Page 18 of Feels Like Home

“All right enough, all of you!” Melinda looks at her oldest daughter. “Hattie, don’t be rude.”

“Oh, she’s not, ma’am,” I say. “We bumped into each other in town.”

“I left when Elise Cline threw herself and her boobs at him.” She doesn’t look at me.

“Hmph,” Melinda huffs. “That girl needs some discipline. I’d put her to work out here on the horses if I thought it’d do her some good.”

“Please don’t,” Hattie says.

Boone opens the fridge and grabs a bowl with some kind of pasta in it. “Sound a little jealous there, Hattie.”

“I’m not,” she says, voice firm.

“Don’t spoil your supper, Boone.” Melinda picks up a plate of cookies and offers it to me. “Your favorite.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, taking one. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Boone makes a move toward the plate, and Melinda smacks his hand away. “After we eat.”

“The favoritism is diabolical,” Boone says.

I take a bite and smile as Melinda winks at me. “You should stay away from Elise Cline,” she says. “I hear she’s on the hunt for a second husband.”

“Oh, I think I made it pretty clear I’m not the one for the job.” I take another bite.

Hattie looks at me.

“Knew you were a smart man.” Melinda pats my arm. “But what’s with all the women, Noble?”

“Momma,” Quent says. “Leave the man alone.”

“I’m just saying—” Melinda’s hands go up. “Don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”

My eyes inexplicably dart back to Hattie’s.

I quick look back at Melinda, hoping no one noticed. I smile, pop the last bite of the cookie in my mouth and shrug. “You know what? You’re right. Maybe it is.”

Chapter Four

Hattie

My heart has been flip-flopping like a wet fish on a dry dock for the last forty-five minutes.

We all sat down for dinner, and Noble took the chair right next to me.

Felt intentional. Probably wasn’t. Maybe was. Don’t know. Can’t read him. Still mad.

My brain is flip-flopping as well. If the rest of my organs decide to join in, I’m in trouble.

This is exactly what I did as a teenager—imagined things that weren’t there. Hyper-fixated on every look or accidental touch or the choice to sit beside me.

Twice, our arms brushed against each other, and twice, I was fourteen again. I knew I wasn’t the most girlie girl out there, but that didn’t stop me from sometimes wanting to be.

September, my freshman year, I was watching all the boys and their homecoming dates pose for pictures in our north meadow before the dance.

Noble had asked a girl in his grade named Kaylie, who showed up looking like a princess. She had a long, blue, sparkly dress on and strappy silver heels that I’d never be able to wear, let alone walk in. Noble wore a pair of gray dress pants, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a loose blue tie to complement her dress. They looked like something out of a fairytale.

I hated it.