Chapter Twelve

        Noah tossed and turned for the better part of the night before falling into a fitful sleep. He worried that he’d made a mistake in being so forward and explicit with Emma Jean. After his shower, they’d had a stir-fry that Emma Jean had insisted on cooking rather than ordering take out. It had been delicious, but she’d made so much of it, they’d have leftovers for a couple of days. They ate quietly, and he’d kept peeking over at her to reassure himself that she wasn’t running away from him. He knew she felt something for him, he just didn’t know if it went beyond lust or if she’d even act on whatever it was she was feeling. Cody really did a number on her sense of self-worth, and he knew she was struggling with her new-found independence, trying not to be reliant on anyone.

        After dinner, Emma Jean, getting into the holiday spirit, made hot cocoa and forced him to sit through a Hallmark Christmas movie. He really wanted to complain about that, but if he was honest, he couldn’t find a single thing wrong with the scenario she’d created. And the movie wasn’t half bad. After the movie, Emma Jean declared she was going to bed and begged off with the excuse that she wanted to get an early start to her work day in the morning. Noah let her have her escape and took himself to his own room for the night.

        By the time the sun came up, he was awake again. Or still. He wasn’t really sure at that point. Groaning into his pillow, he rolled off the bed and threw on the flannel pajama pants that Tally had gotten him for Christmas last year. They sported a rather ridiculous reindeer print, but they were warm and comfy, and no one ever saw him in them anyway. Dragging himself into the kitchen at a zombie’s pace, he dragged the coffee canister across the counter and flipped open the top of the coffeemaker. Peering inside, he saw it was already full with a filter and fresh grounds. He flipped the lid closed and turned it on. Emma Jean wasn’t up yet, so she must have prepared it before going to bed last night.

        Coffee in hand, he made his way to his home office. If he couldn’t sleep, he could at least be productive. Thankfully, working for himself meant he could work from  home and make his own hours. Hawkins Design was his baby. As soon as he’d finished his graphic design degree, he knew he didn’t want to work for a large design firm, the kind of place that dictated what you could and couldn’t design inside a set of very inflexible parameters, and then mass produced those designs like they were stock photos for anyone to use. There was no individuality, no sense of exclusivity or personalization for the client. And no creative freedom for the artists, no matter how inspired one might be feeling.

        So, as soon as he’d graduated, he established his home business as an LLC. Considering how competitive the field was, he must have had some good karma stored or the stars were aligned, because business took off almost immediately, and he’d done very well for himself over the past few years. He not only owned his apartment, but he also owned the building, and his side project was to get the empty storefront below him updated and outfitted so it was in a suitable condition to be rented. So, he wasn’t rich by any means, but he was pretty comfortable.

He edged the thermostat up a few degrees as he passed it to take the chill out of the morning air and prevent Emma Jean from having to walk on a cold floor. Settling in at his desk, he booted up his laptop and scanned his email for any client communication. Noah prided himself on being accessible to his clients for any questions or requests they might have regarding his designs or his work process. He had a couple new requests for logos for small businesses in the area and an email from Dale’s, a popular discount chain that had stores all over Montana. It seemed they were undertaking a huge rebranding initiative and wanted a quote for his services. If he could land that account, he’d probably be set for the next six months. The challenge got his blood pumping and creative juices flowing more than his nearly forgotten mug of coffee ever could have.

He emailed them back with a quote for each item they were requesting and was deep into mocking up several design ideas when a tentative knock brought him out of the zone.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Emma Jean said from the doorway, “but, can you take me to work?”

Noah took in her warm weather gear in confusion and then glanced at the clock on his laptop. “Shit, Emmie, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize what time it was.”

“No worries. I knew you were in here working, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

He stood as she spoke, but became a statue at the look in her eyes. Eyes that were aimed at his bare chest. “See something you like, sunshine?” His voice was rough and he was dangerously close to popping a tent in his pajamas.

Pink spread across her cheeks and her eyes dropped to the floor. “I, um, made breakfast. I left it in the microwave, so you can just heat it up when you’re ready.” With that, she turned and headed back down the hallway toward the living room.

“Damn it,” he muttered, knowing he shouldn’t have teased her like that, but she was so hard to resist. He wanted her to give in a little. Indulge in whatever it was that was between them. He already knew what he felt; he just didn’t know how she felt in return. Waiting for her to figure it out was going to be torture.

***

Emma Jean spent the morning trying not to think about Noah.

She tried not to think about the things he’d said to her the night before.

The things that had sent her scurrying upstairs to her bedroom while he was in the shower.

She tried not to think about how comfortable it was to just sit on the couch watching Hallmark Christmas movies with him.

        The sight of his bare chest.

        And the way he’d caught her staring.

        “Ugh, I’ve turned into such a perv,” she muttered to herself, scanning some of Dr. Fetterman’s documentation into the system and glancing at the clock, willing it to move faster.

        Noah was taking her to lunch again today but only under the stipulation that he take her grocery shopping that evening so she could start packing her lunch. Her choice, not his. It would be more economical, plus, a little kinder to her waistline if she wasn’t eating one of Bucky’s patty melts every day.

        Movement in her peripheral vision drew her attention to the mail truck pulling away from the curb. She slipped on her coat and jogged out to the mailbox at the end of the drive, figuring she’d get the mail sorted before Noah came to pick her up.

        Back at her desk, she began separating the envelopes, setting aside anything that might look confidential for Dr. Fetterman to address later. The rest was mostly marketing materials: a flyer with coupons for Bucky’s (she saved that because two-for-one patty melts was too good to pass up), a brochure for her favorite salon (she made a mental note to schedule herself for a trim), and a flyer for the local food pantry seeking donations. In the middle of all that was a plain white envelope with her name clearly printed across the front.

        Frowning in confusion, she wondered who would have sent mail to her at work. There was no address or stamp on the envelope, just her name. Sliding the letter opener under the flap, she tore it open and pulled the single sheet of plain white paper out. Unfolding it, she gasped. It read: You don’t belong to him. Shock morphed into anger as she crumpled the paper and buried it in the bottom of her trash can. There was only one person she could think of whose ego was monstrous enough to presume that she belonged  to anyone, and he was in for a rude awakening if he thought she’d ever be his again.

        By the time Noah arrived to take her to lunch, her anger had grown instead of abated. She pulled on her coat with jerky movements causing Noah to eye her quizzically.

        “You okay?”

        “I’m fine,” she huffed. “Where are we going for lunch?”

        “Well, I was going to take you to Bucky’s again, but I’m thinking maybe we should visit my sister instead.”

        “Truly?” she hoped.

        “Yeah. I’m sensing it’d do you some good.”

        Emma Jean nodded. He was right. Tally was the level-headed one, and Emma Jean could use her influence before she snapped and bit somebody’s head off.