Getting Lucky (The Portland Pioneers Book 2) (21 page)

Maggie felt herself let out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. “Okay.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and gave her one of his solid, warm hugs. “Cal says hi, too,” Noah said, his words warm and muffled against her shoulder. “And that he’s sorry he’s such an ass.”

She laughed and pulled back to look Noah in the eye. “Was that all from him?”

“That last part, not so much,” he admitted with a sly grin. “But deep down, I could tell he wanted to say it.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Cal and I will work everything out. We’ve been friends for pretty much our entire lives. It’ll blow over.”

“I know you will. You two. . .you’re like Jack and me. Except not the wanting to date part,” Noah teased. “Hey, do you mind if I take a quick shower? I think I smell like mold.”

She sniffed him and shook her head fondly. “Actually, no, but of course you can.”

Maggie wasn’t certain if it was what Noah said or if it was just his reassuring presence, but this no longer felt so weird. She was able to show him the towels in the small guest bath without even one blush.

Of course, when she was back in the kitchen, swaying to the music on her iPod, stirring the soup and she heard the shower turn on, she flushed bright,
bright
red at what that meant.

Maggie had seen and felt enough of Noah Fox to know that he would look amazing naked. And even more amazing if he was naked
and
wet.

She spent the next fifteen minutes distractedly tending to her soup and flipping through songs on her iPod, trying to find the perfect playlist for the dinner mood. She was halfway through her dance-y playlist when Noah walked into the kitchen, his dark hair rumpled and still damp, wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt that fit him so well it was practically a sin. For half a moment, she debated telling him to just take it off, but she still wasn’t quite comfortable enough with him to randomly demand he strip.

But hey, a girl could always dream for the future, right?

“What’s this?” Noah asked, perking up at the sight of her iPod and speaker.

“Oh, I like listening to music while I cook,” Maggie explained as she turned back to the soup. It didn’t really need any more attention, but Noah felt larger than life in her kitchen, and she really, really wanted to push him up against the counter and have her way with him.

“Do you mind?” Noah asked, pointing at the iPod and she just shook her head, curious to see what he’d make of her musical selections. She had an absolutely unabashed love for horribly cheesy pop music because it kept her upbeat and usually had great rhythm. And really, cooking was all about rhythm. Or else that was the excuse she told herself.

“Got a thing for boy bands?” he teased as she grabbed some bowls from the cupboard.

“Boy bands are practically my life,” she retorted. “They should be
everyone’s
life.”

“You’ve even got those Brits on here. Their songs are so catchy they’re stuck in my head for days afterwards.”

“I think they’re engineered that way on purpose,” she said as she watched out of the corner of her eye as he continued scrolling through her music.

“Also a taste for independent women’s rock of the ‘90s,” Noah observed, giving her a nod of approval. “And Muse, I’ve seen them in concert a few times.”

“Me too,” Maggie admitted. “That was the one great thing about living in the city. Actual nightlife and concerts and stuff. Sand Point can be
so
quiet. Like the most interesting thing to do on a Sunday night is go to our Council meeting.”

“Is that what you guys were having when I showed up?” he asked, still absorbed in her music.

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be generating tourism and revenue for the town. But mainly we argue about knitting patterns,” Maggie admitted.

A crinkle appeared between Noah’s eyes. “Knitting patterns?”

Maggie giggled at his confusion. “You’ve met Ella. Her frenemy, I guess you could call her, is Loretta Hale. She owns the yarn shop.”

“Oh, I’ve met Loretta. Southern accent that practically drips over you? She was pretty disappointed I didn’t buy any of her yarn.”

“That’s the one,” Maggie said, pulling a ladle from a drawer, but instead of dishing up the soup, she turned back to where Noah was still scrolling through her playlists. “She’s originally from Georgia, like twenty
years ago, but never lets anyone forget it. We’re all Yankees to her.” Maggie sniffed at this. “But she’s
obsessed
with getting her knitting patterns into this Southern Crafts magazine and she frames the article every time she makes it in, and well, it’s a big deal. She’s decided she’s the only real celebrity in this town.” Maggie paused and glanced over at him. “Okay, she
was
the only celebrity in this town, if you’re using a very loose definition of celebrity, so she thought she should be the focus of our tourism push.”

Noah just gaped at her. “Seriously?”

Maggie gave him a fond smile. “And now you know the most exciting part of my life before you showed up.”

“Knitting patterns,
jesus
,” Noah muttered. “It’s amazing the first night we met you didn’t push me against the counter and take me right then and there.”

“I’ve got a little self-control, Fox,” she retorted.

“Foxy,” he said with a hesitant smile. “That’s my nickname, with the guys anyway.”

Maggie threw her head back and couldn’t help the peal of laughter that rolled out of her. “Foxy,” she gasped through giggles, “that’s
rich.”

“Oh shut up,” Noah said, but his smile was unbelievably wide and he couldn’t have sounded less offended. Then his expression grew more serious. “You know,” he said, and his voice was so deliberately casual, she knew whatever it was he wanted to say, it was important, “I like how you aren’t intimidated by me.”

Maggie shot him a look before turning back to the stove to ladle soup into the bowls. “Please,” she said. “You’re not intimidating at
all
.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, sounding very pleased.

“Dinner is served,” Maggie said with a flourish, reaching into a drawer to grab soup spoons. “Let’s pretend we’re not adults and eat on the couch.”

“First,” Noah said, and laid a hesitant hand on her arm. “Do me a favor.
Another
favor,” he corrected, blushing.

“You’re going to end up owing me quite a lot,” she reminded him with a teasing smile.

“I know. But I want to do this.” He tapped on the iPod and slow guitar filled the air. Romantic music, Maggie registered.
Really
romantic music. “Dance with me,” he insisted, holding out his arm to her.

She hesitated, which was silly because she did this all the time in her kitchen. Just not to slow, soft music that made a woman think of moonlight and rose petals and words like “forever.” But the truth was, even if it didn’t mean forever, she still wanted to dance with him.

“Okay,” she finally said, intertwining her fingers with his and letting him pull her into his arms.

He was a good dancer, with excellent rhythm and a really, nice solid body to lean against, Maggie thought as she let her cheek rest on his chest. The singer was ruminating on falling in love and she could feel herself dangling right there, right over the precipice, and knew it wouldn’t take more than a nudge or two to have her head over heels.

Noah’s fingers gripped hers, not so tightly it hurt, but tight enough that she knew he didn’t want to let her go, even as the song drew to a close.

“That was nice,” she mumbled into the warm cotton of his t-shirt, even though her words were the freaking understatement of the century.

He didn’t say anything, just slipped his hand up from her waist, up her side, and trailed his fingertips down her cheek, to rest underneath her chin. He tipped it up and kissed her, softly at first, then harder, and Maggie was only vaguely aware of how forcefully she was suddenly pushing him against the opposite counter. Her hands delved under his shirt and her fingertips grazed his bare skin, tracing the still-damp muscles on his back.

She couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t get enough of the taste of him, wanted him to lay her out on the bed and fulfill every promise his mouth was making.

Noah pulled away from her, and she loved the gasping breath he took when his mouth left hers. “Maggie,” he panted. “What are you doing?”

“I. . .I. . .” Maggie wasn’t entirely sure. Lust spiked like a volcano inside her, pumping red hot lava through her veins and muddling every good intention she had when it came to him.

“I want you too,” he said, resting his forehead on hers, his voice so hoarse and gruff it sent a spark of fire straight down her spine. She felt loose and drunk and boneless. “But I don’t want this to be too fast.”

Her body was screaming at her, insisting that it wasn’t too fast, arguing, really, that it wasn’t fast
enough—
but she could still hear the echo of her brain, reminding her that she’d just decided this afternoon that she wasn’t quite ready yet. It wasn’t that she wanted love or promises or forever, she just wanted to be sure
and while every cell in her overheated body wanted him, there was still that tiny, niggling voice in the back of her mind.

She just wanted it to be silent. She never wanted to hear it remind her again that he’d pretty much confirmed the last woman he’d slept with was Tabitha.

When that didn’t matter anymore, that was when she’d be ready.

Maggie let her hands fall off his skin, and flashed him an embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” she said. “I got a bit carried away.”

Noah brushed his thumb under her chin and raised her eyes to meet his. “Don’t be sorry. We both did.”

“Ready for dinner?” she asked brightly, hoping they could change the subject. She didn’t want to confess that part of the reason she wasn’t ready was the relationship he’d had with her sister.

But he didn’t question her, and Maggie knew he wouldn’t. He seemed to be that very rare breed of man who respected her decisions, however she’d arrived at them.

They were cuddled together on the couch, eating their soup when Noah asked the question he’d been thinking about since she’d told him the story about Ella and Loretta and the Council.

She’d gotten him a tiny
bit distracted. Being shoved against the counter, her small, warm hands exploring every bit of skin of his they could reach and her mouth insistent on his, had made his brain explode a little. But now as they sat on the couch, the TV tuned to Wheel of Fortune, the volume down low, he brought it up again.

“Is business in this town really so tough that you guys need to try to attract tourists?” he asked, trying to make the question casual. It really wasn’t any of his business if the Café was making money or not, but he cared about her, cared about how she’d be long after he wasn’t here anymore. He wondered, deep down, if there wasn’t anything he could do to help her out.

“Business is okay,” Maggie said hesitantly, staring at her soup bowl.

Noah thought back to all the times he’d been in the Café and how busy it had always been, but then, she was only open for breakfast and lunch. He didn’t know anything about the restaurant business, but it seemed to him that might be part of her issue.

“Have you ever thought about opening for dinner?”

Maggie shot him a look, and he was relieved that she didn’t seem mad, merely amused. “You really have been talking to Calvin, haven’t you?”

“Is that what he thinks you should do?” Noah asked.

Maggie just nodded. “And what do you think of it?” He was a little afraid he was prying, but damnit, he just wanted her to be happy and not worry so much about her business. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” she admitted slowly, setting her empty bowl on the coffee table and turning towards him, lifting her legs across his lap. “It would be a huge step for me. I’d need to do research and menus and budgets and . . . .” She trailed off and looked up at him, grinning. “And I’d get carried away and work even more than I do now.”

He slung an arm around her and pulled her closer. “I definitely like having you around,” he said, hoping that he wasn’t being too horribly obvious. But then he’d just asked her to dance with him in the kitchen, so maybe obvious was the theme of the evening. “But I also think you’re depriving this town of your food at dinner, and that’s just not cool, Miss Maggie.”