Page 13 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

SHAY

The storm has settled a little by the time Rora and Henry unlock the pantry door. I’ve settled too. I’m not surprised Noelle is so good at calming people down, but I am surprised she was willing to do it for me.

She insists on walking me home, ignoring my protests when I try to stay to put everything away. We didn’t get very far. Rora and Henry offer to stay and help—Sunny is asleep in her car seat, ironically soothed by the storm that’s the opposite of her namesake.

Noelle holds my arm as we cross the street. There’s no one around; everyone is probably hiding out after the storm. I hope this doesn’t set filming back.

Something has shifted between me and Noelle tonight.

We’re not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe working together will be a little less…

fraught. I don’t know what came over me.

I never open up to anyone about the accident.

The last person I told was Philippe, and he admitted that talking about it made him uncomfortable, so I just stopped bringing it up.

Noelle just listened. It was oddly refreshing.

She walks me up the stairs, watching until I open my front door. Cat is nowhere to be seen. I hope he’s curled up inside, and not out in the storm.

“Do you have food?” Noelle asks, hovering by the door.

“Yeah. I already ate, though.”

“Right. Well, rest up. And if you need anything…” She trails off, short of offering. Understandably so—we’re in uncharted waters here. Noelle clears her throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

She starts down the stairs but pauses when I call her name. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for today.”

Her expression softens for a split second, then it’s gone. She nods, turning and running across the street. I watch her go, a blur of lilac in the blue night.

I find Cat curled up like a croissant on my bed.

I quickly get ready for bed, leaving a trail of mess behind me—I’m too tired to tidy—and lie beside him, pulling him closer, and kissing the top of his head.

He meows, either in greeting or in indignation at me waking him up, and rubs his face against mine.

He falls asleep in my arms while I toss and turn. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the howl of the wind. The impact of the rocks. The crunch of the car. Georgie’s scream, suddenly silenced. I smell the smoke. The blood. The salt from the tears that poured down my cheeks until they ran out.

But I also remember the feel of Noelle’s fingers on my cheek as she wiped my tears. The steady rise and fall of her chest beneath my hand. The brown sugar, gingerbread scent she emanates. The soft cadence of her voice, the soothing sound of her breathing.

“I’m here, and I’ve got you.”

I’m too exhausted to unpack the way those words echo in my mind—the way they’re the last thing I think about before I finally drift off.