Chapter 5

• Isabella.
• The third time I saw Noah was next to the bananas.
• Which, honestly, ruined the dramatic edge he’d carved into my brain with his whole “mystery-man-in-the-rain” introduction. There’s just something about standing next to a giant yellow fruit display that kills the brooding aesthetic.
• I was trying to pick the least bruised ones. He stood a few feet away, staring down a bag of oranges like it had personally offended him. I was halfway through reaching for a bunch when he turned and noticed me.
• “Hey,” he said.
• It was casual, almost too casual, like we were just neighbors who passed each other at the grocery store on a regular basis and didn’t have any weird baked-goods history between us.
• “Hey,” I echoed, straightening up and tucking my hair behind my ear like a seventh grader at a school dance. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
• He shrugged. “I don’t usually come this early.”
• I glanced at the clock near the register. It was past eleven. Not exactly dawn.
• “Guess we’re both branching out,” I said.
• He gave a small nod and something that was not quite a smile but close to one, which was something looser than his usual expression. For a second, he looked like he was going to keep walking.
• But then he surprised me by saying, “You’re not like the others.”
• I blinked. “What?”
• Noah’s gaze dropped, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Never mind.”
• “No, hold on. I’m not like the others… what? Tourists? Cult members? Banana buyers?”
• He huffed a quiet laugh, surprising me even more.
• “People in town. They’re… predictable and careful. You’re not.”
• “Wow,” I said. “So basically, I’m your chaos theory.”
• He looked at me again, and this time there was a flicker of something in his eyes I couldn’t quite read. Curiosity, maybe?
• “Is that a bad thing?” I asked.
• He shook his head slowly. “It’s not anything yet.”
• That line stayed with me as we moved through the store in silence. I tried not to glance over at him as he reached for coffee beans. I tried not to imagine his kitchen. Did he drink it black? Did he even have a mug that didn’t look like a medieval relic?
• By the time we both got to checkout, I had too many bags and no plan for how to get them home without snapping a wrist.
• “I’ll help,” he said, reaching for the heavier ones before I could argue.
• “You sure? I don’t want to interrupt your mysterious errands.”
• His mouth twitched. “This is my only errand.”
• I didn’t argue. I also didn’t point out that him carrying my groceries was probably going to ruin my ability to flirt like a normal person for the rest of the day.
• We walked in sync quietly agaun, but not awkward. When we reached my front steps, I hesitated.
• “You want to come in?” I said. “For tea or something. As a thank-you.”
• He looked up at the cottage. His jaw tensed, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly.
• “I don’t want to intrude.”
• “You’re carrying my groceries. The threshold has already been crossed.”
• That made him pause, but then he nodded once and followed me inside.
• ***
• The cottage smelled like cinnamon and lemon soap which was leftovers from yesterday’s cleaning spree. I tossed my keys on the table and gestured toward the couch.
• “Sit, if you want. I’ll make the tea.”
• He stayed standing.
• I filled the kettle, placed it on the stove, and tried not to feel like a host on a first date. This wasn’t a date. This was polite, civilized, post-grocery tea. Totally normal.
• “You live alone?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence.
• “Yeah,” I said. “Is that not allowed in Willow Creek?”
• “It’s just… remote.”
• “That’s the point.” I glanced back at him. “Do you always ask your neighbors personal questions while standing in their living rooms?”
• “Only when I’ve carried their groceries.”
• I laughed, even though my nerves were still doing cartwheels. “Fair.”
• The kettle started to whistle. I grabbed two mismatched mugs and poured.
• “No sugar, right?” I asked.
• He nodded. I handed him a mug and took a seat on the armrest of the couch, leaving enough space for him to sit down if he changed his mind. He didn’t.
• He held the mug like it was warmer than he expected.
• “This place suits you,” he said after a moment.
• “What makes you say that?”
• “It’s quiet. But there’s still something… restless about it.”
• “That sounds like a poetic way of calling me unsettled.”
• He didn’t deny it. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s used to being still.”
• I sipped the tea. “Maybe I’m trying to learn.”
• “Why?”
• Because the world turned on me and chewed me up and I don’t know who I am anymore?
• I didn’t say that out loud.
• Instead, I looked out the window and said, “Because standing still is harder than it looks.”
• For a while, we just drank tea and listened to the wind shake the trees. I’d forgotten how to be comfortable with quiet.
• I reached to take his empty mug, and our fingers brushed. It was just a quick, bare skin on skin contact, but it felt like the word had stopped. My breath hitched.
• His hand pulled back immediately, like I’d burned him.
• I looked up, and so did he.
• There was that look in his eyes again, that one tbat made me feel like I was being read instead of just seen.
• “Sorry,” I murmured.
• “It’s fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
• He stepped back. “I should go.”
• Right. Of course. Why did I think this could be a normal tea and cookies situation without turning into something weird?
• “Sure,” I said. “Thanks again. For the help.”
• He nodded, already halfway to the door. Then he paused with his hand on the knob.
• “You write,” he said.
• “I do.”
• “Good.”
• And then he left.