The Notebook - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,34
enough to get out the snarls, letting it rest on her shoulders. Looking in the mirror, she wished she had brought a clasp or a couple of hairpins.
And a little more mascara. But what could she do? Her eyes still had a little of what she’d put on earlier, and she touched up with a washcloth, doing the best she could.
When she was finished, she checked herself in the mirror, feeling pretty despite everything, and went back down the stairs.
Noah was in the living room squatting before a fire, doing his best to coax it to life. He didn’t see her come in, and she watched him as he worked. He had changed his clothes as well and looked good: his shoulders broad, wet hair hanging just over his collar, jeans tight.
He poked the fire, moving the logs, and added some more kindling. Allie leaned against the door-jamb, one leg crossed over the other, and continued to watch him. In a few minutes the fire had turned to flames, even and steady. He turned to the side to straighten the remaining unused logs and caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to her quickly.
Even in his clothes she looked beautiful. After a moment he turned away shyly, going back to stacking the logs.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“I know. You weren’t supposed to.” She knew what he had been thinking and felt a tinge of amusement at how young he seemed.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A couple of minutes.”
Noah brushed his hands on his pants, then pointed to the kitchen. “Can I get you some tea? I started the water while you were upstairs.” Small talk, anything to keep his mind clear. But damn, the way she looked . . .
She thought for a second, saw the way he was looking at her, and felt the old instincts take over.
“Do you have anything stronger, or is it too early to drink?”
He smiled. “I have some bourbon in the pantry. Is that okay?”
“That sounds great.”
He started toward the kitchen, and Allie watched him run his hand through his wet hair as he disappeared.
Thunder boomed loudly, and another downpour started. Allie could hear the roaring of the rain on the roof, could hear the snapping of logs as the flickering flames lit the room. She turned to the window and saw the gray sky flash lighter for just a second. Moments later, another boom of thunder. Close this time.
She took a quilt from the sofa and sat on the rug in front of the fire. Crossing her legs, she adjusted the quilt until she was comfortable and watched the dancing flames. Noah came back, saw what she had done, and went to sit beside her. He put down two glasses and poured some bourbon into each of them. Outside, the sky grew darker.
Thunder again. Loud. The storm in full fury, winds whipping the rain in circles.
“It’s quite a storm,” Noah said as he watched the drops flow in vertical streams on the windows. He and Allie were close now, though not touching, and Noah watched her chest rise slightly with every breath, imagining the feel of her body once again before fighting it back.
“I like it,” she said, taking a sip. “I’ve always liked thunderstorms. Even as a young girl.”
“Why?” Saying anything, keeping his balance.
“I don’t know. They just always seemed romantic to me.”
She was quiet for a moment, and Noah watched the fire flicker in her emerald eyes. Then she said, “Do you remember sitting together and watching the storm a few nights before I left?”
“Of course.”
“I used to think about it all the time after I went home. I always thought about how you looked that night. It was the way I always remembered you.”
“Have I changed much?”
She took another sip of bourbon, feeling it warm her. She touched his hand as she answered.
“Not really. Not in the things that I remember. You’re older, of course, with more life behind you, but you’ve still got the same gleam in your eye. You still read poetry and float on rivers. And you’ve still got a gentleness that not even the war could take away.”
He thought about what she’d said and felt her hand lingering on his, her thumb tracing slow circles.
“Allie, you asked me earlier what I remembered most about the summer. What do you remember?”
It was a while before she answered. Her voice seemed to