LIV

 

Why are my hands sweaty? Ugh. I grab a napkin and wipe my damp palms. I’m sitting in Coffee Cottage waiting for Noah. I’m early by fifteen minutes.

Is a fleeting thought still considered fleeting when it keeps coming back around? At least four times since arriving I’ve had to force my body to stay seated rather than making a break for it.

Once again I’m blaming Isaac. For some reason since his return, I’m unable to date like a normal woman. I was fine before.

I was broken before.

I shove the errant thought away as the little bells over the door jingle, and Noah steps in. His frame almost fills the door. Isaac would fill that door. Shaking my head, I pinch my knee like I’m telling myself off. It’s not going to help, but it’s all I’ve got.

“Hey.” He smiles, casually strolling over to me. “You’re early.”

“Morning. You too.” I offer a smile back to him.

“Coffee?” he asks, then frowns when he realises I have a cappuccino in front of me.

I giggle. “No thanks, maybe in a bit?”

“Yeah. I’ll just go grab one,” he says smiling again. Damn those dimples.

“So, how long have you been waiting?” he asks once he’s got his drink. He sits down and shrugs off his jacket. He’s wearing a navy blue shirt, and I can’t help but think about how the colour would look gorgeous on Isaac.

Stop it. Fuck.

“Liv?”

Damn, I’ve been staring at his chest. “Sorry.” I blush. Why I’m blushing, I have no idea. “I’ve only been here about ten minutes, you’re early too.”

“Okay, want to hear a secret?” he asks.

I frown. “Not if it’s something that could later lead to my untimely death,” I exaggerate.

“Ha, no. I was nervous.”

“About what?”

“Coming to meet you today.” He surprises me.

“Oh?”

Noah shrugs but doesn’t say any more about it.

“So, what do you do, you know as a job?” I ask.

“I’m a teacher.”

“Oh, wow, I never would have guessed,” I answer then bite the corner of my mouth when I realise that sounded rude. “Sorry.”

Noah chuckles. “No, it’s fine, people are often surprised. Though I’m not sure why?” He frowns and a cute little line appears between his eyebrows. People are probably surprised because he looks like a model.

“What do you teach?” I ask bringing the conversation back to the fore.

“Year two kids…” he smiles, “… they’re six and seven-year-olds. They absorb so much at that age, so innocent and keen to learn, that’s not to say you don’t get the little terrors, too,” he tells me, but his smile has widened even more, and it’s clear how much he loves his job. “Saying that, I did go to Uni, got a degree in history.” He winks, and I can’t help but giggle in response. “What about you?” he asks when my giggling subsides.

“What about me?” I return.

“What’s your job?”

I gulp. It’s the question I hate the most. I’m not embarrassed about my job, actually I kind of love it, but it’s the reactions from others I could do without. They’re what cause my stomach to knot before revealing the truth. Grabbing my cup, I take a sip of my lukewarm drink before grimacing and spitting the cold cappuccino back into the mug. The minute I do it, I remember where I am, and my eyes lift to Noah’s.

“Sorry,” I whisper, and he surprises me by erupting with laughter.

It’s now or never. “I’m a stripper,” I tell him, and his laughter halts abruptly.

“A stripper?” His lips twitch. Okay, that isn’t a bad sign.

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you supposed to demand to be called an exotic dancer or something other than stripper?” he asks, obviously hiding his grin.

“Well, do you like to be referred to as a mentor for the juvenile?”

He bursts into laughter again, and the six or so people in the coffee shop all turn and stare.

“Fair point.” He shakes his head, and his laughter dies down. “So tell me a little bit about you.”

He sits quietly, listening intently to everything I tell him. Almost like the children he teaches, he’s absorbing all the details I offer him. After explaining about wanting to dance but not being able to get anywhere because of my tattoos, I become quiet.

“I’m surprised, in this day and age I would have thought a lot of people have tattoos.”

“Yeah, but most don’t have as many as I do.” I shrug.

He scratches the back of his neck, and his eyebrows bunch together in thought. “I love tattoos…”

“You have tats?” I ask cutting him off.

“No.” He smirks. “I love them on women,” he says eyeing my bare arms, which showcase some of my ink.

Moving on quickly before I say something stupid.

“So tell me, Noah, what do you like to do?”

“Well…” he stretches out his arms and leans back in his chair, “… when I’m not teaching, I dance, obviously.” He winks cheekily at me. “I have a younger sister, and it’s just been us since our parents retired to Spain about ten years ago.”

“Do you visit them often?” I ask, and his smile drops.

“They died a couple of years ago… both got pneumonia and didn’t take themselves to the hospital.” He doesn’t say any more, but I’m already in a different place. For the last twenty minutes, I’ve been able to forget about Aunt Libby. Most people would have probably offered him their condolences by now, he’s no doubt wondering why I’m sitting here with a face like a slapped arse. “Are you okay?” he asks, and my eyes move from the stare down with the cafe table to meet his gaze once again.

“My aunt died yesterday.”

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.” He rushes out and reaches across the table placing his hand over mine.

“Thanks,” I reply hollowly.

“We can cut this short if you want?” he offers, and I can hear his tone is genuine.

“No. Truth is, this has given me something else to think about. Does that make me a bad person?” I ask.

“Absolutely not,” he states with complete certainty. “We all deal with grief differently, no one way is wrong, as long as it’s not destructive to either ourselves or others.” I watch him, narrowing my eyes and wondering where this hot, kind, school teacher came from. “I’ve been there remember, Liv?”

“Thanks,” I croak out.

“Anytime. And speaking of anytime, do you want to do this again? You know, when you’re in a better headspace?” he asks.

I think about his offer and what it really means. My head is fucked up right now, and it’s only caused in part by my aunt’s death, the rest is because of Isaac. Do I want to bring someone into my world and hurt them unnecessarily? No. I don’t.

“I’m not sure…”

“Is it because of the guy? The one from the other day?” he asks me with a small smile. I notice this time it’s soft but sad.

I nod, unable and unwilling to lie to him. “There’s history between us,” I reply.

“Figured,” his reply is one of defeat.

“He’s been… away for a few years, and he’s just appeared back on the scene. I’m not sure where my head’s at, and honestly, no matter what he says, I’m not sure he really knows where his head’s at either,” I explain then groan. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this, you don’t want to know about my crappy baggage.”

One side of his mouth lifts in a half grin, and he squeezes my fingers. I hadn’t even realised his hand was still covering mine. “How about this? We take it slow, spend time together as friends. Everyone needs more friends, right? No pressure. You can even talk to me about the guy, and I’ll try to help.”

“No ulterior motive?” I question dubiously.

He laughs and holds one hand up making what I think is a Boy Scout sign. “I promise.”

Narrowing my eyes, I can’t help but laugh. “If you can make me laugh when I feel this sad, conflicted, helpless, and broken, then you’re someone I need in my life, Noah…” I realise I don’t know his surname.

“Noah Maitland.”

“Olivia McKenna.” I hold out my hand, and he clasps my fingers pulling my knuckles to his lips and touching them with a soft kiss.

“Here’s to the start of a beautiful friendship, Olivia McKenna,” he replies.

I roll my eyes. “Really?”

“What?” He blushes. “It was the best I could come up with.”

“We need to work on your cheese level, Noah Maitland.”

We both smile and I feel relaxed for the first time in the last few weeks.