by Unknown
“Can’t I just run over to Aunt Emma’s really quick?” begged Adelynn. “She never takes long.”
“You know we can’t do that anymore, Adi. She gets really sick in the morning and needs her rest.” Noah gave Adelynn’s head a pat, signaling he was done. Then he tried to get Kajsa to stand still so he could brush her hair.
“Dad, it’s fine,” Kajsa whined, dodging his attempts.
Adelynn continued to glare at her reflection. “I am so not going to school looking like this.”
Noah was about to give up on Kajsa and force Adi to get in the car when he spied a vacuum in the corner. It sparked an idea, and he handed the brush back to Kajsa. “Here. You untangle it. But do it quick.”
Then he grabbed the vacuum, turned it on, and lugged it over to where Adelynn stood with her glare now trained on him.
“I thought you said we had to go,” she said, raising her voice above the whine of the vacuum.
“Hold still.” Noah pulled the elastic from her hair, wrapped it tightly around the handheld adaptor of the vacuum, and began sucking all of her hair into it.
“Daddy!” Adelynn’s dark eyes grew wide with horror. “What are you doing?”
Noah quickly slid the elastic from the adaptor to Adelynn’s hair, creating a tight ponytail that was perfectly centered at the back of her head. He smiled in satisfaction. ”There. You’re done. Kajsa, get over here.”
“That was weird, Dad,” said Adelynn, but at least she no longer complained about a lopsided ponytail. Kajsa came willingly, which was a first. Apparently, she wanted to experience what it felt like to have her hair sucked into a vacuum too.
In no time at all, Noah had his girls ready to go. He handed them lunches with sloppy PB&J sandwiches inside, shuffled them out the door, and watched them climb on the bus and wave goodbye.
A chime sounded, and Noah pulled his phone from his pocket, finding a text from Cassie.
I won’t be home this morning to let you in, so I left the basement door unlocked. Feel free to turn that noise you call music up as loud as you want.
Noah smiled. If my music is noise, yours is pain. Unless you’re dancing to it, that is. Then I don’t mind it.
Lucky for you I’m sending the girls home with a CD of Irish music next week to practice with. The darling way they dance will have you loving it in no time.
Noah imagined the sound of bagpipes blaring through his house with Adelynn skipping up and down the hallway and Kajsa yelling at her to stop. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d come to love it anytime soon.
Will there be a Taylor Swift song on that CD? he wrote back, hoping she’d given his suggestion a little more thought.
Not this time, came her response.
Your favorite ice cream must be the boring flavor of vanilla, Noah wrote back. Then he paused with his thumb over the Send button, wondering if the teasing comment would offend her. Or maybe it would make her laugh. She obviously had a sense of humor, but every once in awhile Noah would say something she didn’t find funny at all.
He hit Send anyway and waited, almost holding his breath. A minute passed before his phone chimed again.
I’m beginning to understand why yours is cookie dough and not peaches and cream. Maybe there really is something to your ice cream psychology.
Noah laughed. Yes, she definitely had a sense of humor.
“What’s so funny?” Becky’s voice sounded from across the street.
Noah shoved his phone in his back pocket and raised his voice so she could hear him. “Cassie.” When Becky’s mouth lifted into a knowing smile, Noah pointed a finger in her direction. “Don’t start.”
The knowing smile remained. “Figure out what her favorite ice cream flavor is yet?”
“She doesn’t have one.”
She shook her head, rejecting his answer. “Everyone has a favorite. You just have to work a little harder to figure hers out. You promised, remember?”
“And you tricked me. Somehow, you knew the answer wouldn’t come easy, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” She chuckled and waved. “Don’t let me keep you. Enjoy your day.”
“Yeah, you too.” Noah hopped in his truck and drove away, allowing his thoughts to veer in Cassie’s direction. How did she get her ponytails to always look so neat and centered? Was that another thing that took a lot of practice, or was it one of those talents that some people had and some people didn’t, like Emma’s way with a paintbrush?
Noah shook his head and redirected his thoughts to where they should be: Cassie’s basement. Spring break was only a week and a half away. But if Kevin or Justin would be available to help him hang drywall this weekend, by the end of next week he should have everything ready to be primed and painted.
And then he’d take a week off to spend with his princesses.
Cassie pulled her damp hair into a sloppy bun on the top of her head and slipped into some pink yoga pants and a pink tank top. Landon had hated the color on her because it clashed with her hair. Not long after they were married, she’d found the few pink tops she owned and her favorite pink sweats shoved into a trash bag by the garage door.
“You know I hate that color,” he’d said when she asked him about it. “I don’t understand why I had to be the one to get rid of all that stuff. If you respected me at all, you wouldn’t have brought it into my house.”
His house. That’s the way he had always looked at things even though they’d bought the home together. But Landon had been the one to pick out the flooring, the fixtures, and the furniture for the remodel. So in that respect, it really had been his house. Still was, in fact. Cassie would change it all if she could, but the bulk of the life insurance money was going toward the basement renovation, so the rest would have to wait.
After Landon’s funeral, Cassie had driven straight to Target. She’d filled her cart with pink towels, pink shirts, pink flannel pajama bottoms, fuzzy pink slippers, and whatever else she could find in that color—even sticky notes. It was because of Landon that she wore something pink almost every day even though she was really coming to detest the color. It reminded her that she was her own person who didn’t have to answer to anyone.
She padded down the hardwood hallway into the sleek, modern kitchen. There was a time when she thought Landon had done well with his choices. The dark, simple lines of the wood initially looked beautiful to her, complimenting the stainless steel appliances and granite counters. But over the two years she’d spent with him, Cassie had come to hate it all. She couldn’t put her feet up on the coffee table for fear of scuffing it, couldn’t curl up in the uncomfortable armchair, and too much time had been wasted wiping down the stainless steel appliances and dusting all the dark wood. What she’d thought would be a beautiful and comfortable home became a cool and distant dwelling.
Cassie sighed when she saw the dishes in the sink. She’d overslept that morning and had rushed out the door without wiping the toast crumbs from the counter or rinsing out the pan and bowl she’d used. Now they were sitting in her water-spotted sink, coated in dried oatmeal.
It had been a long day. Two of her classes had gotten a little out of control, and she had no desire to scrub the dishes clean right now. Or mop the floor, for that matter. But it needed to be done. So she inhaled a deep breath and turned up the volume on a favorite Beatles’ song. As she scrubbed her dishes, her humming became singing, and her body began to move with the beat of the music. As she pulled the mop from the closet, Faith Hill’s “Me” came on, and Cassie cranked up the volume more.
It wasn’t a song most people knew—just a little two-letter title listed as number nine on the Faith album. But the moment Cassie had first heard it, she’d fallen in love with it. Don’t change who you are to impress someone else—that was the message—and one Cassie’s youthful, daydreamish heart had clung to. She’d wanted to marry a man who wouldn’t want to change her, who’d cherish and love her for her. And she thought she had. When they were dating, Landon had found her quirks
adorable, or, at least he said he did. But the moment they’d uttered their I dos, everything began to change. That song became a mockery of her marriage. So she’d buried the CD at the bottom of a large box containing things from her previous life.
After his car accident, Cassie had stumbled across that old box. She’d pulled out all of her old dance medals, the tattered, stuffed teddy bear that her father had won for her at the county fair, the birthday cards her siblings had made for her over the years, and the three photo albums she’d once made—all filled with evidence of happier times. As she flipped through the pages, it felt like she was looking at someone else—a happy, bubbly, and carefree Cassie who loved to photo bomb her siblings’ pictures, play mud football, organize group dates, invent new recipes, and dye her hair pink for Halloween.
Where had that girl gone?
As Cassie set aside that last album, she’d looked down to find that old Faith CD. She picked it up, turned it over, and stared at the word “Me” until her vision had blurred. Then she ripped the entire album to her computer, transferred it to her mp3 player, and went straight to that song. As the words sounded, she’d closed her eyes and allowed them entrance into her mind. They weaved around her pain, bringing with them a powerful sensation—one of healing, truth, and determination to never let anyone take the “me” from her again.
The problem was that Cassie wasn’t sure who she was anymore. It was like Landon had extracted that fun-loving girl and hidden it somewhere she couldn’t find it. All that was left was a wannabe shell.
Cassie didn’t even know what her favorite flavor of ice cream was anymore.
The chorus came on, and Cassie forgot all about the floor. She belted out the words, using the mop handle as a microphone. She spun around, executing a few quick-step dance moves and sang her aching heart out.
When a man appeared in her peripheral vision, Cassie simultaneously squealed and jumped. For a moment, she saw Landon in his features, as though he’d come back from the dead to haunt her. But then her vision refocused, and Landon became Noah, leaning against the wall adjacent to the basement stairs with his arms folded and his lips pulled into a small smile.
Wow, he was handsome.
“Noah!” she chided, shoving the mop behind her. “You scared me to death. What are you still doing here?” He never worked past three.
Noah pushed away from the wall and walked toward her, stopping next to the island. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I forgot to get a measurement that I needed before I hit the store tomorrow. So when my sister invited my girls over for some dessert, I figured I’d run over here and take care of it. You didn’t answer when I rang, and the basement door was still open, so I let myself in. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yes, that’s fine. I haven’t had a chance to lock up yet.” That still didn’t explain what he was doing up here, watching her sing and dance. Underneath that nice, handsome exterior, was he really a creep?
Her thought must have been written on her face, because he held up his hand. “Now before you go thinking I’m a peeping Tom or something, I’m only up here because I need to get your okay on something. I heard the music and knocked on your basement door, but you didn’t hear me. Then I called out your name—very loudly, I might add—and could have sworn you said, ‘Come in.’ So I did.”
“I never said that.” Cassie hadn’t heard a thing.
“I figured as much when I saw you dancing with the mop.” He smiled. “I had no idea you could sing too.”
“I can’t.” Her cheeks became warm. She quickly shoved the mop in the closet as though it incriminated her in some way.
“I beg to differ.” Noah wandered around the island, and, without asking, started scrolling through her playlist.
She rushed forward and tried to grab it from him, but he turned to the side, blocking her with his massive shoulder. “Faith Hill, Imagine Dragons, Chicago, Jordin Sparks—so you do like something besides bagpipes.”
“There are no bagpipes in Irish music. Now give me that.” She tried to shove past him, but his arm was a hard, brick wall.
“Rascal Flatts, Garth Brooks, Coldplay, The Beatles, and…” He turned around, his eyebrow raised in question. “St. Elmo’s Fire?”
She lunged forward again, but he held her player too high for her to reach. Why did he have to be so tall? “It’s a good song,” she defended.
“I agree.” He pushed play, and the opening beats of “St. Elmo’s Fire” filled the room, followed by the rapid drumbeats as the tempo sped up. Still holding the player above his head, Noah started to move to the beat. First, it was his shoulders and head, then his body joined in with hilarious and exaggerated movements. When the lyrics came, he joined in, apparently not caring that he had an audience or a really off-key baritone.
He knew this song, knew the words. And even more surprising was the fact that he seemed to like it as much as she did. But did he feel the words the way she did? Had he ever felt like a prisoner trying to break free? Or was this just a fun, upbeat song to him?
Before Cassie could give it any more thought, he set down her MP3 player and grabbed her hands, gently spinning her around. His fingers had a rough, sandpaper feel to them, but they also felt warm and large and masculine.
“What are you doing?”
“Singing and dancing, duh. Something I really hate to do alone.”
“And it’s something I only do alone.”
“Don’t give me that. You’re a dance teacher.”
“Kids are diff—”
“Shh,” he said. “It’s getting to the good part.”
This time, Cassie let him spin her, for no other reason than she didn’t know what else to do. It was a foreign thing for her. Landon had never wanted to dance or sing to music. He thought it best to leave it to the professionals and didn’t like it when her voice joined in with an artist’s. But now here was Noah, belting the words out and trying to coerce her to do the same.
Almost tentatively, she did, purposefully letting her voice get swallowed up with his.
He spun her around so her back was facing him, then pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “C’mon, you can sing louder than that. I heard you. I dare you to out-sing me.”
He’d dared her—something one of her brothers would have done and something the old Cassie would have met head on.
The old Cassie. Wasn’t that who she was trying to find?
She raised her voice and belted out the words, trying to show him what on-key sounded like.
“That’s more like it.” He grinned, spinning her around once more—her with bare feet and him with sneakers. The touch of his hand and warmth of his body ignited feelings in her that she had tried so hard to keep buried. But with every conversation, every look, every touch, he’d loosened those feelings more and more, and in that moment, she didn’t care. Cassie was lost to the moment.
When “St. Elmo’s Fire” came to an end, Noah kept her dancing while REO Speedwagon’s “Take it on the Run” began. Cassie was having too much fun to call it quits. The tempo of this song was slower, so Noah dialed it down a notch, pulling her in for a simplified two-step while they continued to try to out-sing each other.
“And even if it is, keep kissin’ my hide,” Cassie voice rang out loud.
Noah pulled her to a stop. “What did you just say?”
“Keep kissin’ my hide,” she repeated, all shyness gone.
He dropped his head back and laughed, a deep guttural sound that shook his entire body, shaking Cassie in the process.
“What’s so funny?”
When he looked at her again and there were tears in his eyes. He wiped them away, still laughing. “It’s keep this in mind—not keep kissin’ my hide.”
“No, it’s not.” Cassie pulled away from him and grabbed her MP3 player, starting the song over again. Noah leaned against the counter next to her with that silly grin still fixed on his face. But at least he wasn’t laughing anymore.
When the
song reached those lyrics again, Cassie listened closely. Sure enough, “Keep this in mind” worked also—and made a lot more sense.
“Told you.” Noah chuckled again, then took the mp3 player and set it on the counter, turning the volume down. “But for what it’s worth, I like your lyrics a lot better.”
“Only because it gave you a reason to laugh,” she muttered, feeling like a complete moron. How could she have gotten those lyrics wrong? The right words were so obvious.
“What does ‘kissing my hide’ mean anyway?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. A less crass way of saying ‘kiss my butt’?” That started his laughter all over again, and once again, he had to dry his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I had no idea you could be this funny—or fun,” he finally said. “I like this side of you.”
And she did too, Cassie realized. But the reminder of what she’d become sucked all the fun from the room. She stared at the dusty floor, wanting to go back to singing and dancing and not remembering that she wasn’t the old Cassie anymore. She wasn’t the new Cassie either. She was a teenaged equivalent, trying to find herself or whatever that meant.
She turned off the music and cleared her throat. “What exactly do you need my okay on?”
He nudged her arm with his elbow, and when she didn’t look at him, his fingers gently guided her chin toward him. His eyes held a tenderness she didn’t expect to see.
“I promise I wasn’t making fun of you,” he said. “You have a beautiful voice, you know how to dance, and you have a fun sense of humor. That’s kind of intimidating to a guy like me, so when you sang the lyrics wrong, I couldn’t help but tease you about it. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
He was so close. She could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the scent of freshly cut lumber. Why did she have to like him so much? “How is teasing different than making fun of someone?”
“There’s a world of difference,” he said. “Making fun is what you do to people you don’t like. Teasing is what you do to people you like and want to get to know better.”
