Page 59 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
“I appreciate all your assistance.” Scarlett used her most professional and platonic voice, making sure Noah understood they were firmly in the casual acquaintance zone. “While M’Kenzee and Maree are out of town,” Scarlett added in a rush, to make sure Noah knewshe knewthat their togetherness was project-related and temporary.
Had she made her point?
The smug glint in his eye and the subtle lift of the corners of his lips saidno.
Don’t look at his lips!
Scarlett snapped her eyes to her food, internally reprimanding herself, determined tonotexamine Noah at all. She wouldnotpay attention to his tall frame, lean but too muscular to be considered lanky. She wouldnotcompare his dark, bottomless brown eyes with his rich, brunette hair, clean-cut on the back and sides but longer and shiny on top. And Scarlettabsolutelywouldnotadmire the chiseled structure of his tanned cheek and jaw, ignoring an itch in her fingers to test the smoothness and heat of his skin.
“It’s time to heat things up.”
“Excuse me?” Scarlett jolted.
“They say beginning with something warm settles your stomach and enhances flavor perception, so we should start with the soup,” Noah instructed.
Scarlett glanced up at Noah to see if he was serious or if he possessed psychic powers and had read her wayward thoughts. Her brow furrowed as she studied his innocent countenance.
Stop looking at him. And thinking about him.
At all!
Determined to follow her own advice, Scarlett took a sip of her soup and put Noah Ford right out of her mind.
5
“After all, tomorrow is another day.”
Scarlett O’Hara’s final words in
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
“Can you roll me up these stairs?” Scarlett asked with a beleaguered groan as she eyed the steps leading to the back door of Maree Larsen’s second-story apartment.
Instead of obliging, Noah grabbed Scarlett’s hand and ascended the stairs two at a time.
“You didn’t eatthatmuch,” he cajoled, carrying her duffle bag over a shoulder, her suitcase in one hand, and pulling her in tow with the other. She tried tugging her hand from his, making a show of wrestling with the straps on her two camera bags and her train case, but his grip didn’t budge.
In fact, his hold might’ve tightened, as though her getting away wasn’t an option for him.
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. Not from fear, at least not a fear of Noah — he might’ve been the least-threatening human she’d ever encountered. With his kind, albeit pulse-quickening smiles, and those playful yet entrancing eyes, Scarlett would bet money that Noah didn’t have an intimidatingbone in his body. Not to mention the way he exuded compassion and reassurance and his constant determination to help. . . No, the worst thing she’d found in Noah was a big, huge servant’s heart that wouldn’t let her off the hook for this crazy pumpkin patch ordeal.
Then what did she have to fear?
Hope.
This place.
Hoping to belong in this place.
She’d spent half a day in Noah’s presence. She’d met two old ladies, the local furniture-maker, and one waiter. She’d driven through town three times. That’s all.
So, why did a craving for a home — a permanent home — gnaw at her gut?
And why did Noah’s hand in hers feel so good?
Before she had time to overanalyze that traitorous line of questioning, Noah had reached the landing and dropped her hand to dig the keys from his pocket.
A shiver floated down Scarlett’s back at the sudden absence of the connection.
