and I’m not going to get a crush on him.
Still, we have to get along. I snag a couple of windfall apples and hand them to Noah.
“Hold these out with an open palm.” He does this, and Hammy eagerly gobbles them down. Noah looks innocently pleased, and again I feel that strange tug inside.
“Got a friend for life now,” I say. Which, in Hammy’s case, is only a couple of months more. We tour the barn, a solid structure that was here when we got the place. It’s too big for our needs, but we keep the goats in here and store hay.
“What’s all this?” Noah points to an ancient weight bench, weights, and a second-hand rowing machine in a former horse stall.
“My brother set up a gym in here. So he could train for hockey.”
Noah’s lip curls at the idea. He probably has a state-of-the-art gym back in his palatial home on the Pacific Ocean. “Isn’t there a gym at school?”
“Yeah, but it takes time to go back and forth. This is an easy way to get a workout in. If you don’t mind the smell of goat.”
A flare of Noah’s nostrils indicates that he does mind the smell of goat.
Our cat twists his way between his legs and lets out a loud meow.
“Hello there.” Noah crouches down and rubs the cat’s head. The tabby immediately rolls onto his back and exposes his striped belly for more rubs.
“His name is Katmandu. Katman for short. Do you have pets at home?” I sound like a ten-year-old trying to make friends. Next I can ask him what his favorite flavor of ice cream is.
Noah shakes his head. “Nope. We’re too busy.”
“I never had any either,” I say.
“What’s this then?” he asks, as Katman shamelessly wriggles in ecstasy under Noah’s long, tapered fingers. I can’t help but notice how pretty his hands are. They look like the hands you see demonstrating things in commercials. Whereas my hands with their broken nails and reddened skin look like the “before” hands in a moisturizing ad.
“He’s a barn cat. He doesn’t come in the house. Same as Pete.” I incline my head towards the dog roaming the goat pasture. “They’re working animals.”
“I guess if you live on a farm, you get enough time with animals,” he said.
Wait. Are we having an actual conversation? “You can’t get too attached to animals on a farm. That’s why my father used to say to harden me up. A few months after we moved in, an owl killed a dozen chickens in one night. I was ten and had raised them up from chicks.”
“That’s rough,” Noah says.
I shrug. “We learned the hard way how to keep chickens safe. I’ll introduce you to the goats later. Milking them is the biggest chore you’ll have to do when I’m not here. I’m going to start dinner now.”
He nods. As we turn to go back inside, I look up at him. There’s a brief zing as his dark brown eyes meet mine.
“Noah, I want to apologize for what happened today. I should not have lost my temper and thrown you out of the car. And thanks so much for not ratting me out to my mother. She would have flipped out.”
Noah lifts one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. “Not to worry. I know what that’s like.”
What does he mean? Having a parent get mad at you? Because I cannot imagine the icy cool Noah ever doing something rash.