Kinsley

I make Noel breakfast in the morning. Not because I'm obligated to, but because I want to.

While I'm doing so, I almost burn the bacon. Through the door to the bedroom, I can see Noel asleep in my bed. His shirt is missing. I can see his scars and the tattoos across his back, plus a smidge of the one on his ribcage. He's sprawled across my bed, taking up most of it.

Last night, I asked Noel if he wanted to go out on a date. He said yes. And while my emotions are pulling me in opposite directions, I'm pushing through. Aaron would want me to be happy. Noel makes me happy. The guilt refuses to wash away, but I'm ignoring it. I've realized ignorance is my only defence against it.

My gaze flicks back to Noel. We didn't have sex or do anything sexual. After a night out, we returned to the house. Jack had too much to drink. He was on the porch when we arrived. As soon as he saw us, he started yelling about us staying out too late. It was ridiculous. Cole and Daisy had to calm Jack down. Meanwhile, I invited Noel to stay the night. He was distraught, and I felt terrible. Noel shouldn't have to deal with drunk family members. It's unfair.

I never intended to fall asleep with him. To wear Noel's shirt as a pyjama top and have him shirtless. His arms wrapped around my waist. Breath hot against my neck.

I close my eyes as I whisk the scrambled eggs, releasing a sigh. Sharing a bed with someone felt so good. For the first time in years, I woke up feeling like I belong. No nightmares haunted me. I'm content.

Noel's presence is curing the loneliness that lingers in my soul. Stitching up wounds I thought would never heal.

In some ways, I feel free.

My heart thumps as I turn away. I open the fridge and rummage through it for milk and cheese, as well as some chives.

When I turn around, Noel enters the kitchen while rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. He yawns. "Late breakfast?"

I glance at the clock. It's almost twelve-thirty. Noel slept in. The realization makes me feel giddy. Every day since I arrived, Noel's been getting up at the ass-crack of dawn.

"You slept in," I note.

"Yeah," he smiles. He squints against the bright sunlight pouring through the window. "I've never slept so good. Thanks for letting me stay, Kins."

The whisk slips from my hand. My gaze flicks to his.

His lips part. Concern consumes his face. "What? Did I say something?"

"No," I lie, shaking my head.

Guilt spreads through my stomach as I grab the whisk. It's inevitable. I can't suppress it. Everyone used to call me "Kins" all the time. Grandpa and Grandma still do. Hearing them use my nickname always makes me happy and sad.

So does hearing Noel say it. Which means I've fallen for him harder than I thought.

"Anything I can do to help?" Noel asks.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him swipe a piece of bacon from the plate. He chews while waiting for my response.

"Check on the hash in the oven?" I suggest. "I'm just about to cook the scrambled eggs."

While Noel checks on the hash, I pour the scrambled eggs into the pan. They sizzle and pop while I stir them.

"Hash is turning brown," Noel says. "Want me to take it out?"

"Yes, please."

Noel and I don't speak again until breakfast is before us. Across the island are two plates, forks, and knives. The breakfast hash, comprising cubed potatoes and chopped onions and peppers with fresh tomatoes, sits next to the pan of scrambled eggs. Four slices of buttered toast are stacked on a plate. The slices of bacon lay atop a piece of paper towel.

We dish up in silence, nothing but the clanking of plates and utensils filling the air.

During those minutes, I watch Noel. He's all I can focus on. Any food I bring to my mouth, chew, then swallow is done subconsciously.

Who can blame me?

He's still shirtless. Seeing his bare torso while he's sporting nothing but boxers is torturous.

All I want to look at are his abs and tattoos. His scars.

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and dip my head down. My appetite is a second thought as I push food around with my fork.

After several bites, Noel breaks the silence.

"So," he drawls. "What are we doing on our date?"

I smile at my food. Asking Noel out on a date was terrifying. Although there's been tension between us, self-doubt plagued me. I was scared he'd decline. I was wrong.

Tonight, I want to cook dinner for Noel, Cole, and Jack. Even if Jack doesn't like me, I want to cook dinner to express my gratefulness. Letting me stay here was education saving.

For Noel and I's date, I thought I'd teach him how to bake my mom's family-famous chocolate cake. We can walk to the Farmer's Market, gather our ingredients, then spend all day in the kitchen listening to music and baking.

It's not a typical date, but I like the closeness of it. Plus, I'm still nervous about driving.

I take another bite of hash. "How would you feel about baking a cake?"

His intense brown gaze fixes on me. "Chocolate cake?"

"Yes," I smile.

He groans, taking a sip of his coffee. "Fuck, Kinsley. You're killing me."

A chuckle escapes my lips. "You like the idea?"

He smiles down at his food. A faint blush spreads across his cheeks. "I love it."

*  *  *

Our trip to the Farmer's Market takes longer than expected. When we arrive, Cole is there. Noel's oblivious to the real reason Cole's visiting Daisy and Willow, but I bite my tongue. I'm positive Cole will tell Noel soon. They're like brothers.

After chatting with our friends for a bit, Noel and I head back to the farm.

For the first half of our date, we prep the food for dinner. While I create a marinade for the salmon, Noel cleans and breaks off the ends of the asparagus. Then we both work on the corn.

While husking, Noel tells me about his childhood on the farm. His mother left at a young age because of the abusive relationship she was in with his father. While Noel relays the details, I can't help but admire him. Telling your story makes you brave.

At first, I'm pissed at his mom. She should've taken Noel, too. Then he wouldn't be covered in scars. Damaged from his father's addiction.

By the end, my perception changes.

Noel's mom didn't have a choice. The courts ruled there wasn't enough proof for his mom to have full custody. In fact, nobody in the courts favoured her. Without the father's consent, she took Noel away for a week. That was an offensive strike against her. She had two choices: endure the abusive relationship or leave. Taking Noel would've been a violation.

"These choices are never easy," Noel sighs. "I'm not mad at her. The court ruling was unfair. Until I went against my dad in court, I didn't realize how tricky it was. I forgave my mom a long time ago."

I reach out and squeeze Noel's arm. Corn silk hangs from my fingers, but he doesn't care. Our gazes connect, and I flash him a weak smile.

"She should've come back as soon as you turned eighteen," I say. My voice is soft. "But that's my opinion. If you've forgiven her, Noel, I think that's amazing."

Noel sighs, picking pieces of corn silk from his shirt. "You learn to live with it. Besides, I'm not sure if she's alive. Las time I heard from her was the night she left. Still, if she is, I hope she's living life to its full potential. She tried to stick around. To be there for me. In the end, the court system undermined her. It victimizes lots of people. I got caught in the crossfire."

We exchange a weak smile, fading into silence once again.

As we clean up, I contemplate telling him about my life. I trust Noel, but giving him a piece of my life still feels overwhelming. In order to express my feelings properly, I need to prune my words.

After the clean up is complete, Noel and I collect ingredients for the chocolate cake.

"This recipe is my favourite," I explain. "Mom used to bake it for my birthday every year."

"Used to?" Noel frowns.

My stomach drops. Shit.

"She, uh, yeah, used to," I repeat. "I'm a university student now. I can't return home in March for my birthday."

He pulls his lips to one side. "That's true."

I exhale a silent sigh of relief. That was close.

Noel rests his hands on the edge of the counter. "So, where do we start?"

"With the dry ingredients," I say. "Let's measure those out first."

Measuring doesn't go well. There's a war with the flour, and the flour wins.

In the kitchen, Noel's a bit of a klutz. His elbow collides with the container of flour, knocking it over. A fine layer of dust coats everything, including my jeans.

At first, I struggle with the concept of baking a cake. Last time I made this cake was with Mom. Not having her here is difficult, but I'm having a different fun with Noel.

Listening to him sing along to the music, him making me laugh, watching him work with a smudge of flour on his cheek... these are fresh memories I can associate with baking. Ones that don't replace the old ones I cherish, but ones that curb the sadness plaguing me.

"Why did you want to bake a cake?" Noel asks.

His question is abrupt, catching me off guard.

That's a question I can't answer. Perhaps it's because I want to be a wonderful hostess and thank Noel and Jack for having me. But that doesn't feel right. It's something deeper.

When I glance at Noel and his flour-smudged face, I realize why.

It's because I want to spend time with him.

My chest warms.

Then I blurt out the truth.

"I want to spend time with you."

He raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

Heat fills my cheeks. "Yes."

He smiles. "Funny how similar we are. I feel the same way."

Still smiling, Noel grabs the oil I measured out. He's about to pour it in with the flour. Panic grips my spine as I smack his hand. Some of the oil sloshes over the edge, patterning the countertop. 

"You can't do that!"

He frowns at me in confusion. "Do what?"

"Mix the wet with the dry yet!"

Noel fights a smile as he says, "You're a strict baker."

I snort. Dad used to make fun of me all the time. Arguing my point was my favourite part, aside from watching Dad and Jessa lick the beaters after. "You can't mix everything together all at once. You mix dry and wet ingredients separately. Then you combine the wet with the dry."

He rolls his eyes. "Where's the fun in that?"

I flick flour in his face.

He squeezes his eyes shut and wrinkles his nose. White coats his cheeks, eyebrows, and lashes.

"You're an idiot. If you spew such blasphemy, I'll sideline you." I grab the bag of instant coffee. "We need two cups of strong coffee. We're doubling the recipe."

He wipes away the flour. "Why does it matter? Mixing the ingredients separately?"

I open my mouth. Close it. Huh. That's something I don't know.

"Just because," I reply, feeling exasperated.

He shoots me a smug grin. "Okay, Kinsley. Just because."

I flick more flour in his face. Then, before I can comprehend what he's doing, my face is covered in flour.

Blinking, I wipe away the flour.

"Really?" I ask.

Noel snorts. He raises his hands in a surrender motion. "You started it."

He's right.

But I also want to finish it.

When Noel's back is facing me, I grab a handful of flour. It's soft against my skin. It builds up beneath my nails and sticks around my cuticles.

"Noel?" I ask.

He turns around, brows furrowed. "Yeah? What do you n—"

His face is covered in flour. He looks like a snowman.

"Need?" he finishes.

The smile across his lips is goofy and cute, and I'm in love with it.

Around us, the kitchen is a disaster. Flour coats every available surface. Oil is sliding down the side of the measuring cup. Coffee beans are scattered around the grinder.

The disaster is worth it.

Noel swipes a cloth from the sink and wipes his face. "I would continue this war, but something tells me you won't give up."

I cross my arms and tilt my chin up. "You've got that right."

Smiling, Noel glances at the wet ingredients. All that needs to be added is the coffee.

After a moment of contemplation, Noel rolls his sleeves up and washes his hands free of any flour.

When he's done, he steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "Okay, Hastings," he murmurs. "Teach me how to bake a cake. Properly."

I lean into Noel, allowing myself a taste of utter happiness. The heat of his body is warm through my light sweater, and he smells like hay and old leather mixed with a hint of spice.

"Okay," I breathe.