Page 125 of Tutored in Love
“Huh?” he asked.Smooth. Idiot.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you... around.”
How could he explain? He rubbed his hand across his jaw, but that only reminded him how she’d studied his whiskers at the table.
“Noah?”
“Sorry,” he said, shaking off the pleasant buzz of being near her. “Just, uh, processing.” She looked worried. He scrambled to put some processing power toward logical thought and conversation. It was difficult. He looked around the parking lot, realizing he had no idea where he’d parked. He barely remembered the drive there, he’d been so nervous.
She was still waiting for him to answer.
He laughed to cover his embarrassment. “Do you want to go... do something? I don’t know what there is to do here.”
“Whyareyou here?” Her eyes narrowed like they did when she tackled algebra, widening as the pieces clicked together. “You drove all the way here for this. For me.”
Noah shrugged, looking down and shoving his hands into his pockets.
“How long have you and Ryan been... talking?” Her voice was soft.
He couldn’t tell if she was impressed or angry. Avoiding her gaze, he gestured to some big trees across the road. “Is that a park? Can we go over there?”
She nodded, gears still clicking, judgment pending.
I’d better get this right.
Chapter 69
Research
I fall into step atNoah’s side, wishing he’d take my hand again. The clear skies and midday sun make it a little warm on the asphalt, but a steady breeze keeps it comfortable. We make our way through the parking lot and cross the street, heading for the park on Main. There’s a group of teens playing frisbee in the open space.
I didn’t realize asking Noah where he’d been was a loaded question. But I’m more than ready to listen when he finally starts to talk.
“When I got home from Mexico—even with the accident and everything—I couldn’t get you out of my head. I tried.” He offers an apologetic smile, his gaze caressing my hair, face, neck. “You were so different from what I’d built up in my mind. I was working construction, finishing up my degree, helping Matt.” He pauses, uncomfortable, quiet. “Going to therapy.”
“That’s important,” I say, touching his arm. It seems to calm him. “Everyone deserves a good therapist.”
He walks a little taller. “I kept thinking about you, wondering how you were doing.” With a huff, he says, “I sound like a stalker.”
I chuckle uncomfortably, thinking of my recent two-week stakeout on the trail and the marked increase in my running after our first accidental workout together.
“It gets worse.” He blows out, hard. “When you reached out to Ryan to ask about Matt—”
“What? He promised not to—”
He holds up both hands, turning toward me as we walk. “He promised not to tellClaire. You didn’t make him promise not to say anything tome.”
I open my mouth to protest, but it’s a legitimate loophole.
I’m going to hurt Ryan.
Then possibly hug him, depending on how this pans out.
He slides his hands back into his pockets, squints against the midday sun as if it can tell him how to proceed.
“Should we sit?” I point to a solitary picnic table in the shade of a huge maple.
He gestures for me to sit first, then settles next to me, leaning back with his elbows on the tabletop and his eyes on the frisbee game. “Ryan’s a curious guy.”