“You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to. At least I’ll know you’re eating well. I’ll make sure you have lots of apples and cheese, too.”
“And honey butter?”
He grinned. “I’ll throw in some of my mom’s apple butter too. And her jam. She makes the best strawberry jam you’ve ever tasted.”
“I’d like that.”
“Can I see you? I know you’ll be busy, but I don’t think I can wait until your deal closes next week to see you again.” He brushed his mouth over mine. “Not now, not after yesterday and this morning—especially this morning.”
“I don’t know what my hours will be, when I can get here…”
I whimpered as his lips danced over my skin, and he tugged teasingly on my bottom lip. “I’ll come to you. But say you want that too.”
“I do.”
“Send me your addresses—work and home—and I’ll figure it out.” He paused, his fingers still on my neck. “Dani…”
He had suddenly become very serious, his eyes intense as he stared at me.
“What?” I whispered.
“I need you to promise me something.”
“Okay?”
“I want you to see someone about your panic attacks.”
“I’m fine. They’ll go away.”
“They might. But they might not. Panic attacks are your body’s way of telling you it can’t handle the stress you’re putting on it.”
“The stress will be gone soon.”
“What about the deal after this one? Or the one after that?”
“It’s never happened before, Noah. I’m a little stretched right now. Really, I’m fine.”
“So fine, you tensed the very second I mentioned work.”
“You just reminded me of my problem, that’s all.”
He stood, raking his hands through his hair. “I disagree, but I’m not going to argue with you. Until you’re ready, you won’t listen. All I ask is you promise me you’ll think about it.”
“I will.”
He held out his hand, pulling me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. “If you need me, call me. I’m not letting you leave without my number. I’ll get to you as fast as I can.”
“Okay.”
He pressed a heavy kiss to my head. “Okay. Let’s go get you loaded up.”
I had barely made it through my door when my phone buzzed.
Noah: I shouldn’t have let you leave. I miss you.
I smiled at his words, running my fingers over my still-swollen lips. His goodbye had been thorough. So thorough, I thought he might throw me down and have me on the trunk lid. A car driving by honking had brought us both to our senses, and he finally let me slide into the driver’s seat. He had hunched down, kissing me again—this time slow and sweet. Then he stood, his voice thick. “Remember—you need me, I’m here.”
I replied to his text, still smiling.
Me: I miss you too. Just arrived and unpacking the massive amount of food you sent me home with.
Noah: Make sure you eat. You need to be strong.
Me: I will.
His next text made my breath catch in my throat.
Noah: I can still taste you. My bed smells like you.
My head fell to my chest. I could feel his passion through the phone.
Me: Stop. You’re killing me.
Noah: What a way to go, though. Right, Sprout?
Me: Leaving the phone to unpack now.
Noah: I’ll be in touch—soon.
Me: Okay.
I put away the boxes of food Noah had sent, threw in some laundry, ran out and grabbed my dry cleaning, then returned home. There was nothing I needed at the store, thanks to Noah’s generosity—he’d even sent cream and eggs. I made some coffee and opened my laptop, working away, making sure my data was correct, and then emailed Wayne in the IT department, asking him to check the program when it still didn’t work. Noah was right—it didn’t hurt to ask. Then I got busy checking the rest of the data.
With a sigh, I sat up and rolled my shoulders, feeling the tight muscles protest from the awkward position. I glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was after six. The afternoon had flown by. Beside me, my phone buzzed.
Noah: My mom makes great pot roast.
I chuckled at the random text.
Me: Having dinner, are you?
Noah: No—we always have a late lunch. I ate a couple of hours ago. I saved you some.
I shook my head at his thoughtfulness. I wasn’t used to that.
Me: Freeze it for me.
Noah: She made bread today. I snagged you some of that too. That was missing from your care package today.
I had to laugh at his statement. “Care package.” The man sent me enough food, jam, and honey butter to last a month and he called it a care package.
Me: Noah, you’re spoiling me.
Noah: I like spoiling you. Did you eat dinner?
I grimaced, knowing he wouldn’t like the fact that I hadn’t even thought about dinner yet. I fibbed a little in my reply.
Me: I was about to.
Noah: I highly recommend pot roast.