5

5

Isabella. 

The third time I saw Noah was next to the bananas.

Which, honestly, ruined the dramatic edge he’d carved into my brain with his whole “mystery-man-in-the-rain” introduction. There’s just something about standing next to a giant yellow fruit display that kills the brooding aesthetic.

I was trying to pick the least bruised ones. He stood a few feet away, staring down a bag of oranges like it had personally offended him. I was halfway through reaching for a bunch when he turned and noticed me.

“Hey,” he said.

It was casual, almost too casual, like we were just neighbors who passed each other at the grocery store on a regular basis and didn’t have any weird baked-goods history between us.

“Hey,” I echoed, straightening up and tucking my hair behind my ear like a seventh grader at a school dance. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He shrugged. “I don’t usually come this early.”

I glanced at the clock near the register. It was past eleven. Not exactly dawn.

“Guess we’re both branching out,” I said.

He gave a small nod and something that was not quite a smile but close to one, which was something looser than his usual expression. For a second, he looked like he was going to keep walking.

But then he surprised me by saying, “You’re not like the others.”

I blinked. “What?”

Noah’s gaze dropped, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Never mind.”

“No, hold on. I’m not like the others… what? Tourists? Cult members? Banana buyers?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, surprising me even more.

“People in town. They’re… predictable and careful. You’re not.”

“Wow,” I said. “So basically, I’m your chaos theory.”

He looked at me again, and this time there was a flicker of something in his eyes I couldn’t quite read. Curiosity, maybe?

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “It’s not anything yet.”

That line stayed with me as we moved through the store in silence. I tried not to glance over at him as he reached for coffee beans. I tried not to imagine his kitchen. Did he drink it black? Did he even have a mug that didn’t look like a medieval relic?

By the time we both got to checkout, I had too many bags and no plan for how to get them home without snapping a wrist.

“I’ll help,” he said, reaching for the heavier ones before I could argue.

“You sure? I don’t want to interrupt your mysterious errands.”

His mouth twitched. “This is my only errand.”

I didn’t argue. I also didn’t point out that him carrying my groceries was probably going to ruin my ability to flirt like a normal person for the rest of the day.

We walked in sync quietly agaun, but not awkward. When we reached my front steps, I hesitated.

“You want to come in?” I said. “For tea or something. As a thank-you.”

He looked up at the cottage. His jaw tensed, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re carrying my groceries. The threshold has already been crossed.”

That made him pause, but then he nodded once and followed me inside.

***

The cottage smelled like cinnamon and lemon soap which was leftovers from yesterday’s cleaning spree. I tossed my keys on the table and gestured toward the couch.

“Sit, if you want. I’ll make the tea.”

He stayed standing.

I filled the kettle, placed it on the stove, and tried not to feel like a host on a first date. This wasn’t a date. This was polite, civilized, post-grocery tea. Totally normal.

“You live alone?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” I said. “Is that not allowed in Willow Creek?”

“It’s just… remote.”

“That’s the point.” I glanced back at him. “Do you always ask your neighbors personal questions while standing in their living rooms?”

“Only when I’ve carried their groceries.”

I laughed, even though my nerves were still doing cartwheels. “Fair.”

The kettle started to whistle. I grabbed two mismatched mugs and poured.

“No sugar, right?” I asked.

He nodded. I handed him a mug and took a seat on the armrest of the couch, leaving enough space for him to sit down if he changed his mind. He didn’t.

He held the mug like it was warmer than he expected.

“This place suits you,” he said after a moment.

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s quiet. But there’s still something… restless about it.”

“That sounds like a poetic way of calling me unsettled.”

He didn’t deny it. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s used to being still.”

I sipped the tea. “Maybe I’m trying to learn.”

“Why?”

Because the world turned on me and chewed me up and I don’t know who I am anymore?

I didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, I looked out the window and said, “Because standing still is harder than it looks.”

For a while, we just drank tea and listened to the wind shake the trees. I’d forgotten how to be comfortable with quiet.

I reached to take his empty mug, and our fingers brushed. It was just a quick, bare skin on skin contact, but it felt like the word had stopped. My breath hitched.

His hand pulled back immediately, like I’d burned him.

I looked up, and so did he.

There was that look in his eyes again, that one tbat made me feel like I was being read instead of just seen.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

He stepped back. “I should go.”

Right. Of course. Why did I think this could be a normal tea and cookies situation without turning into something weird?

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks again. For the help.”

He nodded, already halfway to the door. Then he paused with his hand on the knob.

“You write,” he said.

“I do.”

“Good.”

And then he left.