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Page 12 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

HANNAH

T he early morning sunlight is filtering in around my blinds, and I’m talking myself into getting out of my very warm, very comfortable bed to make coffee when my phone chimes.

I reach over to grab it and see Noah’s name on the screen.

My stomach does an involuntary sort of shimmer, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t kind of like it.

If I didn’t kind of like him.

I don’t lie to myself. Not anymore.

Yesterday was a really good day. The best day I’ve had since I came to Boston five months ago.

Maybe the best day I’ve had in years. From the minute Noah showed up with coffee and donuts, to our walk through the Commons, laughing when Elliot’s dog went bananas over her pup cup, visiting Make Way for Ducklings and laughing again when Noah recited the entire book from memory, stopping for ice cream on Newbury Street, having an early dinner at some outdoor café, and then giving Noah all the reasons why he didn’t need to take one extra flight of stairs to walk me to my door and him doing it anyway, I felt the most myself I have in a long time.

Years, probably.

And then, when I got home, I sat down at my computer and wrote five hundred words that I didn’t immediately hate, and Brett’s voice was nowhere to be found.

Five hundred words may not seem like much, but since I haven’t even been able to write ten words without existential angst and second guessing everything in months, five hundred words felt like a revelation.

Maybe Noah is on to something with this little plan of his.

It’s a weird flex, and I don’t hate it. Not even a little.

I click on my phone, navigating to my texts.

Noah

Check your front door.

Why?

Noah

Just do it, Gorgeous. I left you something.

Ignoring the way my stomach flutters at that ridiculous nickname, I toss back the covers and head to the front door.

I pull it open and don’t see anything at first, but when I look down, there it is.

A mason jar full of what I’m sure is an iced latte, and a small, white paper bag.

I reach down and grab both, peeking into the bag and seeing a chocolate chip muffin. My heart literally stutters. Shit.

Taking it all to the couch, I settle down into the cushions and pull a blanket over my legs before I click on my phone.

No donut?

Noah

You said you liked muffins better. I made some late last night.

You made this?

Noah

I had some time on my hands. I love to bake.

A girl could get used to this kind of treatment, you know.

Noah

You should get used to it.

I’m showing you how you deserve to be treated, remember?

I can make my own coffee.

I have no idea why I say it. Maybe because I’m curious how he’ll respond, and his answer does not disappoint.

Noah

I know you can, but why should you have to? Have a good morning, Han. I’ll pick you up at eleven.

You sure you don’t want to sleep after your night shift?

Noah

I’m going to sleep now. Then I get to see you later. Best of all worlds.

I drop my phone onto the couch, surprised by the emotion that fills my chest at Noah’s words.

At the way my eyes burn, thinking of all the times over the last four years I didn’t let myself wish that Brett would take care of me, even just a little.

I can take care of myself fine, but sometimes I wanted him to bring me coffee.

Or tell me to go sit on the couch while he handled dinner.

Or the dishes. Or the damn laundry. I did fucking everything, and I still felt like I didn’t do enough.

Sometimes, all I wanted was to let go and let someone else take care of me for a while without practically having to make arrangements for my own caretaking, but that was never my life.

Instead, I got my mental load and Brett’s, with a side of terrifying anger issues and the kind of learned helplessness that made me want to beat my head against a wall on a daily basis. And cry.

I hate myself a little for putting up with that behavior for so long. That I accepted so much less than I should have. When my phone dings again and I see it’s my group chat with Jo and Amelia, I breathe a sigh of relief, because fuck introspection.

Hi, my favorite besties. I had a meeting cancel, so I have a few unexpectedly free hours. Anyone want to get lunch around noon?

Amelia

Fuck yes. I’m in coding hell, and if I don’t take a lunch break, I’ll forget to eat again.

Respectfully, I have no idea how you always forget to eat lunch. I never forget to eat lunch. Sometimes I remember so well that I eat two lunches.

Amelia

It’s a coding thing. I get sucked in and time stops having any meaning.

You tech geniuses are really weird.

Amelia

Tell me something I don’t know.

Hans, you in?

Shit. I’m not in because I have plans with Noah, but I haven’t figured out what to tell Jo and Amelia about our little arrangement, mostly because I don’t totally understand it or what exactly we’re doing or why I agreed to it so fast. And if I can’t explain it to myself, I definitely can’t explain it to them.

But keeping it from them also makes it seem like more than it is, so here goes nothing, I guess.

I wish I could, but I sort of have plans.

Amelia

What plans?

Since when do you have plans that don’t involve us?

I’m kind of hanging out with Noah this afternoon.

Noah.

Yes.

Amelia

Noah Wyles.

The very same one.

Noah Wyles, Jordan and Elliot’s younger brother, who is basically a puppy dog in human form and has made no secret that he’s interested in you?

He’s not interested in me.

Amelia

The fuck he isn’t. That man is obsessed with you.

Our girl tells no lies. He is, in fact, obsessed with you. Is this, like, a date or something? Is this finally happening? Are we going to be sisters who date brothers? Because I can’t lie, I kind of love that.

This is definitely not a date. No one is dating anyone. He was free, and I’m free, and we’re hanging out. That’s all.

There. That’s most of the truth. We are hanging out. They don’t have to know that it’s not a one-time thing. Or about the coffee. Or about the thing where I mostly can’t write. Or Noah’s not so subtle flirting. Or that I like it, even if I’d rather gnaw off my own arm than say that out loud.

Amelia

I definitely don’t think that’s all, but we’ll get into that later. Where are you guys going?

I don’t know. He said it’s a surprise.

I. Am. Screaming. Like, fully screaming so loud I’m surprised you guys can’t hear it from your apartments. I love this so hard, Hans.

There really isn’t anything to love. We’re barely even friends. Just two people who happen to be free on the same day.

Amelia

Cool, so we’re officially on Noah and Hannah watch.

Definitely. And we’re all going to Vegas in four days, so this is excellent timing. Every time I read a book where the people go to Vegas, something crazy happens, so obviously I can’t wait for that.

Amelia

I think our next book club book should be something about an accidental Vegas wedding.

Hard agree. I’ll find one and text the group.

Maybe Jordan and I should just get drunk and get married in Vegas. That feels like my kind of chaos.

That’s definitely a choice. One Pam might actually kill you for.

Amelia

Besides, we should save the Vegas crazy for Hannah. I think she deserves that.

Nothing is going to happen in Vegas.

Amelia

But you can’t know that for sure, can you?

Why am I friends with you guys again?

Amelia

Because you looooooove me.

And I’m literally your sister, so you’re stuck with me. Gotta go – meeting in a few. Hans, we’ll be needing details later.

Amelia

We absolutely will.

I swear there won’t be anything to tell. This isn’t that big of a deal.

I toss my phone on the couch, taking a sip of my latte and leaning back against the cushions.

I guess I could have told them that Noah and I are hanging out because I can’t write words and he decided that he’s the one to help me, but I just didn’t feel like it.

I hate saying it, and the way it makes me feel like such a failure.

Like I’m pathetic for getting excited about being able to write five hundred not terrible words when I used to write thousands of good ones without breaking a sweat.

Like I can’t do the thing that brings me joy.

The thing so many people are expecting me to do.

The thing that used to be as easy as breathing.

I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. I fortify myself with another hit of caffeine and send a wish out into the universe that whatever Noah has planned really will work because nothing else has.

This time, that thought comes with a side of fear that I’ve lost my words forever, and nothing will ever be able to help me get them back.

My phone dings and I pick it back up, assuming it’s Jo or Amelia texting our book club group chat with Pam and Cece that they found the perfect marriage in Vegas book for our next meeting.

It’s not.

Brett

I can’t believe you’re ignoring me, Hannah. After everything we’ve been through together, you at least owe me a conversation. Or did I really mean that little to you that you could end what we had without a single thought?

Anxiety is a hard knot in my stomach as I read Brett’s words over and over again.

For a long time, I thought I was an anxious person, but it turns out my anxiety had one single source, and when I left Brett, it all but disappeared.

Except every time he texts me it comes roaring back, my years with him running through my head on a loop until I’m a mess of self-loathing and regret.

Setting my phone on the coffee table, I lay down on the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around me.

I could text Jo and Amelia, tell them everything. They would be up here in a second, full of rage on my behalf and ready to ride at dawn. I could call my older sister, Hallie, in Pittsburgh, and she would make me a list of all the reasons I’m amazing and deserve someone better than Brett.

But I don’t do any of those things.

Instead, I stay in my blanket cocoon, lonely and alone. As I’m sinking into what feels perilously close to despair, a sound comes from the floor, almost like someone is knocking on the ceiling of the apartment below me. Noah’s apartment. Three knocks in quick succession, and then silence.

I have no idea how I know it’s Noah knocking, and I have no idea how he knows I’m in the living room and not in any other part of my apartment, but for some reason, in this moment, I take it on faith that he does.

Just like I somehow know that this is his way of giving me a little reminder that he’s here, even though he would have no way of knowing that’s exactly what I need right now.

Knock, knock, knock .

I’m right here .

I can hear the words as if he spoke them out loud, and the knots of anxiety in my stomach loosen, my heart slowing back down to a normal rhythm.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding myself that Brett is long gone, and I’m exactly where I want to be.

Poking my foot out of my blankets, I tap my heel twice on the floor.

Thank you .

Then I close my eyes and drift into a light sleep, letting bright blue eyes and a cheerful smile visit me in my dreams.

Page 12 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

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