Page 83 of The One Night Dash
“Has she remarried again?”
“No. Says she won’t make that mistake again.” I shake my head. “I don’t ever want her or my sisters to know they could have said goodbye. It would ruin them.”
“That will never be a problem unless they ask.” He shakes his head. “I cannot lie about what that bitch did.”
“Dad would want you to.” I glance at him as we come to a stop. “You were his best friend, Rick. Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll tell you that you never knew him.”
He nods. “I have never hated a person in my life, but her.” He sits back in the seat and looks out the window. “I left this state,moved to Michigan, because I was so angry at my parents for not cutting ties with her.” He slaps away a tear. “Five fucking years of time I lost with them, years I will never get back, and now that they’re gone, I’m even more pissed at her for living.”
“I’m glad you got to reconcile, and hey, if you didn’t move, you’d have never met your wife.” I shrug.
“Can you pull over? I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I am sopissed at you right now, I would scream if you weren’t sick,” Noelle mutters under her breath as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge.
I’m not sick, just a fucking mess and couldn’t tell her why, not yet.
“It’s like riding a bike,” I say, trying to ease her anxiety about driving in the city.
“Yeah, if you were driving it through a mosh pit. On fire. During a Metallica encore.” She cuts me a glare. “And parking? Forget it.” She shakes her head, voice rising as a cab swerves too close. “Parallel parking in this city isn’t a skill. It’s black-market sorcery passed down by wizards. My mom was a physical therapist and my dad a finance bro.”
I stupidly use my best Rubeus Hagrid voice and tell her,“You’re a wizard, Noelle.”
“I hate you,” she growls.
We lurch forward, horns blaring all around us, and a bike courier darts past her mirror. Noelle lets out a strangled laugh—half-hysterical, half-horrified.
“I stop for pedestrians, they glare. I go, they glare harder. It’s like they’ve all made a pact to audition for Frogger withtheir actual lives. I should just hang a sign on the bumper that says,‘Sorry, I’m not from here.’”
That does it—I’m gone. Head back, laughing so hard I can barely breathe. She smacks my arm without taking her eyes off the road.
“Fucking love you, Pembrooke.” It slips, but truth is, I do. I fucking love this woman.
She blinks a few times like she’s erasing what I just said and continues on, “I’m serious, Dash! One more delivery guy shoots me that look, likeSweetheart, you don’t belong here, I’m ditching this SUV and finishing the trip on foot. Best of luck, buddy.”
I watch her cheeks pinken, her jaw set tight, as feathers from that damn tutu are still stuck in her hair from Harbor Point. And all I can think is,She’s driving me through Manhattan traffic like it’s a death march, and it just might be.
I tapin the code for the bookstore and wave a hand in front of me. “After you.”
“I’d ask how you knew my code, but then I can’t remember if I asked you before.” She walks past me and inside.
She stops and stands there, looking around, so fucking happy to be surrounded by books and the place she made for herself, a haven of safety. With everything she has gone through, she still loves… love.
I want to just live in this moment, bask in the beauty that is Noelle Pembrooke. But the longer I wait, the longer I know, and she doesn’t … She’d have every right to be pissed at me for holding back.
“So,” I start at the same time she turns around and says, “I’m gonna need you to do me against a bookshelf.”
“Yeah?” I ask as I fight the demon inside me that threatens to silence the man she deserves.
“I mean, whenever.”
“Thought you’d want to see Hemingway before I get you naked and sweaty.”
“HemingwayandEarnest.” She smiles as she continues looking around as she makes her way back to the stairs that lead to her apartment.
“Come again?”
She holds two fingers up over her shoulder. “Two cats.”
