“Are you aromantic?” Noelle asked. “Because that sounds like a great marriage for a lot of aro people I know. Sex, friendship, shared bills, no chance of love.”
Miriam shook her head. “No. And neither is Tara, I don’t think. If we were, it might have been a wonderful queer platonic partnership. But our motives weren’t that healthy. We both thought if we were already together, we wouldn’t have to risk the messiness and vulnerability of falling in love. Neither of us really goes in for the unpredictable.”
“That sounds like something Cass would have called hogwash, right before doing something to make your life super unpredictable.”
“Oh, like leaving me one quarter of her business?” Miriam laughed. “Yeah. She wasn’t a fan.”
“She was such a meddler.” Noelle shook her head, smiling ruefully. “Alright, I’ll leave you to painting. I’m going to go cut down some trees. Let me know if you want to come use the chain saw. I find it very meditative when I’m having trouble with a decision.”
That offer was both the nicest part of Noelle’s apology and strangely hot. Miriam gave an awkward thumbs-up and turned quickly back to the wall before Noelle could read her expression. Some part of her had hoped, against all rationality, that Noelle would ask her to stay. Instead she’d told her to decide for herself.
How was Miriam supposed to know what would be good for her? She never had up to now.
Now that she knew Noelle didn’t hate her, the pull she felt toward the woman wanted to burst from its chains. She wanted to ask Noelle all of her secrets. She’d never wanted to swap secrets with Tara. No matter how much she liked Tara, she didn’t want to get lost in her.
Feeling that way about Noelle fit together pieces in her mind like a puzzle she’d been avoiding finishing. She might never be with Noelle, but the partnership she and Tara had planned wasn’t going to work for her anymore. There was nothing wrong with a friendly respectful marriage with no romance, it just turned out she wanted something else entirely.
She needed to be honest with Tara.
Like she’d been summoned by Miriam’s thoughts, a sleek blonde bob wrapped in a long white coat swept around the corner of the barn.
Miriam forgot to breathe for several beats.
“Hey, darlin,” Tara said, smiling at her. “Can you show me to my room?”
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Miriam managed, finally, a hand to her chest. Okay, so she was going to have to be honest with Tara really soon. In person. At Carrigan’s.
Wasn’t expectingwas an understatement. She would never have imagined that Tara would come here—would be here, incongruously, in this place. She’d told Tara they would have everything worked out by Thanksgiving, and Miriam knew the Thanksgiving meal was a huge event for the Chadwicks. She’d expected Tara to call her on Friday to check in, not to show up for the holiday. What had she said to her parents?
Cole appeared behind Tara, dragging suitcases. “I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t be stopped, so I came with her to mitigate the damage.”
Tara made no sign she’d heard Cole. “Why don’t you show me around?”
Miriam shook herself out of her daze. “Yes. Let’s go inside.” She led them in through a side entrance to the great room, where they found Hannah and Noelle. Hannah’s eyebrows shot up, and Noelle looked between Tara and Miriam, crossing her arms and frowning.
“This is my cousin Hannah—” Miriam began.
“Such a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard such lovely things.” Tara had dropped into the debutante cadence she fell back on when she was uncomfortable or felt out of place. Miriam’s heart hurt at how badly Tara was trying to be polite. “And you are?” Tara’s gaze had moved to Noelle.
“As you’ve just walked into my home, I feel I ought to be the one asking that,” Noelle said, stuffing her hands into her pockets and subtly widening her stance. She looked like a lizard frilling out its neck to threaten intruders to its territory. Why was she being so rude?
“I’m Miriam’s fiancée,” Tara said tightly.
Miriam stepped in. “Noelle is the manager of the tree farm. She was Aunt Cass’s right-hand woman. She owns part of Carrigan’s now.” Miriam did not add “With me.” That was not a conversation to have in the middle of the foyer.
Hannah picked up Tara’s suitcase. “We’re so glad to meet you. I take it you’ll be joining us for Thanksgiving? I’ll just put this”—she looked at Miriam, who subtly but briskly shook her head—“in the back cottage! It’s so twee and comfortable, Tara, you’ll be snug as a bug.”
Tara’s eyes went from Hannah to Miriam, and her lips flattened. She turned her best Southern Belle on Hannah and said, while her eyes also cut daggers at Miriam, “Why, that will be so wonderful, I’ll adore all that privacy.”
“I have to say,” she told Noelle as she passed, “I love this whole dapper…” she paused, as if looking for the words, “aesthetic you’ve cultivated.”
“I call it Farmer Dyke,” Noelle said, grinning a little evilly. “And bless your heart.”
Chapter 9
Noelle
That night, Noelle flopped backwards onto Hannah’s bed and pulled her hair into spikes. Kringle complained about his spot being disturbed but resettled next to her head. “Please remove me from this timeline and insert me into one in which I have fewer feelings.”