He seemed genuinely willing to help, but Phoebe wondered how long his interest would last before he got restless. If staying behind at Carriage Hill really was a spur-of-the-moment decision, then he wouldn’t have any of his regular amusements and diversions with him. She supposed he could be working on a new business project. Something that required some quiet time to think.
She couldn’t get out of the kitchen fast enough. She didn’t even know why. Noah hadn’t made any sarcastic remarks. He hadn’t been condescending in any way toward her. He just put her on edge. She hated to think it had to do with his financial status. She wasn’t the type to judge people by their net worth.
Not that she’d met many billionaires, she thought as she made her way through Olivia’s backyard to the garden shed. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t money. It was…
“I just don’t know,” she said to herself, grabbing small clippers off a hook. Her swashbuckler Friday night and now Noah Kendrick Sunday afternoon. Maybe she was the one who was bored and restless.
She ducked out of the shed and up the path to the basil patch.
Noah and Buster wandered out to the terrace. “I found the mortar and pestle,” Noah said.
“Excellent. We’re in business.”
Given past experience, Phoebe expected Buster to barrel to her and tear into the basil, but he stretched, yawned and lay down in a shady spot by the bench.
“Good dog,” Noah said, obviously as surprised as Phoebe was. “It must be Olivia’s influence, or perhaps the heat. I haven’t had him long enough to have an influence. How’s the basil?”
“It smells wonderful.”
He stepped off the terrace into the grass. He was still barefoot. Phoebe noticed the muscles in his bare arms and, under his T-shirt, his shoulders. He was lean but clearly strong, far more fit than she’d have expected. His eyes settled on her and he smiled without saying a word, as if he knew she’d been appraising him.
With a flush that had nothing to do with the summer heat, she snipped a healthy hunk of basil and realized she hadn’t brought anything to put it in. As she considered what she could use, Noah leaned over and took the basil from her. “I’ll get a colander,” he said, then headed back to the terrace and into the kitchen.
Phoebe took a breath, hoping to calm her racing heart. Maybe she should have rescheduled the pesto-making, after all.
Noah returned with a colander. She laid more fresh-picked basil in it and thanked him. If he stayed this close to her, it was going to be a long afternoon. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “If you want to take Buster for a walk in the woods, feel free.”
“We already hiked up Carriage Hill this morning.”
Carriage Hill rose up beyond the open fields behind the house. “I see.” She snipped another basil plant and asked casually, “How was hiking in the White Mountains?”
“We went at hockey-player pace,” he said with a wry smile.
“Is that faster or slower than your pace?”
“Faster. Much faster. I prefer to savor each step up a mountain. I tend to be very deliberate about what I do.” He reached down and brushed her bare shoulder with his fingertips, then smiled as he stood straight again. “Bumblebee.”
Phoebe’s mouth had gone dry at his touch. “The bees like the catmint,” she said, nodding to the frothy purple-flowered border. “Olivia plans to move it to a less-trafficked area.”
“Bumblebees have a natural preference for purple flowers, which tend to have more nectar than flowers of other colors.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He shrugged. “I read it in an article somewhere.”
As smart as he was, she thought, he probably remembered everything he read. She tackled more basil, leaving enough for regrowth. Noah waited, then carried the overloaded colander to the terrace, Buster stirring enough to follow him inside.
Phoebe returned the clippers to the shed. After sneaking into the charity ball on Friday and dealing with Maggie’s suspicions yesterday, she’d wanted a quiet Sunday. Needed a quiet Sunday to get her bearings.
And here she was, picking basil and making pesto with Noah Kendrick.
When she returned to the kitchen, Buster was lapping water out of his bowl in the mudroom and Noah was sipping a glass of water at the table. The basil was in the sink. “I rinsed it,” he said. “I didn’t see any ants, spiders, worms or slugs. Just dirt.”
“That’s good. I’ll do a second rinse. I always do with anything fresh out of the garden. It’s not that I don’t trust you.”
He picked up his water glass. “Of course not.”
As she approached the sink, she noticed that one of the flyers Olivia had designed for the fashion show was on the table. It hadn’t been there before. It announced the show and called for donations of pre-1975 vintage clothing in good condition.
Noah tapped one finger on the flyer. “I saw this on Olivia’s bulletin board in the mudroom. A vintage fashion show at the local library. Your idea?”
Phoebe nodded. There’d been a change in him since he’d taken the colander inside. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, except that she was feeling caught, trapped—as if he knew something that she didn’t know.