CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“So, what do you think?” Heather asked Noah, holding her new dress up against the gray tube dress she’d been wearing all day.
“Nice,” Noah said, barely glancing in her direction.
Heather immediately positioned herself between Noah and the large-screen TV he was watching.
“Hey,” he said. “You make a better door than a window.”
Heather rolled her eyes toward the low ceiling. Had he always spoken in such tired clichés? “You didn’t even look.”
“I looked,” he said. “I said it’s nice. Now could you please move? The bases are loaded.”
“I’m not moving until you take a good look.”
Noah’s exasperated sigh all but shook the room. He swiveled toward her, his hands dropping into his lap, his thick, dark hair falling across his forehead, his pale blue eyes opening wide. “Okay. I’m looking.”
“And?”
“It’s lovely. Now could you move?”
“You don’t like it,” Heather said.
“Idolike it.”
“It looks better on. With the right shoes.” She glanced toward her bare feet.
“I’m sure it does.”
“What does that mean?”
“What doeswhatmean?”
God,Heather thought, refusing to budge. He was as bad as her mother.
A great roar suddenly shot from the TV.
“Shit!” Noah said, almost as loud.
“What happened?”
“Martinez hit a homer. They just hit a grand slam. And I missed it.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“You’re the one standing in front of the TV.”
“Only because you won’t take two minutes to give me your honest opinion.”
“You want my honest opinion?” Noah said angrily. “Fine. I’ll give you my honest opinion. You’re right—I’m not crazy about it.”
“What do you mean, you’re not crazy about it?” Heather’s voice veered dangerously close to a wail. “What don’t you like?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of gaudy, isn’t it?”
“Isit?”
He shrugged, leaning on his left elbow, straining to see around her. “It just looks a little…cheap.”