He hangs up without saying anything else.
In the past, I would have called him back. Told him I was sorry. Smoothed things over. Actually, we wouldn’t be in this position at all because I would have driven to his house like he asked in the first place. But this isn’t the past, and I don’t want to live my life under my father’s thumb. This is the start of me proving to myself—and Noli—that I can be my own man in the face of his pressure.
I walk inside, shut the door behind me, and drop my backpack to the floor. When I turn around, Noli is standing at the other end of the hallway. She’s in black leggings and a black hooded sweatshirt, but I swear she looks like an angel.
“Hi,” I say, walking toward her.
“Hi.” She closes the rest of the distance between us and wraps her arms around my waist in a bone-crushing hug.
My hands come to land on her upper back, and I move one to cradle her head, savoring the feel of her tousled hair beneath my fingers. She fits so perfectly against my chest, and holding her in my arms is like taking a power washer to the gunk and grime of my day. The longer we stand there, the better I feel. She’s like a balm to my aching heart, and I can’t get over how nice it is to come home to Noli.
When she leans her head away from my chest to look at me, her cheeks glisten with the aftermath of tears. It takes me a beat to register that my shirt is damp. She’s been crying? My heart shoots into my throat, and I step back, all feelings of contentment fleeing. Here I am, savoring how good it feels to have Noli in my arms at the end of a long day, but I didn’t consider what this day—and my role in it—did to her. How could I be so selfish?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Noli frowns. “For what?”
I shove a hand through my hair. My brain is screaming at me to retreat, to take a step away from Noli and establish some boundaries. “This is what I’ve always worried about. This is the main reason I never wanted to be married. To drag another human into the mess of my job. It’s a lot to ask. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Noli’s face softens, and she reaches for my hands, interlacing our fingers. “You have nothing to apologize for, Collin. I’m so proud of you. You did good work today. Brave work.”
“But—”
She shakes her head, gripping my hand harder. “Give me some credit. I can handle this. Just like you’ve told me I need to trust you,youneed to trust me too. Okay?”
I study her face. There’s no pretense there, just an imploring look. One that’s open and honest.
I crush her to me in another hug. We stand, clinging to each other for I don’t know how long. It’s like, right here, with her in my arms, nothing bad can happen.
“You okay?” she asks into my chest.
“Much better now.” I flex my arms around her, and she nestles closer again.
“We can talk about it if you want.” Her voice cracks and with it, my heart.
I pull her tighter to me as I give her a brief rundown of what happened, as much as I know. She deserves to know, even though I don’t exactly want to relive it. But I saw firsthand how hard it is on the telecomm employees not to hear the outcomes of the calls they handle.
When I finish telling her about what happened, she tips her chin up to me. “I was caught off guard by my feelings for you today.”
“Oh yeah?” I loop my arm around her shoulder and tug her to my side, walking with her into the kitchen, which smells like an authentic Italian restaurant. “Good feelings, I hope?”
“Meh. Mostly indifferent,” she deadpans, crossing to the stove and giving a pot a stir.
“Indifferent?” I follow her. “Ouch.”
She chuckles again and turns with a wooden spoon in her hand. It’s covered in some sort of white sauce. “Here, try this.” She shoves it in my mouth.
I moan as the flavor explodes on my tongue. It’s creamy, garlicy heaven.
“How is it?” She’s biting her tongue and looking at me like she really wants me to like this. Good news for her. I definitely do. But saying so would be too easy.
I swallow and give her my most thoughtful look. “Meh. I’m mostly indifferent.”
Her eyes widen, and she drops the spoon back into the pan. I like that we’re on the level of not caring that my germs are hergerms at this point. Double dipping? Not a problem. We can share spoons. I’m cool with it. She’s cool with it. And suddenly I feel like spoons are becoming a very important part of our relationship. If we ever have a family crest, maybe I’ll put a couple on there. Like the ones fromBeauty and the Beastthat are all intertwined during the “Be Our Guest” medley. Love those little guys. And I’ll gladly be intertwined with Noli any day of the week.
When she turns back to me, she’s got a sparkly look in her eye—the kind that makes her baby blues look like gemstones. She holds up her hands, pinching her thumbs and pointer fingers together as if she’s juicing them up to do their darndest.
“You promised you wouldn’t tickle,” I say.
