I remove a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the tap.
Then proceed to gulp it down.
The last drop falls onto my tongue, but before I have a chance to refill the glass, it’s removed from my hand.
Noah puts it on the counter. “Spill it, Kate. Why are you freaked out about me seeing you naked or in a swimsuit?”
I cringe. “I have scars from the accident.”
He shrugs. “I can imagine you do, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“No, I mean they’re bad scars. They’re so bad, in fact, my stepmother booked an appointment with a plastic surgeon for me.”
His forehead crinkles with several deep lines. “What difference does it make if you have scars? It doesn’t change who you are.”
My voice wavers through the three stages of being caught with your hand in the cookie jar before dinner. Panic. Frustration. Resignation. “It makes me unattractive. Undesirable. Less than perfect.”
“Says who?”
I don’t answer and reach for the empty glass. Maybe I can fill it with wine instead of water this time.
Sounds like a plan to me.
Noah stretches his arm back and grabs the neck of his T-shirt. He smoothly pulls the fabric over his head, revealing mouth-watering abs and a thick, jagged scar at his side. It travels several inches toward his belly button.
“Does this scar make me unattractive? Undesirable? Less than perfect?” he asks. “All right, you can skip the less-than-perfect one. I’ve never been perfect and I never will be, scar or no scar.”
I trace my finger along it. “How did you get this?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
My mouth slides up to one side. “So are you.” At his mirror image of my smile, I sigh. “Okay, you win. No, it doesn’t make you undesirable. But you can hardly compare our situations. That’s like comparing apples to margaritas. You have one scar. I can’t say the same.”
“How about you show me your scars, and I’ll be the judge.”
“What here? Now?”
“Sure why not?”
“Because…because you’ll see my panties.” Said panties grow damp at the thought of that.
The cocky smile is back on his face. “And they’re hideous granny panties?”
“Well, no.” I don’t think I’ve ever owned a pair like that. My stepmother has frequently emphasized the importance of wearing pretty underwear…even when no one will see it. “But even if they were, it wouldn’t make a difference.”
“Did you bring a swimsuit with you?”
I nod. I have no idea why I brought it. Maybe it was out of habit from traveling to all those tropical locales with my family over the years.
“So put it on, and show me the scars you’re so freaked out about. I can guarantee they aren’t as bad as you think.”
I deliberate for a few seconds the pros and cons of doing as he asked. But then, what difference does it make? I’m not in Copper Creek for much longer. It’s not like I’ll have to witness month after month of him cringing every time he sees me.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” I go upstairs to my room and quickly change into my red bikini and matching cover-up that ties at the waist.
I let out a hard breath.I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. This is Noah we’re talking about. He’s sweet and funny. He’s been hurt in the past by his grandfather’s words. He would never hurt me. At least not intentionally.
I return to the kitchen. Noah is busy on his phone when I enter.
