So an hour later we tried again with all his teasing and showing me what he’d called earlier his “best stuff” and just how capable he was. And we tried again an hour after that. Each kiss lasted a bit longer; each anxiety attack seemed a bit shorter and less intense.
After the third round, when I was feeling exhausted from pushing so hard, he was cradling me on his lap, holding me close.
“You’re really good at kissing,” I told him.
“I told you so.”
He had. I hugged him tighter. “You’re also the only person I’d want to do this with.”
He kissed my forehead. “Same.”
I settled into a pretty awesome routine—I spent my days cleaning up dogs and taking care of Sunshine, and my nights were all spent with Noah. We kept practicing our kissing, and things kept improving. My attacks were definitely lessening in intensity and length.
And he was so good at the touching and caressing and non-mouth kissing that he got me all worked up until I couldn’t think about anything but kissing him. And he made me want him and his kisses so badly.
I’d never imagined I would feel that way.
It was almost like exercising. The more we did it, the more comfortable I got, the less it seemed to take out of me.
Everything between us became more enjoyable and delicious. Like, I hadn’t known there were so many different ways to kiss someone. The light, delicate butterfly kisses. The playful ones that had us both laughing. The intense, hormone-driven kisses that drove me out of my mind. The exploratory, give-and-take ones where we discovered new things that we liked. The intimate ones that seemed to make us even closer. Where it was like he could see into my soul.
The kisses where he made me feel like I was the only woman in the world who mattered to him, and I always would be.
Our homemade exposure therapy was working remarkably well. I thought maybe we should write a book.
And when the two weeks with Gladys were up, I was actually delighted when she texted me from Montana and said that she needed to keep helping her sister and asked me to stay on for another two weeks for another fifteen hundred dollars. I happily accepted. I loved being this close to Noah and Magnus.
Some nights he cooked for me. Others we watched movies. A few nights he read out loud to me, and he was like the world’s best audiobook, because in addition to dramatizing the voices, he couldn’t help but make faces while he was reading—a wry smile, a raised eyebrow, a frown. I loved how expressive he was.
But most of them were spent talking. We laughed and shared stories and kept getting to know one another. One of his secrets that I uncovered was that he knew about Days of Our Lives, a soap I used to watch with my mom and still occasionally caught up with. Noah’s on-set tutor had also been a fan of the show, and we bonded over our favorite story lines.
It was also how I found out he had very strong feelings regarding his grandmother.
Noah had finished with rehearsals early one afternoon and called me up to join him for a late lunch. Like most days, my schedule was very open, and I said yes. He decided he was in the mood for some steak, and Magnus was by his feet in the kitchen, desperate for any scraps that might “accidentally” fall his way. I was cutting up some lettuce for a salad that I hoped Noah enjoyed. By himself. This was going to be our last home-cooked meal for a while, because Shelby’s crew was going to demolish the kitchen tomorrow.
“But where will your cereal live?” I asked.
“In my bedroom until I have cabinets again.”
Then I noticed one of those DNA testing kits on his counter.
“Are you testing out your genes? I told you already, they’re good.”
He smiled over his shoulder at me and then put the steaks into the oven. “My publicist sent it over. The company wanted to hire me to be their spokesperson. I said no. I’m not interested in doing genetic testing. I don’t like the relatives I have now. Why would I go looking for more?”
“You mean your parents?”
He grabbed some baby spinach from the fridge and came over to the counter to join me. “No. My grandmother is the actual worst. She’s racist and anti-Semitic and a host of other fun -ist and anti- things that are awful. She likes to spend holidays insulting everyone and telling us how much she hates everybody and how we’ve all fallen short of her extremely high expectations.”
I knew it was no excuse, but maybe she’d been a product of her times. “How old is she?”
“Ninety-one.”
“Wow. That’s pretty old.”
“Yeah, well, she’s in fantastic shape and sharp as a tack. I figured she made a deal with the devil at some point and he’s in no hurry to have to live with her. And technically she’s only twelve in evil hag years, so . . .” He finished adding the spinach and threw in some cheese. “She was a stage mother who forced my mom into the business.”
“Maybe that could help you understand your own mother a little better.” It made me sad that Noah didn’t talk to his parents. He was such an amazing man that they were the ones who were definitely missing out. And I heard the note of loss in his voice when he talked about them. The one he tried to hide.
I told myself to stay quiet, but I did not like things that hurt him, and this did. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think you should consider calling your parents. I think it would be good for you and that some part of you does miss them and does want things to be better between you. People deserve a second chance.”
Instead of responding, he went to take the steaks out and let them rest. He started plating lunch while I put the salad on the table. I decided not to bring it up again unless he did. He was a grown man who could make his own decisions. We sat down to eat, and Noah changed the subject, telling me the story of the last time he took Magnus with him to a pitch meeting. And how Magnus had peed on the director’s shoe—something he’d never done before.
“Is that why you get a dog sitter when you go to work?”
“Yes,” he said. “I can’t exactly bring him with me anymore. But to be fair to Magnus, the director was later prosecuted for sexual harassment and I’m glad we didn’t work together. This also means that Magnus is obviously a good judge of character. Like how much he loves you.”
“Of course he does. I give him steak,” and I slipped him my last bite, which he started munching on. “Which makes me your favorite person, right, Magnus?” But Magnus just ignored me now that he had his prize.
Noah put down his fork and reached for my hand. He had this thing he did where he would lean toward me and I couldn’t help but be drawn in. He would drop his chin and look up at me, and it was totally disarming.
“Juliet.”
“Noah.”
“Magnus isn’t the only—” Whatever he’d been about to say got cut off by a knock at his front door. He furrowed his eyebrows at me and asked, “Who could that be?”
Why was he asking me? George Lucas could be at his door, for all I knew.
He went to answer the door, and it surprised me when I heard Shelby’s voice.
I got up to join them, and she was standing in the doorway with Allan. She hugged Noah hello and introduced him to Allan. It was weird to remember that she had her own relationship with Noah because of her working on his house. I liked that they knew each other and were friendly. It joined the two big parts of my life together. The men were shaking hands, and she came rushing over to me, her eyes bright and happy.