I needed him so much, it frightened me. I hadn’t needed anyone in so long, and it happened so fast. I felt so much for him in such a short time, and I didn’t know how to handle it—so I pushed him away.
My phone buzzed, and I looked at the screen. A picture waited for me—a box sitting on my doorstep, the logo familiar.
The words “Please open the door and get me” were on my screen.
I hesitated, and it buzzed again.
Please.
I made my way to the door and pulled it open, looking down at the container and the logo on the top. Harvest Table.
Noah.
I looked around, but I couldn’t see him. He must have dropped it off and left. Feeling disappointed, I lifted the box and went back inside, my legs suddenly shaky.
I slid down, my back to the door, staring at the box.
My phone buzzed again.
I made it for you. It’s your favorite.
My hand trembled as I lifted the lid.
Nestled in the box, the vibrant colors exploding against the brown cardboard, was the roasted beet salad—the one he’d made for me the first day. He even taped a fork to the lid. My stomach grumbled in anticipation, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since my bagel early this morning.
Please. Eat.
I blinked away the moisture in my eyes and lifted the fork, looking at the work of art in the box. I knew it would be amazing—the taste would be tart and sweet, creamy, and crunchy. It would be perfect. Made for me by someone who cared—who cared so much he made this for me, drove all this way late in the evening, risking rejection and more of my ill-placed anger, but came anyway.
My tears spilled over, and a loud sob escaped my mouth.
Noah’s strained voice came through the door.
“Don’t cry, Dani. Please.”
Pushing the box off my lap, I scrambled to my feet, flinging open the door. Noah stood there, his hands in his pockets, staring at me. He looked tired, worried, and distraught. He spoke first.
“I’m sorry I upset you. I do push too hard sometimes.”
I shook my head furiously. “No, I’m sorry. I overreacted, and I said things…I shouldn’t have. Please forgive me,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
I was in his arms in a second, pulled tight to his chest. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I held him as he lifted me up, carrying me inside, and shut the door with his foot, murmuring apologies the whole time. He ran his hands up and down my back in soothing strokes. “Shh, Dani. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I hiccupped. “I’m not like this. I don’t get mad at people and be mean. I don’t pick fights. I don’t let stress get to me and make me weak.” I brushed the tears from my face roughly. “You must think I’m some sort of pathetic joke.”
He stiffened and drew back, cupping my face. “That’s what you think? That you’re pathetic? You think that’s how I see you?”
I sniffled, not even able to look him in the eye. “I don’t know.”
“Hey. Look at me.”
Slowly, I raised my gaze to his.
“You aren’t a joke or pathetic. That isn’t what I think at all.” He tightened his hands on my face. “You’re wonderful, sweet, warm… You’re so amazing to me.” He hesitated. “And you’re struggling. I understand struggling, Dani.”
“How?”
“I’ve been there.”
“You keep saying that, but you never explain it. I don’t understand.”
He leaned his forehead on mine. “I’ll tell you.”
“Now?”
His lips grazed my skin. “Now.”
Noah
I walked around the room, pacing. I wanted Dani to eat, but she refused to until I told her my story. I was so worried about her—she was so pale and the circles under her eyes, dark. She looked exhausted. The changes in her from when I left a couple of days ago shocked me. I wasn’t sure she was ready to hear what I had to say, but I had to try. I had to tell her.
“I grew up on the farm. I was the youngest and, I think, the most spoiled. Life was pretty simple. We went to school, did our chores. We all worked on the farm. When we were old enough, we got a part-time job in the summer, but the farm was still a priority.” I chuckled. “Well, except for me. Gabe and Callie were both happy with their lives and being part of the farm. I wanted more.”
“More?”
“I was a bit of an accident—there’re four years between Callie and me. My outlook wasn’t like theirs. I didn’t even go to the same school they had. The kids I hung out with had different upbringings than me and working on a farm wasn’t on their radar, and it rubbed off. I loved the farm…but I wanted to know what else was out there. I loved going to the city and seeing the buildings and cars—the smells were different, the bustle appealed to me. Much to my parents’ disappointment, when I was old enough, I not only got one part-time job in the summer, I got two others. I did my chores, and I worked. I saved and saved, worked as much as I could, and kept my grades up so I could go to university with a scholarship.”