against the seatback for a second before he reached for the door release. “Okay. Let’s get you inside and settled.”
He helped me into the kitchen and sat me down at a table that I recognized from Angela’s social media posts, back when I’d followed her, before she had been my patient. I remembered this piece well; she’d found it at an auction in Texas and refinished it herself, detailing the process on her posts.
“Here. Try some ginger ale.” Noah slid a glass in front of me and then sat down across the table. I took a few tentative sips.
“Noah, I’m sorry. I know I made tonight even more of a mess than it had to be. I really—I just panicked. I’m sorry.”
“I know,” he responded quietly. “But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was too much. I didn’t mean it to be like that. I’m sorry, too.”
There was so much more to say, but neither of us spoke again beyond the necessities of getting me upstairs and into bed for the night. I wore one of Noah’s T-shirts, which hung halfway down my thighs. I climbed between the sheets of the bed he used to share with Angela—this too I recognized from her social media—and closed my eyes.
When Noah joined me, he pulled me over to his side, pressed a kiss to the top of my head and murmured against my ear.
“Sleep now. Good night, baby.”
I pretended I was already asleep and didn’t answer. But in reality, I was awake for a long, long time . . . thinking.
The next morning, when I opened my eyes, sunlight flooded the pretty bedroom. I was alone in the huge king-sized four-poster bed, the one that had too many pillows, according to Noah. I spied the decorative basket in the corner that was piled high with them. I wondered distractedly if he left them there now or if he still humored Angela’s memory by replacing them every morning.
I felt a little better this morning. When I stood up, the room didn’t spin around me, and I didn’t have that nasty clammy sense that I’d had last night. I wandered across the plush bedroom carpet into the en suite bathroom.
Noah had left out a towel in there for me. I showered, using his bath gel, brushed my teeth with the brand-new toothbrush he’d given me last night, and then dressed in the same clothes I’d worn to the restaurant. My sundress, tossed onto a chair, was wrinkled, but nothing was too bad. It would do until I could get home.
Home.
Standing in this beautiful house, gazing around me, it was more apparent than ever that this was Angela’s home. It always would be. Oh, another woman might move in and put her mark on it, but it wouldn’t be someone who’d known Angela, who could still remember her smile, her sense of flair and her love. It wouldn’t be someone who had witnessed first-hand the unwavering commitment between two people who’d pledged to love each other for life, even when that life had been cruelly shortened.
It wouldn’t be me.
I was a miasma of confusion and uncertainty right now, not entirely sure how I’d gotten to this point. I’d believed that Noah and I were a good fit. I’d thought that our strong friendship would let us build a life together, that we could grow a love together—that we’d figure out how to adapt our lives. But looking back, I could see where I’d ignored warning signs, when I’d chosen not to see what I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Noah was a good man, a dear, sweet and loving man, and I had no doubt that he would surround me with that love for as long as I’d let him. He would give me a beautiful, privileged life, and I would want for nothing materially or emotionally. Noah believed I was his future, and he was ready for that future to begin here. Now.
But the life he wanted to give me wasn’t the life I wanted. The future he’d pictured wasn’t the one I needed. And as painful as that was to admit, if I didn’t face facts now, I’d end up swept along with the tide of Noah’s plans, unable to find my feet again until turning back would be too hard. I might look back at this day as the one when I’d lost my own dreams. My very self.
Taking a deep breath, I walked down the steps and poked around