My old man still snores in his recliner chair as I quietly make my way into the old woodshed at the back of his house. Dad is too old to be going in here to clear the disastrous mess, especially in this horrible weather we are experiencing at the moment so I decided to declutter it once and for all for him while he's asleep.

I take time to dig through the piles of trash that we will never need, but I stop when I see a big old wooden crate with artwork peeking out from the top. My mamma.

It's been a long time since I thought about my mother, and now seeing her work, all the amazing art she created with clay and a few canvases, just dumped into the shed like it's worthless makes me incredibly sad. Dad's house had plenty of her pieces on the shelves so this might be the rest that he couldn't find the space for. An idea comes to my mind. Since I started working on my house in Wake Forest I haven't paid much attention to the interior decor. My priority was having a functioning home for my basic needs.

After setting the heavy wooden crate in the back of my truck, I go back inside to heat up some food for the two of us. It's Sunday, and I have to go back to Wake Forest, but there is something that is making me dread the journey back.

Noah's messages sit unanswered on my phone. And I'm itching to write him back, but I can't make myself do it.

Why my soul feels so fucking lost anytime he's not around, but the moment he's near me, I feel a stupid sense of peace that can't be explained. Why the hell did I need to care so much? There was something about Noah that I just couldn't fucking hold at arm's length no matter how hard I tried. It should be casual, not romantic. He didn't even want to stay the night. But isn't this what we agreed on in the beginning? To have fun?

After having lunch with my old man and his constant nagging about the awful weather I decide to get going. If this storm blows up I might not be able to get back until it's cleared.

Even though Anchorage sees around five hours of daylight during winter time, which is more than most other parts of Alaska, because of the clouds the light is already sombre. Soon after I start my journey it begins to snow. The few flakes which fall at first grow into a flurry and then fall thickly, obliterating the view of the mountains. I know that if it continues like this soon the snow will be around four inches and street maintenance crews will be out with snowploughs to push the accumulated snow to the side of the roads. Hopefully, I will get home before that.

Other than that, my drive back to Wake Forest is an eye-opener. It gives me all the time necessary for me to put things into perspective and decide what I am going to say to Noah. All while replaying every single moment we exchanged last week. Every smile. Every smoldering fucking gaze from him. After the first time I had him, I swear I entered the twilight zone. I spent the rest of my days on autopilot–working, talking to people but I couldn't even tell what I spoke about if I tried. I can't stand the way he makes me feel. And it shouldn't be like that. He left. No, he fucking ran out of my bed without so much as a goodbye.

It was frustrating, to say the least, to have him just pick up his clothes off the floor, get dressed and leave after we have sex. I'm such a fucking coward, I can't even bring myself to ask him about it. Instead every time he asks to come over, my only response is yes. And I don't want to do that anymore. But I do want to. Everything about me turns into a contradiction around him. I hate how he makes me feel. But I don't. I need him. But I can't for many reasons. He tests every boundary I have. Forces me to cross every line I swore I'd never cross. And that's not healthy for me.

I realize I am going to have to put a stop to whatever is going on between Noah and me. I am in too far and my heart is engaged whether I like it or not. To me, this is no longer just sex. But to Noah that's all it will be. And I can't risk a broken heart. The whole point of resisting him for that long was exactly that, I don't think I would be able to handle it again. And even though my previous relationship is incomparable to whatever this is with Noah, I still can't see the future where Noah would stay here with me for the long haul.

As I'm walking through my front door, I finally message him that when the weather clears up he should come to my house to talk.

Once my front door shuts behind me, I lean against it. My fingertips are as cold as my insides.

He was almost mine.

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