And in her noting this, I noted Jo was far more perceptive than I imagined (and I knew she was perceptive), for I had not breathed a word about Valentine’s predicament.
“I do believe that Valentine is not just one of the girls,” I replied.
“Too bad,” Jo muttered, looked to her watch and shot off the bed. “Glover’s to be here to pick me up in five minutes! I need to go check my hair!”
And with that, she darted out of the room.
Although happily available to give fashion advice, Josette had long since had plans with her Glover. They were going to a park and having a picnic, Josette’s request for their Sunday afternoon and evening. And Glover, who did not strike me as a picnic sort of man, had acquiesced.
Noc was not a picnic sort of man either but I knew he’d not delay even a second to give me that should it be my desire.
These were my thoughts as I walked into the kitchen to see Noc sliding the steaks we were to consume into some kind of container filled with some sauce that looked revolting but was making the kitchen smell divine.
“Shit,” he said as I appeared, and I focused on him to see him focused on me. “Not good you’re coming from Circe and you got that look on your face.”
“Circe will be attired charmingly and is quite all right,” I informed him.
His mouth quirked before he asked, “So what’s with that look on your face?”
“It has occurred to me I might be forced to actually like this Glover man for Josette.”
Noc burst out laughing.
I slid on one of the stools, enjoying watching him doing this at the same time deciding that it was most assuredly a day where an early glass of wine was in order.
I then watched him put a lid on the steaks, still chuckling, and continued watching as he turned to the refrigerator.
His manner was relaxed.
His expression was not content, not with that smile.
He was happy.
But as I watched, and did it closely, after having the conversation with Circe that I’d had, I noticed something for the first time. Something that my dearest love had so deeply hidden, the glimpses he’d given me of it had not penetrated my conscious. Something that made my stomach twist so violently, it was a struggle not to jump from my seat and rush to the bathroom.
Because what I saw was that it was not I who was convinced I had a midnight soul.
It was my love who was drowning in the darkness of what he thought was his.
* * * * *
I was impatient.
And angry.
What on earth was the man doing?
I didn’t care.
I’d had enough.
“Noc, my dearest, I’m worried about the potatoes,” I declared.
I sat with Circe at Noc’s attractive outdoor table that was made of iron and had striped pads. A Circe who had long, slender fingers to the stem of her wineglass, twisting it this way and that. A Circe who was sitting with me—alone with me—while the men stood by Noc’s gleaming steel grilling apparatus on the other side of what Noc called his “deck.”
Dax had been there precisely twenty minutes.
I’d counted.
And he’d said precisely twenty-nine words to Circe.
I’d counted those too.
The rest of the time, he drank from the bottle of ale Noc had given him and chatted.
With Noc.
I stood as Noc turned his gaze to me.
“The potatoes?” he asked.
“Indeed,” I snapped, glaring at him, then at Dax.
I rearranged my expression to give a reassuring look to a visibly stricken (from fear at my leaving as well as taking Noc with me) and anxious Circe (making me consider magical castration or at the very least impotence if Dax didn’t pull his bloody finger out). Then, trying not to stomp (and failing in this endeavor), I moved into the house.
I did not go to the potatoes, which I was sure were roasting splendidly in the oven where Noc had placed them.
I went to the living room, whirled, put my hands to my hips and tapped my toe, watching Noc approach me slowly.
Noc got close and asked, “You okay?”
“No, I am not,” I stated the obvious.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
What was the matter?
Was he blind?
“That’s the matter,” I bit out, lifting an arm and pointing a finger toward the back of his house. “Dax has barely spoken to Circe. And, I don’t believe I have to impart this information on you, but I shall do it regardless, he’s not here to fall in love with you.”
Noc got closer and dipped his voice lower. “Babe, he’s playing it cool.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “It’s hardly time to do that!”
He got even closer, putting a hand to my waist, ordering sternly, “Calm down and keep your voice down.”
“You’re a very good cook, but I’ll also share that he’s not here to partake of your talents in the kitchen.” My voice rose again. “Circe is freaking!”
He did one of his eyebrows-raising-slow-blinks and asked, “Freaking?”
“Yes. Freaking. She’s being quiet about it but I can feel her unease.”
“Freaking,” he said again, his lips twitching.
Was I seeing what I was seeing?
My brows snapped together. “Did I miss something amusing?”
His lips were still twitching when he lied, “No.”
I couldn’t be dealing with Noc’s inappropriate humor.
I had bigger things to deal with.
“Speak with him,” I demanded.
He slid his hand from my waist to the small of my back and got even closer, taking my hand in his other and lifting both to set them on his chest.