Page 51

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Noah needed Gracie to stop writing so many chapters. At the pace she was going, she’d have the memoir finished in no time. He needed her to slow down. Especially since the only thing keeping him in her life right now was this project. An excuse that was growing flimsier by the day.

“Really,” she’d told him at least three times yesterday. “We’re way ahead of the deadline. You can go home, and we can just finish the rest of it over the phone or through recordings.”

Go home to what? Didn’t she know this was his home?

Well, not here at the cabin—cottage—whatever it was called.

Noah rubbed his fist over the condensation fogging up the tiny bathroom mirror after his shower. He didn’t want to stay here alone any more than he wanted to fly back to Seattle alone. He was tired of living alone. What he wanted was to move back into the house and back into Gracie’s life. For good.

Which is why he needed to up his game to more than just cute little sandwich lunches at the park. He tapped his razor against the edge of the bathroom sink, then ran the blades across his jaw. Time to take Gracie out on a real date.

Thirty minutes later Noah found her where he figured she’d be—sitting at her special writing desk in the spare bedroom upstairs, typing madly on her laptop. He gripped both sides of the doorframe, squeezing back all the pent-up energy buzzing up and down his body ever since his shower. “Mind if I ask you something?”

She gasped and whipped her gaze from her laptop screen. “Noah,” she said on a shuddery breath. “I didn’t hear you come in. But I know why you’re here.”

“You do?”

“And I’m sorry.”

“You are?”

“I understand if you hate me.”

Noah ran his finger over the spot where he’d nicked himself on the chin. He needed a new razor. “Mind filling me in?”

She pointed at her laptop. “I wrote about your childhood. All of it. Every last detail. Everything you said. Then I wrote a whole bunch of stuff about us and our relationship, and now it’s all going in the memoir, and I can’t take it back, and—”

“I know.”

“—people are going to read it, and... Did you just say you know?”

He grinned, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “It’s my memoir, babe. Did you think they were leaving me in the dark? I already got an email from the editor and roughly two million texts from a blubbering Scotty. They all think it’s great. And you know what? I do too.”

“Really?”

“Really. Ever since I told you about Owen... I don’t know. Guess it just made me realize that by ignoring all the bad parts in my past I’d swept out some good parts too. Like Owen’s laugh. Man, that kid had the best laugh. I don’t want to do that anymore. Ignore things. Not when it comes to my family. Definitely not when it comes to us. We had some bad times, sure. But we had plenty of good times, too, didn’t we, Gracie?”

Her lips pressed together and rolled inward as she darted a gaze out the window then back to him. She gave a clipped nod. “You look nice,” she said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Why do you look nice? Are you going somewhere?”

He shot a look down to his button-down shirt and dark jeans, then straightened from the doorframe and shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping his smile didn’t look as insecure as it felt. “I am. And I’m taking you with me.”

“Oh? And where exactly are you taking me?”

He shuffled from one foot to the other. Good grief. He hadn’t felt this nervous since the first time he asked Gracie out on a date. Back then he hadn’t thought he stood a chance since she was older, obviously more mature, and so, so beautiful. But for some reason she’d said yes. He took her to dinner and a movie, and to this day he had no recollection what movie they saw since he spent the whole two hours stealing glances, wondering if he’d get to kiss her.

“Noah?”

Right. He cleared his throat. “Dinner.”

Gracie glanced at her phone on the desk. “A little early for dinner, isn’t it?”

“Won’t be by the time we drive down to St. Louis. Thought we’d go somewhere on The Hill. Whichever restaurant you want.”

He held his breath. Driving down to St. Louis to eat at one of the Italian restaurants on The Hill was what they’d always done whenever they had something big to celebrate. An engagement. A major league contract. A book deal. A new start in their marriage?

“The Hill. Oh. That is a bit of a drive.”

About an hour and fifteen minutes depending on traffic. “We’ll get to fill our bellies with pasta,” Noah pointed out quickly before holding his breath again.

“I suppose any distance is worth driving for that.” Gracie looked down at her cardigan and sweatpants. “Give me a few minutes to change?”

Noah slowly exhaled, making sure to keep his hands tucked in his pockets and not pumping the air in victory. “Take all the time you need. But as far as I’m concerned, you already look great. Beautiful. You could go as you are. Although it is The Hill, so you probably want to put on something special. And although I know you have a very special relationship with your bathrobe, I wouldn’t suggest wearing—”

“The longer you stand there cracking jokes, the longer it’ll be until we fill our bellies with pasta.”

“Good point.” His elbow racked against the doorframe as he spun to leave. “My arm’s fine. Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder.

“I was more concerned about the doorframe,” she called after him.

“Thirty minutes. I’m starting the clock now,” he said halfway down the stairs.

“You can’t rush a lady.”

“I can if we have reservations,” he hollered from the bottom of the stairs.

“I thought you said I got to pick the restaurant,” she hollered back.

He turned at the front door. “I made Scotty get us reservations everywhere just in case.”

“This is getting serious.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered as he closed the door shut behind him.