Snowfall at Willow Lake: Lakeshore Chronicles Book 4 (36 page)

“It never occurred to me to feel self-conscious,” she said, determined not to let the comment derail her. “But thanks for your concern.”

“Oh, it's not really a concern. I admire you, dating someone so much younger. I'd better be going.” She brushed past Sophie and headed toward the parking lot.

Sophie took her time making her way to Noah.
So much younger…
The words echoed through her mind. Good Lord,
how
much younger?

He was waiting by the car, watching Opal dig in a snowbank. She handed a cup of coffee to Noah. “How old are you?” she asked bluntly.

He looked momentarily startled; then his eyes darted back and forth. “Why do you ask?”

“There are things I need to know if we're going to be…There are things I need to know. Like your age. Is it a secret?”

“Heck, no. How old do you think I am?”

“This isn't a guessing game. Just tell me.”

“I turned twenty-nine in January.”

She laughed, despite feeling a lurch of discomfort. “I mean it, Noah. I'm not playing games.”

He dug his wallet from his back pocket, flipped it open. He was smiling in his driver's license photo. Who on earth smiled for a driver's license photo?

People who were born in 1979, that's who. She blanched, feeling the color drop from her cheeks as her heart sank into her shoes. Good Lord. It was true. He was a full ten years younger than Sophie. She'd thought—when she thought about it at all—he might be a year or two younger. Three, perhaps, or five, tops. Six was edging toward indecent. Seven and up—clearly forbidden. Out of the question.

But…ten. It was a hugely unpleasant discovery, like biting into a perfect, delicious apple and finding a worm. Half a worm.

Ten years.

Ten. Double digits. He was closer in age to Sophie's daughter than to Sophie. And how had she missed this? She used to pride herself on her analytical mind, on being a stickler for detail. She was shocked at her lapse in failing to find out every fact and nuance about Noah. Perhaps he was turning her brains to mush. Was that a side effect of the best sex she'd ever had?

She backed away from him, nearly slipping on the icy surface of the parking lot, not seeing the Noah she knew, but someone entirely different. Not a man she was falling in love with but a…a boy. A boy toy.

Oh, God. She felt like a fool for not figuring it out sooner. It explained so much. The Peter Pan lifestyle. The garage band. Maybe she hadn't wanted to see it and hadn't allowed her mind to go there, like the buyer who falls in love with a car but refuses to check under the hood. No wonder his appetite for sex was never ending, his taste in movies and music decidedly juvenile. No wonder he lived like an adolescent, with his house full of toys. He was one, practically. She was dating a child. A laughing, sexy man-child. She was Mrs. Robinson to his Graduate. Demi Moore to his Ashton Kutcher.

An urban cougar.

She was going to burn in hell.

“Hey, come on,” he said. “It's no big deal.”

“It's big to me. I can't believe you didn't tell me.”

He paused. And in that pause, she realized he'd known this for some time.

“Unbelievable,” she said. “You kept it from me.”

“I didn't mention it because it doesn't matter. And because I knew you'd let it bug you.”

“And that's a reason to keep this from me? Because you thought it would ‘bug' me?”

“You're no picnic when you're like this, Sophie.”

“It's not my job to be a picnic,” she snapped.

He spread his hands, gloves out. “I got nothing to hide. You've been to my office. You've seen my diploma on the wall. You could have looked at the date.”

“I did look. I saw the year you graduated, but I assumed you'd had some gap years. Most people do. I thought you must have had another career before vet school—”

“Yeah, I had a paper route.” He grinned. “Kidding. There was no gap. And seriously, this is no big deal. Age is just a number.”

“And those are just words. What about my kids? What are they supposed to think?”

He laughed. “You're making this too easy. You're their mom. They want you to be happy. I want to make you happy. All you have to do is let me.”

“But—”

“Maybe all this overthinking makes you a good lawyer, but you're making yourself crazy over a nonissue.”

“I don't like this, Noah. It's…it feels wrong.”

“Did it feel wrong five minutes ago, before somebody who can't mind her own business brought it up?”

She couldn't lie. “It seemed more right than anything I've felt in a long time.”

“That's my girl.”

“I'm not a girl. I'm a grandmother.”

“And I totally love you. And you're nuts if you let somebody else's opinion influence the way we feel about one another.”

“I
told him I needed time to think this over,” Sophie told Gayle the next day, when she stopped in with the dog after her morning run. She considered Gayle her first true friend in Avalon. Her neighbor's household was always warm, cluttered and full of life. At the moment, the three kids were playing with Opal in a living room filled with more toys than furniture. She loved Gayle's generous heart and sturdy common sense, and knowing Gayle's situation helped Sophie put things into perspective. With her husband deployed, Gayle lived in the shadow of an anxiety only a military spouse could understand. It made Sophie feel silly, fretting over Noah, but Gayle claimed it kept her from focusing too much on her own worries.

“Is it just bizarre and terrible, being with a guy ten years younger than me?” Sophie asked her. “Does it make me look desperate? Pathetic? Desperate
and
pathetic?”

Gayle handed a sippy cup to her youngest and wiped his nose with the dexterity of long practice. “You're the one who needs to answer that. Not me. And not the hockey moms. You.”

“I can't be objective about this.”

Gayle laughed heartily. “Then there's your answer.”

“You know, in some cultures, women often take younger men as their mates.”

“Biologically, it makes sense,” Gayle agreed.

“I talked to my daughter about it for a long time last night. Daisy says she has no problem with me dating anyone I want.”

“Sophie, you don't have to justify anything to anyone.”

What a concept—simply be with him. Simply be in love. Why did she have to do anything more?

Little George, who went by the name of Bear, toddled over to her, holding out his cup as an offering. “Ooh, delicious,” she said, pretending to take a drink. “I'm a sucker for younger guys.”

“How's it going with your daughter's baby? Are you liking the grandma role?”

“Loving it. Charlie's proof that I really can be a good mom.”

“I can't imagine you were ever a bad mom.”

“I was never the parent I wish I'd been.”

Gayle laughed. “Is anybody? Some nights I go to bed, wondering what in the world I did that day besides yell at the kids, clean up messes, fold laundry and eat leftovers standing up.”

“You were present—that's what's important. Now that I'm taking care of Charlie, I can see how ridiculously simple some things are. A lot of the time, trying hard isn't as important as being in the moment. Years ago, Max or Daisy would do something and I'd rush to the child-rearing books to figure out how to respond. What I really should have done was what my ex always did—be in the moment. Be present. Don't dash off to consult some authority. Greg didn't love them more, but he did a better job of simply being with them. Although he had his own firm in the city, and a lot of the time, he was busy, too, he managed to balance things better than I ever did. He wasn't perfect, either, though. There was one time I remember…when Max was eight or nine, Greg and I both forgot to pick him up from an after-school program. Max waited for a couple of hours, just sat there at the school trying our mobile phones. Finally he called Greg's parents, and they picked him up. Maybe that was it, the moment we both realized our lifestyle was toxic to our kids. But actually, there were a lot of little moments like that.”

“Every parent makes mistakes.”

Sophie nodded. “We both had different responses to the wake-up call. Greg wanted to retreat and circle the wagons. I wanted to run—as far and fast as I could.”

“And now you're back, and everything's going to be all right,” Gayle assured her.

Sophie wanted to believe it. With all her heart, she wanted to. She felt better every day about her children. This thing with Noah—it wasn't really a problem unless she decided to turn it into one. So she was involved with a younger man. Being involved with any man was fraught with peril. Maybe she ought to simply accept it and move forward.

The difference in their ages was something completely out of her control. Accepting it would be a major step for her. If she quit focusing on his age and instead let herself be in love, what would happen?

Her mobile phone rang. She was surprised to see the name “Fordham, Brooks” in the caller ID. “I should take this,” she told Gayle.

“I need to get busy, anyway,” Gayle said, walking her to the door.

When she stepped outside, Sophie flipped open her phone, wondering what on earth Brooks Fordham was calling for this time.

B
o Crutcher was drunk again, Noah observed. It was his normal state for a Sunday night, when they headed up to Hilltop Tavern to shoot pool and drink beer. After the hockey game incident, Noah had decided to give Sophie a little space. He was surprised that she'd taken it so hard. Hell, that was why he hadn't said anything or admitted he'd been aware of the age difference from the start. He figured after she had a little time to think, she'd realize it was no big deal.

Apparently she hadn't come to that realization yet. Earlier in the evening, he'd called to say he wanted to see her. She'd seemed nervous when she said, “I've got something tonight.”

Eventually, he'd pried it out of her. The “something” was dinner. With Brooks Fordham.

“It's business,” she'd said, somewhat defensively.

“Whose business?”

“His.” Noah had read some of the guy's archived articles for the
New York Times.
He was a foreign correspondent, reporting from places like Zanzibar, Portofino, The Hague…. The guy had been present the night of the hostage situation Sophie had told Noah about. Noah hated what she'd endured that night, and he figured he ought to be grateful she was in touch with others who had been there, so she wasn't alone with her memories. But…okay, Noah had never met the guy, and he already knew he didn't like him. Fordham had a bio as fancy as his fancy-sounding name, with an Ivy League education, list of awards, publications. And he had that silver-haired, distinguished-gentleman thing going. Successful.
Mature.
He looked, Noah realized, like the kind of guy Sophie Bellamy would date.

Too late, jerk-off,
Noah thought.
She's taken.
He watched Bo aim for a shot and miss, losing his edge to his seventh or eighth beer.

“Come on, buddy,” Noah said. “Let's take a break.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bo put up his pool cue and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Lemme order another round.”

“In a minute.” Noah motioned him to a booth. They slid in and kicked back to survey the mostly familiar crowd.

“So what's really bugging you, bro? Woman troubles?” Bo asked, cocking one eyebrow at him.

Noah explained what had happened after the hockey game. “She kind of hates the idea that she's ten years older than me.”

“But does she hate you?”

He could still hear her earnest voice, soft with excitement.
I love you, Noah.
His mouth curved into a smile. “I don't think so.”

“Then why are you hanging around here?”

“She might need some time to think.”

“How much time? Is she waiting for you to grow up? That'll never happen.”

“She's having dinner with a guy she knew when she lived in Holland.”

Bo gave a low whistle.

“It's business,” Noah stated.

“If you say so.”

“She says so.” Although he and Sophie were still new to each other, he trusted her. Didn't he?

“Then just go for it, man,” Bo suggested. “Be with her, fall in love. It's not hard.”

“No shit.”

“I'll help you get rid of this guy, if—”

“Whoa.” Noah held up his hands. “We're not getting rid of anybody. I don't want to mess this up. I want this to work out.”

“Then work it out.” Bo signaled the waitress for two more beers.

“Good plan,” Noah agreed. “And I don't need another beer. I'm driving, remember?”

“Guess I'll have to drink yours, then.”

Noah suppressed the urge to tell his friend to take it easy on the drinking. He'd mentioned it before, to no avail. Bo liked to get a buzz on, that was a fact.

The waitress set down two longnecks and a pair of frosted mugs. Bo made eyes at her, earning a wink, but then the young woman pivoted away and went about her business.

“I need to figure out my next move,” Noah said. She'd asked him once what he wanted, what he dreamed about, and he hadn't been ready with the answer. He knew what it was now—Sophie herself. He'd never known anyone quite like her. She was beautiful and vulnerable, yes, but more than that, she drew from him a tenderness he used to only wish he could show to a woman. Holding her, touching her, revealed things to Noah that he hadn't known before—that he could be with a woman like this and feel more than lust. That he had finally discovered a love deep enough to last forever.

He'd always pictured himself raising a family, here in the place he'd grown up, making a life filled with someone he could love forever. With every moment he spent with Sophie, he felt more and more confident that it could happen with her. Yet she made him think outside the box. Life was good here, but the world was a big place. Sophie—multilingual, a world traveler—could take him places he'd never dreamed of.

We've got a lot to talk about,
he thought.

Apparently, he wasn't alone in his thinking. When he got home that night, he let Rudy out for a run and saw Sophie walking up the driveway. She wore the long, tailored coat she'd had on the first night he'd met her, along with the high-heeled boots.

“Hey,” he said. “How was your evening?”

“It was…interesting. Brooks is following up on some things for his story.”

“Okay, I have to say this. I'm insanely jealous of the guy.”

She glanced away. “There's no need to be. Brooks suffered a lot, during and after the incident. He might be dealing with the brain injury for years—”

“That's not the part I'm jealous of. But I do wish I'd been there for you, Sophie, with you.”

“No, you don't.” She spoke low but forcefully, and when she looked up at him, he imagined he could see nightmare memories flickering in her eyes. “We talked about what happened, and it was surreal, as though I were talking about someone else.” The yellowish glow of the porch light gave her face an ethereal cast. “He's planning to attend a national holiday celebration in Umoja, and was wondering if I was going.”

“Are you?”

“I don't know. All of that seems so far away, and not just geographically.”

Yet he saw it in her eyes, that unmistakable yearning. She had been a part of something big, so much bigger than anything Avalon had to offer. He couldn't blame her for missing that life.

“I didn't come to talk about that. Noah, about what happened—”

“Nothing happened,” he said quickly.

“You're right. Nothing happened. I just
happen
to be ten years older than you.” She shook her head. “I feel so foolish. When I phoned Bertie Wilson about the dog, she called you ‘little' Noah Shepherd. I didn't even question that.”

“She used to babysit me.”

“Lovely. I'll keep that in mind when we're in bed together.”

When we're in bed together. Thank God,
he thought, practically staggering with relief.

“I won't pretend I'm not rattled by this,” she said. Then she took a step toward him, pulling a set of DVDs from her pocket.
Star Wars,
the collector's edition, and a six-pack of beer. “But I'm willing to keep an open mind.”