Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
One Year Later
Noelle’s knee bounced as she raised her head, glancing at the sidewalk just beyond where she sat on the umbrella-covered restaurant patio. Dappled morning sunlight sparkled off the water of the fountain nearby, and the soft splashing offered a sense of calm. Despite the still morning and the peaceful sound of flowing water, Noelle’s heart beat swiftly, anxiety causing her to shift her legs repeatedly.
She knew it was him approaching from down the block even before she could register any discerning quality that told her so. The man walking toward the place where she sat was taller than she remembered Evan to be, his shoulders broader, and she’d never become very acquainted with his walk. After all, she’d regularly averted her eyes when she’d seen him at school. And then after that, they’d spent the majority of their time together on their knees.
Or their backs.
He was blocks away, but she recognized him all the same. Maybe she’d know he was near even with her eyes closed. She didn’t necessarily like to think that was the case, but for a brief span of time, her emotional survival had been dependent on his presence. Perhaps they were fused in some inexplicable way, a tightly woven tether that stretched over seasons and distance. She’d felt the space between them this last year, and she felt his nearness now. A reeling. A buzzing inside. An internal meter emblazoned with his name.
Noelle stood, smoothing her hands over her jean-clad hips and then fluttering her hands, unsure of what to do with her arms.
God, she was nervous.
He came closer . . . closer. He didn’t glance around the open space. His eyes were focused directly on her. Perhaps he felt her too. He smiled, and her breath released, her lips curving in response. He was wearing low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt with some logo she was too preoccupied to attempt to discern. He was as staggeringly handsome, as breathtakingly golden, as he’d always been. Even more so. Something about that made her rejoice, and simultaneously made her want to cry. Truth be told, something about it hurt. She didn’t understand why, and maybe she’d think about it later, and maybe she wouldn’t.
Evan walked through the short black gate, let it swing closed behind him, and then made his way to where she stood at the small bistro table. His smile grew. “Hey,” he said. His voice. It washed over her. A ray of light. A hand in the dark. Fingers linking with hers. You’re not alone.
“Hey,” she greeted him, and she couldn’t help the way her smile widened too. It felt good. Effortless when so much in her life had felt forced this past year. Slow and lonely.
“You look good,” he said. “Damn good.”
“So do you.”
“Your hair,” he said. “It’s lighter.”
“Oh.” She ran a hand over it, shrugging in a girlish way, surprising herself with how much she liked that he’d noticed. “Highlights,” she explained, feeling ridiculous for her response. As if they were nothing more than old classmates who’d run into each other unexpectedly. Next they’d speak about the weather.
It’d been a year since that day he’d left her house after his father had shown up to fetch him. All but dragged him away. It was still so hard to believe. She’d told him they both needed time to process, and that had been true, though the further truth was probably that they’d both be doing that in some way or another for the rest of their lives.
They stood there for a minute, the air thick with all the words she knew they wouldn’t say. All the things for which no words existed, really. And that was okay, she supposed. They both knew. She guessed they always would. She gestured to the table where a thermos of coffee and two white mugs sat. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to eat or just have a coffee.”
“Just a coffee,” he said. “I ate earlier.” They both sat, and the waitress approached them, her eyes hanging on Evan. Noelle took a sip from her cup as he told her no menu was necessary.
“I’m so glad you called me,” Evan said. “This is . . . wow, this is great.”
She almost hadn’t. She’d hemmed and hawed for weeks after making arrangements to be in San Francisco for Paula’s grandmother’s funeral. She hadn’t known the woman well at all, but Paula had asked if Noelle would accompany her for support, and she’d been happy to do so. “So tell me how you’ve been,” she said.
Evan poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and then sat back in his chair. She could see what having the money to hire the best plastic surgeons could do. His face held no trace of the beatings he’d taken. His left hand came to rest on the table, and her heart clutched as she saw that that part of him, at least, still held the faint physical proof of his trauma. Her gaze traced the white hairline scars before she raised her eyes to his. He was watching her as she studied the surgical scars. “I’ve been good,” he said. “Pretty good anyway. Stanford is . . .”—his brows moved in two different directions before he decided on the word—“intense.” He smiled, but it appeared tight.