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*

I stayed in my room all day, finishing homework and, when that was done, sketching. An idea for a new design had been nagging me since yesterday.

Grabbing my notepad and wax coloured pencils, I started to draw. It came to me so easily, and yet there was a heaviness in my chest and an urgency that pushed me to draw faster. I was afraid it would disappear in my thoughts and I would never find it again.

The bracelet would be Celtic for sure. And maybe I'll use strips of leather or hemp yarn for some of the complicated knots. The colours showed themselves to me as I drew the curves and lines: blacks, browns, dark blues, maroons, and beiges mixed together in perfect harmony.

I needed to get my hands on a small metal coin with Celtic design so I could incorporate that in the center of the bracelet. I would have to go to a trip to the city to visit antique stores, flea markets or consignment stores to find what I was looking for. If I couldn't find it, then I'd go custom or, the easiest route, through the internet.

Ordering online is the easiest, but there was no excitement in it compared to when I go shopping for just that perfect piece and feeling it in my hands. Sometimes I would even feel the pieces vibrating as if they were telling me to use them for a purpose.

I sketched like a madwoman, remembering the intensity of Noah's blue eyes, the isolation that he kept close to himself like a shadow.

But every time I finish the design, it wasn't quite right. There was something missing, and I couldn't put my finger on it. Ripping the paper off, I started another, and another, and another, until I was finally satisfied.

There would be no clasp in the bracelet, I decided. It would just slide over his wrist easily whenever he wanted to wear it.

His wrist?

It didn't occur to me until after I finished the design that it was for him. For Noah.

When at last, the last of the detail was done, my neck and wrist hurt. I wasn't sure how long I was bent over perfecting the design on paper, but it was worth it. I reached for my shoulder, massaging the knots out.

Glancing at the clock I noted that it was almost five in the afternoon. I had been here since morning. I jumped in my seat when I heard a knock on my door.

Finally, I started to notice my surroundings and noted a sea of crumpled papers around me. My mom would open that door soon and see this mess.

"Mom? Can you give me a second?"

Jumping off my chair, I hurried inside my bathroom and grabbed a trash bin. I started picking up papers and dumping them there.

"Can you come downstairs right away, Parker?"

"Yes, mom!"

Five minutes later, I was downstairs, sitting on the dining table and eating my mom's freshly homemade cookies. She always made the best ones. Crunchy outside and ooey gooey on the inside. She also added pecan nuts and white and dark chocolate chips. Just the way I liked them.

"How was work?" I asked, opening the cupboard to get a glass. I wanted milk with my cookies. A lot of people weren't aware that cow milk was often the cause of acne. I knew it was mine, so I had my dad buy almond milk for me all the time now.

She gave me a smile. "Same old, same old. Did you clean your room?"

I rolled my eyes. I could show up with Khaleesi's three dragons in her kitchen and I bet the first thing she'd ask me was, Did you clean your room?

My mom was the queen of cleanliness. I asked her before why she was so insane in eradicating even a tiny piece of lint on the floor. She said it came from being poor when she was growing up. They didn't have much, but her mom kept her house clean.

We weren't rich by any means, but we weren't poor either. My mom gave up her dream of becoming a doctor to be a stay at home mom for me. When I was old enough, she eventually took a course as a health unit clerk and had been working that ever since. My dad was a piano teacher at our local music school and did private tutoring for extra cash.

Life was pretty cool.

"Parker, I need you to deliver these cookies next door."

She also sold baked goodies for the community as a side job or sometimes just gave them away. My mom was awesome.

"To Mrs. Dorothy's house?"

"No. To Mr. Hunter's house. He mentioned before that his son was arriving this week. I think I saw his son in the backyard painting the house when I got home this morning."

I choked on my milk.

"Oh," I coughed.

"I told you to eat slowly, Parker. You're a lady, aren't you?" my mom chastised, but her tone was kind and she winked at me.

"Lady bug," I chirped, biting into another cookie.

This was my fifth... wait, seventh cookie. And because my mom wanted me to head over to Noah's house, and because the memory of my humiliation last night and after my ogling of him this morning was stuck in my head like gum on hair, I reached for another cookie.

She smiled at me, shaking her head.

***

Swallowing my nervousness, I knocked on the Hunter's front door. I hadn't been inside before and now that I knew Noah lived here, I kind of wanted to see what his home was like. But whenever I remembered what happened last night, I wanted to run away.

I pressed the doorbell, shifting my feet around. If no one answered in two seconds, I was going to leave and tell my mom nobody was home at the Hunter's residence.

But then knowing my mom, she'd just make me go back again in an hour. So I waited.

I heard footsteps padding to the door, and I braced myself, gripping the plate on my hand.

"Hello, pretty Parker."

"Hello, Mr. Hunter." I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice when it wasn't Noah who greeted me at the door.

Mr. Hunter didn't look at all like Noah. He was rather short, but wide and built like a linebacker. His skin was brown but there was a sallow quality to it that I wondered if he had a kidney disease. His eyes were red, his hair and clothes unkempt like he was just waking up from a hangover. He kind of gave me the creeps sometimes.

"Mom made cookies." A light bulb went on in my head. "She said you mentioned to her the other day that your son was arriving this week?"

Don't act so desperate! Your smile is reaching your forehead, dumbdumb.

"Oh, yes. Your mom is lovely. Thank you, Parker. Come on in and meet my son. Noah!" he called out.

I bit my lip.

"I already met him. We're in a class together."

"Oh, is that right?"

But he looked distracted.

"What is it?" My heart started to thump hard when I heard Noah's voice.

"Pretty Parker from next door is here to welcome you back. Her mom made cookies."

Noah appeared behind his dad.

"So I see," he replied, unsmiling.

Even though he wasn't friendly, it was impossible to get used to his beautiful face. And not stare.

Noah was wearing an old shirt that might have looked blue once but now had turned pale blue from so many washes, ripped jeans that had holes on the knees, and smears of old and new paint everywhere. He had some on his arm and the tip of his nose. Probably rubbing his nose again as was his habit.

He was barefoot.

I didn't like the sight of feet. There was just something about feet that gave me the creeps.

I didn't know they could be sexy. Noah's were sexy. Noah was sexy. Period.

You're a goner. So a goner.

Noah looked at his dad impatiently as Mr. Hunter just stood there staring at us. Suddenly, thick tension filled the air between father and son.

What's happening here?

"Well, we were just having coffee. Why don't you come on in? Chat for a bit?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Hunter. I was just delivering the cookies. I have somewhere else to go."

He smiled. "Are you sure you won't sit for a spell?"

"Maybe next time."

"Okay, then. Noah, why don't you put these cookies in a container and give pretty Parker her plate back? I'll go on in the sunroom now. Be sure to tell your mama I said thank you, alright?"

"Yes, Sir."

Mr. Hunter waved and left us alone. Now it was just me and Noah.

Crap.

He was staring at me again, his blue eyes unfathomable. Why did my stomach feel strange every darn time his eyes rested on my face?

Sometimes when I got nervous, I have verbal diarrhoea. That or my mouth got suddenly shy.

"Hi," I said.

He nodded at me, standing there looking all gorgeous and fine. And all sorts of sexy.

"Um..." I bit my lip.

I guess my mouth was shy today.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking amused. He pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh, but his eyes crinkled at the corners.

I wanted to cover my face and run away. I knew he was asking about last night.

"Um. Yes."

He made a small nodding motion with his chin. "Good."

When we just stood there, him with his hands in his pockets while I just looked at him like an idiot, he raised his brows, looking down on the plate of cookies I was holding.

"Oh, yes, my mom—"

He cut me off and all trace of laughter was gone from his eyes. "Follow me."

I followed him inside the house, casually looking around, pretending I wasn't soaking everything in like a sponge. Their house was the older version of ours. Whereas ours was remodeled to an open concept, their house still had its walls up, separating the rooms.

It was clean and simple, with old worn furniture from the 70s. My hand itched to grab the faded floral couch with its dull dark wood.

I wanted to refinish it. I could already imagine myself wiping it with paint thinner to see if it only needed a coat of wipe-on clear finish or if it needed more. Next I'd have to wash and clean it with soap and water, check if it needed to be scraped or replaced missing pieces with epoxy, sand then work some gel stain to restore its lustre. I'd have to repair small cracks and dents before applying a wipe-on finish.

Picture frames hung on the walls in a straight horizontal line. I stopped to take a look and spotted a young Noah holding a red truck and frowning at the camera, a beautiful woman carrying him in his arms. It must be his mom because he looked exactly like her, except that she had blonde hair. The next was a picture of two toddlers in their swimsuits, a blonde girl and a dark haired boy that I was sure was Noah holding hands. Behind them was a picture perfect lake, clear and blue, but the toddlers were unsmiling as if they were forced to be in the picture.

Did Noah have a sister?

I wanted to come closer and look at the other pictures but he had already disappeared in the kitchen.

"You coming?" he called out.

"Yes!"

I stepped into the kitchen and watched as he walked to the counter and opened a cupboard. His shirt stretched on his back as he reached for a bowl. His shirt hikes up, and a little of his skin was bared, exposing the band of his underwear and the two indentations on his back.

My eyes couldn't help themselves as they roam down to his butt. He had a sexy—

Suddenly he spun around and saw where my eyes were at. I turned my eyes away.

Crapfreakcrap.

He didn't make a sound as he walked to the table and picked up the plate of cookies. He went back to the counter and carefully transferred them into the bowl. I could see the perfect line of his neck as he bent his head to his task, his dark hair a stark contrast to his beautiful skin.

I had no idea what came over me, except that I knew I was utterly captivated by this boy, so much so that I walked up to him. I barely reached his shoulders, he was so tall, but I saw a round scar on his nape, almost hidden by his hair, and I touched it with the tip of my finger.

He froze.

I froze.

We both froze.

There was a moment of silence between us. I could feel the electricity charging in the air. He was just so there. I was so aware of him, of his presence, of his everything, that if he touched me back, I would melt.

One beat passed, two.

He turned around really slowly and faced me, lowering his head to meet my eyes. His were like deep pools of blue, confusion and some emotion I couldn't fathom swimming in them. His lips parted, his cool breath caressing my face.

He blinked once, twice, and whatever was in his eyes disappeared and changed into anger. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the kitchen, out of the living room, out of his house, until we were standing on his front porch. Closing the front door, he stood in front of me, glaring.

"Don't come back here, Parker."

"Why?"

It was the first time he said my name, but I felt like crying. He pressed his lips together, bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Because you're too... pure... for this șhit."

I winced at his curse. Now I was feeling angry. "What does that even mean?"

He blew out a breath, raking both of his hands in his hair in frustration.

"You don't belong in my world. Look, just drop it. I'm serious," he warned gravely. "Don't come back here."

With that, he closed the door in my face.

***

A/N: Any guesses why Noah was so adamant to keep Parker away?