Chapter Ten
Wes sat in his office, the files that his father wanted him to look at spread out across his desk. With all the baking craziness, he hadn’t worked much, let alone done anything beyond glance at the paperwork. Even now he was distracted.
Looking out the window, he thought of the evening before. They’d all come back to the house to eat the cookies he’d baked and Annalise so graciously offered to share. They weren’t bad, if he did say so himself, but he didn’t think it wise to open a bakery anytime soon.
He and Noelle, Holly and Jeff, Mike, Annalise, his dad, and Glenna had all sat around the island in the kitchen with coffee or milk and the cookies. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d done that—sat around and talked until it got dark outside and Annalise fell asleep in her dad’s lap. Maybe when his mom was alive and all the St. Claire children lived at home, but it had been a while. With all of them in different parts of the country or globe and his father not having quite the pull their mother did in getting the children all in one place, nights like that were few and far between.
But he’d liked it. He’d liked it a lot. The casual conversation, the warmth of the kitchen, and most of all, the company. Noelle had sat beside him, sipping coffee and saying how wonderful the cookies had turned out. He was aware of her over-exaggerating on how yummy they were, but he wasn’t about to complain.
Not that he wasn’t used to women trying to boost his ego. But with Noelle, it was different. She was different. There wasn’t an element of kissing up to him because of his wealth. There was no awe either of his family and their lifestyle. It was what it was and she left it at that. Many people liked to draw attention to it, talk about it. Other than appreciating the beauty of the house, she hadn’t said a thing. It was his life. His world. And she accepted it as is.
And although she was the kindest person he’d met in a long time, she teased him just enough to keep his head from getting too big. Yet another trait no other woman in his life had ever ventured trying beyond his own mother or Glenna. Well, and his sister, McKenna.
Noelle wanted nothing from him. That’s what was so unusual, and a breath of fresh air for him. She was willing to help him learn to bake, she was kind to his niece and family, and asked nothing in return. Few people like that existed in his world in New York. He didn’t recognize it until now, until his time in Marietta.
He turned his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. His father wanted him to look over things, give his opinion. So far, from what Wes could tell, it looked clean. A Hollywood director by the name of Ronald Spellman wanted to buy two buildings along Church Avenue that took up a block or two. Working on an old western, Spellman had asked Wes’s dad for any thoughts on good places to film. Thinking the publicity would be helpful for Marietta, Daniel suggested it. Having the finances to do so, Ronald thought it a great idea to buy the buildings so he could change the facade for the movie. Afterward, he’d make a profit off the tourism that would come from the town being featured in the film.
Wes deemed the whole thing a bit excessive for making a movie, but since his father made his money in television and broadcasting, the creative types who worked and moved in his father’s world were not foreign to him. They thought big, spent bigger, and always had a “fantastic idea” to back things up. One thing Wes was painfully aware of was that Hollywood types had quirks. Some sat in bariatric chambers, some bought cars and homes for their dogs. Ronald? He was egocentric enough to buy the sets from his movies as “mementos.”
However, from what Wes could tell, he agreed with his dad that it wouldn’t be a bad thing for Marietta. The film would draw attention to the town and most likely bring in more tourism—all things that would help and not hurt.
However, Noelle’s building was one of the ones Spellman was interested in. The rumors she’d heard weren’t far from true. What she didn’t know about her landlady who’d been so kind to her was that she needed to sell because her husband passed away and she had a huge tax bill she couldn’t cover. Spellman was smart in a business sense to go for that building and the one across from it. Noelle’s landlady was looking to be done with it, not holding out for a top bidder.
He also wanted that exact spot. Something about it being “the perfect shot.” Wes shook his head. He had nothing against those in the entertainment industry, but he was more of a black-and-white, cut-and-dried kind of guy. The creative ideas tended to float with the wind a bit too much for his taste.
It was Sunday. Noelle’s day off. On impulse, he grabbed his phone from his desktop and dialed her number. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, this is Noelle.”
Her voice through the phone line made him think of warm nights by a fire cuddled under a blanket, the two of them watching snow fall outside. He shook his head. Where had that image come from? Maybe his desire to be near Noelle ever since the moment he laid eyes on her at Grey’s. He’d admitted to himself sometime after he and Noelle had said goodnight the night before that he had feelings for her. He just hadn’t figured out what the hell to do about it.
“Hello?”
In his mental trip down happily ever after lane, he’d not spoken. Smooth, St. Claire. Real smooth.
“Hello. It’s Wes.”
“I know. Your name popped up on my screen.”
He could almost sense her smiling as she spoke. “What are you up to today?” Beyond making plans to bake together, as well as their initial coffee date, they hadn’t done anything together. And he wanted to see her.
“Franchesca, Holly, and I are up to our eyeballs in plans for the theater performance. We’re ready, but all the last-minute details are swamping us.”
Hmmmm. It didn’t sound like she had time for any kind of date. But, that didn’t stop him from asking.
“How about dinner?”
“I really wish I could, but I just can’t. I don’t think Holly and Franchesca would ever forgive me if I left them to this to go out.”
Her words gave him an idea.
“You’re right. You need to stay focused.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Will you ladies be working at your studio through the evening?”
“Yes.” He heard the sound of papers ruffling and Holly’s voice muffled in the background. “I’m afraid so.”
“Okay. Another time then.”
“Yes. I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk soon?”
“Absolutely.”
They said their goodbyes and hung up. Wes gave himself a mental pat on the back as he tapped out a name into the map on his computer. If he couldn’t take Noelle to dinner, there was no reason why he couldn’t take dinner to her.
*
Noelle looked up as the sound of the chime over her studio door twinkled through the air. The three women had had their heads down working for Lord only knew how many hours. Music played from the iPod dock in the corner and Holly and Franchesca chatted over Holly’s laptop about the look of the flyers she was designing. But it all faded away as Noelle took in the sight of Wes in her doorway, his hands filled with two huge bags from Rocco’s Italian Restaurant across the street.
Her brain wasn’t sure if she was happier to see him or the food, her mouth now watering at the thought of eating. They’d had a quick lunch of homemade sandwiches Holly had brought with them that morning, but other than that, she’d had little food all day. In dress pants and a button-down with a sweater overtop, his long winter coat completing the look that was all Wes St. Claire, Noelle decided she was definitely happiest to see him. The flutter of her heartbeat said so, although the rumble of her empty stomach gave it a hearty run for its money.
“Oh my gosh! You are the most amazing man on the planet!” Holly’s exclamation drew Noelle from her daydream of Wes standing there holding loads of Italian food.
“Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before.” He spoke to Holly but never took his eyes off Noelle.
“I highly doubt that,” Franchesca said, leaving her chair to take a bag from Wes and invite him inside.
Wait. Right. It wasn’t a dream. He was here looking good enough to eat, yet bearing the gift of food. The man was amazing.
And she must look a wreck. Sitting on the floor, her legs bent back behind her, Noelle was poring over signs they’d worked on all day to place in the window of the dance studio as well as the drama studio. Her yoga pants were old and worn, her long sweater an enormous one she’d bought for days lounging around the house, and her hair had worked its way out of the braid she’d hastily done earlier that day.
Wes let Franchesca take the bags of food to the back room where they had plates and utensils and such. The aroma of marinara sauce, garlic, and fresh-baked bread tantalized Noelle’s senses as her friend walked by. Her stomach growled again. She and Holly had gone to dinner once at Rocco’s, a cute restaurant with red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and candles in empty Chianti bottles on each table. Although a tad cliché in its decorating, the food was fantastic.
“You didn’t have to bring us dinner,” Noelle said, wanting to be polite, but beyond grateful he’d chosen to do so.
“I know I didn’t have to. But you said you were swamped here and you all need to eat so…” He shrugged as if what he’d done wasn’t monumental in Noelle’s mind. Most of the men she’d known would’ve been sore with her for not being available for dinner. But he’d brought dinner to her door. Any thoughts of talking herself out of falling for Wes took a permanent vacation.
He stood before her, a knight in shining Armani.
“It looks like things are really coming along.” He jerked his chin toward the signs she was working on, his hands now in his coat pockets.
Noelle looked from him down to the floor. “Yes. It would appear so.” She looked around the room then back to him. “It feels like we still have a mountain to climb though.”
He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across a nearby chair. As he rolled up his shirt-sleeves—the appearance of the muscles of his forearms not lost on Noelle—he sat across from her on the floor, dress clothes and all. “How can I help?”
The sight of Wes sitting across from her on the studio floor, his pristine pants getting dusty for sure, made Noelle’s jaw drop.
“Close your mouth, honey. You’ll catch flies,” her sister teased as she handed them each a plate of food and utensils wrapped in a napkin. Pasta with meatballs, garlic bread, and salad covered the plates. Holly returned to the kitchen with Franchesca, leaving Noelle and Wes alone in the main room.
After closing her mouth like her sister so eloquently reminded her to do, Noelle came to her senses. “Wait. No. We don’t have to eat on the floor. I have a folding table in my office. I’ll go get it.”
“No. It’s fine. It’s like a picnic.” She went to stand but his grin made her go all gooey inside and forget her own name.
He scooted over so his back was against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His pants did indeed have dust on them, a fact that seemed to have no bearing on Wes whatsoever. Noelle moved beside him, backing up to the wall and placing her plate in her lap.
“There’s a high chance we’re going to get quite messy eating this way.”
Wes took the napkin Holly had handed him and unfolded it. He tucked it into the collar of his shirt like a bib. “There! No mess.”
Noelle laughed. He looked ridiculous and he knew it, which made her love him even more. Wait. Love? When did that word start popping into her head? Sam Cooke singing from the iPod about nothing being able to change the love he felt might have been a factor. But, if she were honest with herself, it occurred to her way before Wes showed up with food in hand. She was falling for Wes St. Claire and falling hard.
“Okay then.” She undid her napkin as well, placing the utensils on her plate, and tucked the stiff paper into the neck of her sweater.
He nodded and rolled up pasta on his fork before diving in. She did the same. They ate in quiet, the music in the background mixed with Noelle’s moans of delight over the food. It was divine. She was hungrier than she thought.
“So, what were you up to today?” Her plate was all but clean, her belly full of Italian goodness.
“Just work.” He took the last bite of meatball off his plate and set it aside.
“Working on a Sunday, heh?”
He pointed to where they sat in her studio, the signs still sitting in front of them. “You judge?”
“Touché.” She laughed at that. He was right. She’s spent her entire day off working. “However, I have a feeling you work on a Sunday way more than I do.”
“That’s true. This wasn’t really work though. My father has me looking into something for him.”
“What do you do, exactly?” In all their time together, she’d never asked him what kind of work he did, specifically. She just assumed it was something in his father’s business, which she didn’t know anything about either.
“I run the family office, which means I manage the family assets, do deals, buy businesses. Real estate, things like that.”
“Same as your dad?”
“No. Dad made his money in television and broadcasting.”
She turned to face him, tucking her legs beneath her in a crisscross pattern. “No way. That’s so cool. You know, that reminds me. Franchesca told me this morning she heard another rumor that the moneybags—her word not mine—who wants to buy this building is a big Hollywood director. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Nuts.”
It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn Wes’s demeanor changed at her comment. The relaxed, laid-back, let’s sit on the floor and have a picnic guy disappeared for a second.
“What else has she heard?”
“Not much else. Again, it’s rumors. I’m not taking any stock in that.”
“Are you still worried about what will happen to the studio if the building sells?” The relaxed Wes was back, but with an air of businessman about him. Which made sense. And was most likely the reason she’d talked to him about the situation. If she needed advice in the near future, he was a sure bet to ask for help if needed.
“A little. But what would a Hollywood director want with this building?”
She looked around then stood to take their plates to the trash. She hadn’t given it much thought since Franchesca had said something about it. But rumors were still flying, which meant there was a good chance they were partly true.
Noelle tossed their plates and made her way back to their spot on the floor. She hoped they were mere rumors. Losing her studio would be another dream down the drain. Where would she be then? She didn’t dare think about it. Besides, it was much more fun to think about the man who sat on the floor of her studio now adding glitter to her signs. The man was a constant surprise. And Noelle did love surprises.