Part 8 (1/2)
Noah angled his large frame in front of the curtain and sat down in a chair to Alexis's left. He crossed one long leg over the other and sat back. He looked too big for the small s.p.a.ce, like that black-and-white Diane Arbus photograph of a giant with his parents in the Bronx. ”I'm her knight in s.h.i.+ning armor,” he said.
”Hey, got you these,” he continued, handing her a box of raisins. ”Thought you might be hungry since you missed out on my chili.”
”Oh! Thanks.” She opened the lid with her good hand and dumped them into her mouth. She was starving. To h.e.l.l with inputting their calories into her phone.
”You're not worried about missing the Yankees spring training coverage on the tube tonight?” Dr. Whisk said jokingly to Noah while rooting through a cupboard behind Alexis. His voice came out m.u.f.fled.
”I DVR'd it, of course,” Noah said.
Alexis rolled her eyes. Did men have to bring up sports any chance they got? Could they get back to her wound, please?
”Ow!” Alexis yelped. Dr. Whisk had walked back next to her and was examining her finger. The tip had gone nearly white, and light pink near the wound. It had stopped bleeding, but the cut was deep. She could see a s.h.i.+ning sliver of bone.
”Sorry, sorry.” He clapped his hands together. ”What do you say we st.i.tch you up and send you on your way?”
Alexis gulped, then squared her shoulders. She'd once broken her leg during cheerleading practice and not cried a single tear. She'd always had a high threshold for pain. She was her father's daughter. Tough.
”Sure,” she said.
Noah scooted his chair around the table and nonchalantly reached out to take Alexis's other hand. He had keys in his pocket that jingled when his leg moved.
”Um. What are you doing?” she asked.
”Holding your hand,” he said. ”I got forty st.i.tches on my back once. Fell rock-climbing on Flagstaff Mountain. f.u.c.king killed.”
”Er ... thanks, I guess,” Alexis said.
It didn't hurt as much as she'd thought it would. Whisk injected her with pain meds. It was more of a tugging sensation, with a p.r.i.c.k of pain every time the needle dipped into her finger. The st.i.tches looked like a line of s.h.i.+ny black ants. She blew air out of her mouth, which made her wispy hair go up and down, and tried to hold her finger out straight.
”Don't look at it,” Noah said. ”Look at me.”
So she did. She stared into his eyes, which felt a little like swimming naked in the ocean at night. He had a tiny ring of gold inside his left iris.
Fifteen st.i.tches and approximately one zillion forms to sign later, Alexis found herself sitting in a very uncomfortable green plastic chair in the hospital cafeteria across from Noah, doing something she never thought she would do: licking the sides of an ice-cream sandwich.
”What the h.e.l.l is that?” she'd said, when Noah had come back with it to their little table.
”It's called an ice-cream sandwich. Ever seen one before?” he joked, putting it on the table and unwrapping it for her.
”I can do it myself with my other hand,” she said crankily. ”And what happened to getting me a salad?”
He didn't say anything, just looked at her with a bemused expression. ”Some people might think the appropriate response in this situation is a simple thank-you.”
Alexis sighed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. It had started to rain in sheets that flung against the large windows in the cafeteria. She had to raise her voice to be heard over it. ”I am on a strict-calorie diet. No more, no less. I don't change it, no matter what. So please, enjoy the ice cream yourself. Oh, and thank you. Sorry if I didn't say it right away.”
Noah pushed back his sleeves. Alexis found herself staring at the soft brown fuzz that covered his muscular arms. She had the overwhelming urge to run her hands over him. She felt glad he wasn't very hairy. She liked her men neat.
”h.e.l.lo, earth to Alexis,” he said kindly. ”Now listen. You happen to be sitting here with a professional chef. I know all there is to know about food. And I can tell you that this here ice-cream sandwich is known in some circles to be the epitome of fine dessert.” He held it up, slowly taking off the white waxy paper like he was undressing a woman. ”Notice the soft, spongy texture of the chocolate. The milky white vanilla ice-cream filling. Rome was not built in a day. And this sandwich didn't just one day formulate. It took years and years of experimenting to get it right. And you're going to turn it down?”
She was trying not to laugh.
”Listen.” And he touched her arm, the gesture new and yet familiar at the same time. His voice was soft, soothing. She could listen to him talk all day. ”You've had a s.h.i.+tty night. I just thought a little sugar couldn't hurt. I think our Dr. Whisk would approve.”
So she took the treat from him, held it in her undamaged right hand, and took a small bite off one corner, putting her lips over her front teeth like a horse to keep from getting stung by the cold. It was delicious. She ate it quickly, like a prisoner who had been starved and just let out of her cell for a bite to eat. Noah sat back in his chair, crossed his long legs, and watched her, satisfied.
When she was finished, the unthinkable happened: Alexis Allbright, writer and founder of Skinny Chick, asked for another ice-cream sandwich. And ate it just as quickly as she had the first. And then ... a third. At one point she took out her phone to input the calories and the number was so high she had to blink twice because her vision had blurred with shock.
They sat there for an hour, mostly in silence. But it was a comfortable silence between them, unusual in that they were two people who before this night had never met. Noah eventually went to the counter and got himself an ice cream. He ate his with the wrapper still attached, and he'd pull it down as he took bites, which Alexis found odd and charming. Her painkiller started to dissipate, which made her finger throb again, but she enjoyed his company and didn't want the night to end. Glancing at the clock above the checkout woman, she realized it was nearing midnight.
Somehow, by taking this cla.s.s she'd signed up for as a lark, a way to have material to blog about, she'd cut her finger all the way to the bone and was now sitting in this gray cafeteria listening to the rain and eating an ice-cream sandwich with Noah. Life was funny, a day could s.h.i.+ft its shape to reveal something else, something different. Life was like one of those Silly Bandz rubber bracelets that look round on your wrist, but when taken off spell LOVE.
He'd been watching her. ”Can I give you a lift home?” he asked.
”Oh, I could just take a cab,” she said. She felt pleased when his face fell.
”But you've just nearly cut your finger off. What if you have the sudden need for another ice cream? No, I think you'd better let me drive you home. You're not safe to wander around by yourself. You might hack off a leg or something.”
”I barely know you. How do I know you're not a secret ax murderer?” she asked, using the back of her hand to open the swinging opening of the garbage can nearby to throw away all of their wrappers. When they stood up he towered over her, even in her heels.
”I'll save the axing for another day,” he said. ”I think you've been through enough tonight.”
As they walked toward the front of the hospital Noah's shoes made slos.h.i.+ng sounds. Alexis realized he had no umbrella, and it was pouring outside. ”Your shoes are soaked!” she told him.
”Nah,” he said. ”Nothing that a little heat on your feet in the car can't fix. Besides, I hate carrying umbrellas around. I like to just feel the rain on my face.”
”Okay, whatever,” Alexis said. She pushed him a little. She only came up to the middle of his back and she felt solid muscle under his s.h.i.+rt. ”Hippie.”
He looked back at her, surprised. Then he grinned. ”I'd push you back, but I wouldn't want to hurt a cripple,” he said. ”Especially one who can't handle a knife.”
She stuck out her tongue at him.
They pa.s.sed a young girl sitting in a wheelchair and clutching a gigantic, rosy-cheeked baby boy with a huge wide face shaped like a cable satellite dish. He was very close to ten pounds and had Elvis hair, jet-black, which stuck straight up. His big face bunched and he started wailing when he saw Alexis.
”Babies always cry when they see me,” she told Noah. She'd meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding awkward. They entered the large revolving door at the same time and she was pressed up against his back, which felt firm. She had the strange urge to hug him around his waist.
”Well, it's not surprising. Did you ever realize how much you frown?” he asked. ”You look pretty scary.”
She punched him in the arm. ”What the h.e.l.l? I do not.”
”You do! You should see yourself. Frowning at everyone. What are you so mad about?” She felt her face go red.
What indeed? Her father, fist smas.h.i.+ng down on the dining room table, scattering bright green peas from his plate all over the floor after she'd told him she was quitting law school, her mother drunk at Mark's funeral, falling all over the casket and ripping off the American flag, the young Marines with their rifles and stiff posture who pretended they didn't see her. Yeah. She was mad about a lot of things.
She stopped walking. ”It's none of your business how often I frown. And I just didn't think your joke was funny. It was pretty lame, in fact. Kind of like you.”
She turned on her heel and started walking down First Avenue, annoyed with Noah, but even more so with herself. What was she thinking, letting herself be rescued by the chef from her cooking cla.s.s? Okay, yes. He was cute. And funny. And he made all the little blond hairs on her arms stand up when he came within five feet of her. But the man wore boots with mud caked around them, the car he drove her over in smelled of dog (Alexis was a cat person), he had no real job, her mother, with her old-fas.h.i.+oned views about marrying in to money, would have had a heart attack just knowing her daughter had gone out with this guy. Alexis squared her shoulders. If he called, she wouldn't answer. If he stopped by the gym, she'd ...
Suddenly she felt an extraordinarily large hand wrap around her upper arm. She was whipped around, and found herself b.u.mping right into Noah's chest, which was really a mistake because suddenly she breathed deeply and smelled cedar, like when you open an antique trunk, along with a mixture of clean sweat and laundry detergent.
”Where are you going?” Noah asked. He laughed. ”G.o.d only knows how you walk so fast in those little torture devices you call boots. I'm six-three and I can barely keep up with you! You're like a cheetah when you take off. I had to run the whole block to catch you!”