Noah was doing homework in his childhood bedroom. On some level, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be here, but that feeling went away pretty quickly as he tried to focus on the essay he was writing. Something about a book whose title was escaping him. But that didn’t matter because he needed to get that essay done or he was going to fail it. And he was pulling a C in English class, so failing this was going to bring his grade down even further.

He looked around his room for inspiration, coming up blank. He wasn’t the writer, Andrew was the writer. He was just…

Just the…

The walls looked just like they always did, covered in sports posters and photos. A few drawings from classmates, a couple movie stubs put up with the roll of painter’s tape his dad always had hanging around. It was a small room with a sloping ceiling and dingy wallpaper, but it was comfortable and safe. Nothing was going to drown him in here.

And he was getting distracted from his paper.

Of Mice and Men, was it? He hadn’t read that in twenty years, why was he writing a paper on it right now? And it was due tomorrow? Noah was fucked.

His bedroom door creaked open and he looked over to see his dad standing there, tall and healthy, holding a couple cans of soda. “Hey pal,” he said. “Want to take a break?”

Noah got up from his desk, ignoring the way that the letters were snaking all over the notebook in front of him as he followed his dad over to the side of the bed. He took the offered can of soda and cracked it open. 

His dad smiled at him. “How are you doing?”

Noah shrugged. “Working on this paper,” he said.

“Anything exciting?” Dad asked, taking a sip of his own soda.

“Nah. English class.”

“Never anything exciting in English class,” Dad teased.

Noah laughed, looking back over at his desk. It was pretty messy, but he knew where everything was on it. Same with his room. Normally his apartment was the same way, but lately it had been pretty clean.

“Are you working hard on it?”

“Yeah, but it’s hard,” Noah replied.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m going to fail it.”

His dad shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But there’ll be other ways to make up the grade. Year’s just starting.”

“Yeah.”

“You got it though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, look.”

His dad pointed at the desk. Nothing looked different to Noah and the paper was due Thursday morning when he arrived at the clinic.

“I’m proud of you, pal.”

Noah smiled at him, then looked down at the can in his hand. Then his dad’s arm was around his shoulder, pulling him in tightly.

“Noah, I mean it,” his dad said. “I’m proud of you, son.”

The room was sharply colored now, dizzyingly so. The essay lay forgotten on his desk as Noah took a sharp breath, lucidity flooding him just as his eyes snapped open. He was fully grown, lying next to Andrew in his own bed, with no Steinbeck paper due tomorrow. 

He thought about the way the colors had suddenly sharpened around him in the dream, how real everything had felt in that few seconds before he realized he was dreaming. It had to be real, at least as real as his first visit with Billy McBride.

There was a glass of water on his bedside table. Noah drained it, then looked over at Andrew, who was still asleep beside him, the blankets halfway kicked down the bed. He pulled the blankets back up, then curled in tightly against Andrew’s back, wrapping an arm around him. There were still a few more hours until Andrew had to leave.

—

Andrew wanted to stay so badly the next morning. But he was still on his probation period at the new job and missing a day for anything short of an emergency would be disastrous. And Noah had made it crystal clear last night that, while he truly appreciated Andrew being there, this was not an emergency. 

So at six o’clock the next morning, he was up and dressing for the ride back, where Cleo would drop him straight off at the office because she was an incredible friend. Noah was about half up, watching Andrew button his shirt from where he was still sitting in bed, hair tousled adorably.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” Andrew promised, walking back over to the bed as he began knotting his tie. “Are you sure you’ll be alright here today?”

Noah nodded, looking better than he had last night, though clearly hungover. “I need to get ready to go,” he said. “It’s um, four days a week for five weeks. Roman’s giving me some hours around it, but not for the first week.”

“Good. Same place?”

“Yeah, but their other clinic. It’s closer, over in Athol.”

“Good,” Andrew said again, leaning down to kiss him. “I’ll see you later this week. Call me if you need me, understand? I love you.”

He ran his hand down Noah’s unshaven face while Noah looked at him in something close to wonder. “I love you too,” he said.

Andrew wanted to stay here forever, as fucked up as that was. But software sales in Boston waited for no man, so he reluctantly pulled on his light jacket, kissed Noah one more time, and left.

————

The knock at the front door made Olivia jump, even though she’d been waiting for it since she’d gotten back from her first appointment earlier with the therapist Noah had recommended. Andrew and Cleo had left even before she did, so it could only be one person. Olivia took a second to smooth down her hair as best she could, then hurried over to answer the door.

Isabel Rivera was waiting on the front step. Unlike every other time Olivia had seen her, there wasn’t a box truck behind her. Instead, there was another pickup truck parked beside Noah’s and she spotted him out there already, maneuvering a large bag of flour out of the truck bed. She tried to ignore the way he winced, hopefully maybe someone at his new program could get through to him about fixing his wrist again. But he grinned at her from behind Isabel, waggling his eyebrows as he hefted the flour sack onto his shoulder.

“Thanks for delivering out here,” Olivia said, knowing she was blushing.

“It’s not far out of the way,” Isabel said, adjusting her hat with a smile. “And from what I’ve heard, the New Winslow curse is not exactly an issue anymore?”

She looked at Olivia knowingly, then shifted aside as Noah moved past them to bring the flour into Olivia’s apartment. That would be plenty for a test run of the new mixers. They didn’t need restaurant-sized orders right now. Technically they didn’t even need this much, not when they were still getting their feet back under them. Tara Stevenson had ordered a selection of baked goods to sell at the general store as a test run and that was all the work they currently had beyond testing new recipes. But now that Isabel was standing here in front of her, Olivia was trying to think of everything else she could possibly bulk order and store for later.

“No, it’s not,” Olivia said. “I’ll have to tell you the whole story over coffee sometime.”

“I was thinking maybe dinner?”

Olivia blinked at her, certain she’d heard wrong. But then Isabel flashed a smile and Olivia remembered how her brain worked again.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I mean, yeah. Yes. Over dinner. I’d love to.”

“Are you free on Friday night? Around seven?”

“She is!” Noah called back from her kitchen as he set down the flour and said something to Mia, who giggled.

“I guess I am.”

“It’s a date then.”

Isabel winked at her and Olivia nearly buckled. “I have to go,” Isabel said. “I have another order out in Miller’s Falls and I’ll hear it if I’m late. I’ll call you tonight, we’ll make plans.”

“I… yeah, great.”

Isabel walked back to her truck and Olivia watched her go. Once she was safely out of earshot, Olivia shrieked and ran back into the apartment, where Noah caught her, swinging her around in excitement. He winced again as he set her down and she gave the wrist a pointed look, but said nothing. Instead, she turned to the giant bag of flour sitting on her kitchen table and considered where to start.

——-

CONTINUE TO EPISODE 60

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