Page 65 of Almost Ravaged

By the time I reach the end of the gallery, the kitchen is in full view. I turn on my heel, but before I can scurry back to the entryway, an open door on the other side of the hall snags my attention.

I peek my head in, just for a second, and am inundated with notes of salt water and citrus.

One wall is dominated by a large bed with a dark duvet. There’s a weight bench on one side, along with a set of free weights on the floor. Another wall is decorated with framed posters, each representing a different band. Dave Matthews Band, Counting Crows, and Goo Goo Dolls. There’s a massive mahogany desk on the other side of the room, with books stacked on the floor beside it.

I look away quickly, the rich-colored wood and the stacks of texts reminding me too much of my dad, and catch sight of an acoustic guitar propped up in a corner beside a smaller desk with hardly anything on it.

“Sawyer?”

Heart lurching, I jump back.

“I’m here.” I hurry down the hall and step into the foyer just as Noah does.

“Sorry, just admiring the art.” I give him a warm smile, hoping to ease a bit of the awkwardness I feel from being caught wandering around his house.

A flash of an emotion I can’t identify passes over his face. But then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“Here. Will this work?” he mumbles, holding out a shirt on a hanger, his arm fully extended.

I stifle a laugh as I accept it.

The garment is enormous, though I suppose that makes sense. Noah is broad. And tall. Bigger than Mercer. Honestly he could have been a hockey player or a football player with a build like that.

The fabric is a deep merlot plaid with a bit of mustard in the design, colors I’m naturally drawn to, and the crisp sleeves confirm it’s been pressed recently.

“Thank you.” I work the shirt free and hand the hanger back to Noah, who stands in front of me, silent and clearly still out of sorts. “Um… I have a tank top on under this, but—”

“Oh. Shit. Shit. Sorry. Yeah, I’ll just…” He stomps out of the foyer and into the living room. When he’s out of my line of sight, he says, “I’ll wait right here. Unless you want to go to the bathroom. I should have shown you to—”

“I’m good.” I bite back another giggle. Poor guy.

I remove my sweater and frown at my camisole when I discover the mud seeped into it as well. There’s nothing I can do about it now, and the dark green fabric hides the stains well, so I drop the sweater to the floor and put on the loaner shirt.

Slipping my arms into the flannel feels like sinking into a deep, comforting hug. The scent that engulfs me only soothes me further. The masculine notes of cedarwood are complemented perfectly by a sweet honey fragrance. It’s overwhelming in the best way, though it takes a moment and more than one deep breath to come back to my senses.

“You can come back now,” I call as I fasten a couple of buttons, starting at the bottom of the shirt. I don’t bother doing them all up, knowing they’ll strain over my chest. Flannel is not a forgiving fabric. This shirt could be two sizes bigger and it still wouldn’t lay nicely over my tits.

I give myself a quick assessment in the mirror mounted on one wall in the entryway. At least it looks cute mostly open. And it matches my skirt.

“Wow. You look—”

My breath catches at the unexpectedly close voice, and when I turn to Noah, his eyes are wide, his mouth opening and closing once, then again. He eventually makes a sort of grunting sound, like the words he’s trying to say are lodged in his throat.

Am I the reason he’s so tongue-tied? The sight of me in his shirt? No way. We just met.

He’s just flustered. Annoyed, probably, that I’ve interrupted his day. I take pity on the man and offer a subject change. “Your house is beautiful,” I offer.

He exhales, and his shoulders relax.

There. Back to safer territory.

“Thanks. It’s been in my family for six generations.”

“Six?” Wow. If I thought the house felt like a home before, that knowledge alone compounds the sensation exponentially.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “For as long as the orchard has been operational.”

“Do you live here alone?” I pick my sweater up off the floor and ball it up, taking care to tuck the muddy parts in on themselves.