“Sure.” Sam still had a funny look on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Definitely. See you later.”
Once she was safely in Sam’s car, Nicole checked the text. Noah’s address was 313 Sherbet Street, Brunswick. She typed the address into Google Maps, waited as it calculated the time it would take to drive there. One minute. Noah livedtwo streets over. How did none of them know that? She growled and opened the driver side door, before realising it would make Sam incredibly suspicious if she didn’t drive. Gritting her teeth, she started the engine.
His place was an inoffensive two-story brick, not so different from her house. The garden surprised her with its pink and yellow roses and smooth green grass. Maybe he was renting off one of those old Italian guys who still showed up every week to mow? Or it was a decoy because the house was full of goat skulls and inflatable sex dolls…
She killed the ignition, rubbing her sweaty palms on her thighs. This would be over in an hour. She’d ask Noah her questions then get the heck out. She shoved the car door open and headed up the front path with what she hoped was an authoritative-yet-relaxed expression. It felt like her cheeks were set in concrete. She rapped on his door. There was no answer. She knocked harder. “Hello? It’s Nicole. DaSilva. From work.”
God, why was she always saying ridiculous things around Noah? Why couldn’t she be quiet like he was? It made people give you way more intelligence credit. She heard footsteps pound toward her and swallowed, trying to rehydrate her tongue. Her whole body felt like it had dried out.
Noah opened the door. As always, he was bigger than she remembered, tall and wide as a wall. The green of his eyes seemed darker, too, moss on a Nordic mountain. He looked at her, seeing in the way only he seemed to see her. Through and beyond in the way that made her face feel like a disguise. “Hey, Nikki.”
“Hey.” She tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie. “Nice garden.”
A curl of his lip. “You find the place okay?”
“Ha-ha. I can’t believe you live so close to the studio. You could have said something.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Hmph.”
He stepped aside, showing her a long cream-coloured hallway. Music was playing from somewhere, that thudding rap Noah liked. Trap music, maybe? Tabby would know.
“Coming inside?” he asked.
“If I did, where would I go?”
“Down the hall and to the left. We’ll have a drink in the kitchen.”
She licked her cracked lips. “Okay.”
Noah Newcomb’s house was not only free of dead goats, butnice. As clean as her house, with the most gorgeous art on the walls. She stopped to examine a painting of a quince tree luxuriating in the afternoon sun, and Noah cleared his throat.
She kept moving, turning left into the sweetest little kitchen she’d ever seen, with a big wooden countertop and herb pots everywhere. “Okay. Who owns this place?”
“Me.” Noah strode toward the fancy stainless-steel fridge. “Pinot okay?”
“Sure. Did your house come furnished?”
He grinned. “You were expecting deer heads and grease on the walls, weren’t you?”
“Umm…?”
He pulled a green wine bottle from the fridge. “Not my style.”
“How did this become your style?”
“If you grew up where I did, you’d like nice things, too.”
It was easily the most personal thing he’d ever told her. Nicole was bursting to ask for details, but sensed the time wasn’t right. She scanned the kitchen, taking in the shelves of brightly-coloured cookbooks and the pretty lighting. It was still bizarre to think this house was Noah’s.
“When did you move in?”
“Three years ago,” he said, collecting glasses from a kitchen cabinet. “Me and your dad fixed it up on weekends.”
So, her dad had been here. She felt an unexpected throb of homesickness. Not for the house a couple of streets away, but her father. “That doesn’t surprise me. Dad loves fixing up houses. We used to want to get him on one of those renovation shows.”