Something of a Kind

chapter 15 | ALYSON Aly wasn’t sure what time she had woken. It seemed long before sunrise, the window at her back still covered with dew from the night’s chill. From where she sat, sunlight would have roused her in just a few hours.

Finding Noah’s blanket rolled under her head, she remembered being woken by a warm hand at her back, the other tucking curls behind her ear. He whispered something in her ear as he lifted her head to cushion it.

It felt like the first night in Ashland without night terrors, though she didn't recall much. They left a residue of happiness on her skin, like pink, the texture of art, the taste of Paris on her lips. In the wake of her dreams, she felt the sentiment of sweetness. Grasping for wisps of the images as they faded, she found herself unable to hold on.

Just something much brighter than Ashland.

Sitting up, Aly smoothed her hair, though the protest in her spine suggested she hadn’t moved much. A flicker brought her attention to the counter. An old television mounted in the corner flashed with the news, its volume faint. The aroma of strong coffee penetrated the odors of the diner, one steaming culprit brewing while another resting in his hands. Clean-shaven in fresh clothes, his hair was still wet from a shower.

Curious, she crossed the room without a sound. Melting into his offered embrace, she waved off his quiet apologies for not having a more comfortable place to spend the night. Aly shifted his jacket from where it draped across the seat to the counter, sitting beside him.

Her eyes widened, noticing the array of creamers peeled and drained on the plate beside his mug. A brow raised, she inquired, “Insomnia?”

“Something like that,” he replied, shrugging. The glow of the television cast blue and purple light across him, the white of his shirt looking radioactive. She watched the patterns, like breathing tattoos, as the swirls danced across his skin. Between the wafting hazelnut and the low thuds of Noah's knee against the counter, the moment was the weird kind of perfect – her favorite kind, like something she just might dare to capture on the canvas.

Guilt nudged her with the spasm of nerves. She could feel it in her chest, in the same way longing swells. Noah didn't owe her anything– yet she still coerced him into helping her, though he obviously had strong feelings against it.

It was the same situation as when he dropped her off the night before– he didn't want to, even as far as to warn against it, relaying a distinct bad feeling. She ignored it and got burned, her expectations crushed.

The fact of the matter was, Aly didn't understand his hesitations. Maybe he was bluffing about his former disbelief, perhaps he was afraid, or worse, he would get in trouble, or was suspicious someone else fabricated a hoax. She couldn't tell. He wasn't being straightforward, and the gamble was a guess was as good as any.

He has family obligations– maybe I'm interfering again.

Biting her lip, she continued, “You know, if you’re not up for it, we don’t have to go. I was really upset... I shouldn’t have asked.”

He shook his head. “Honestly, it's not a problem. As in, no worries – at all. I’m good.” As though he noticed his mug for the first time, he smiled into it, standing to refill. “Coffee?”

Aly rubbed the glaze of sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”

Frowning, Noah peered into the dark, eyes focused on the clock across the diner. “Just after four, I think.”

At all hours of the night, she could wade barefoot into the little kitchen of her mother’s condo and find the woman pouring over papers – bills, textbooks, some too-sexy pocket paperback – and chugging the brew.

She smiled, surprised the memory didn’t pang. Realizing he was waiting for a response, waving an empty mug that matched his, she said, “Thank you, but not yet.”

He nodded to himself, chewing his cheek. Finally, he set everything down, looking up. Voice low and intent, he explained, “My dad, my brothers… they’ll all be getting up for the docks soon.”

“We should leave, then, right?”

He halfsmiled, raising an eyebrow. “Is the jerky-jerk at work?”

Rolling her shoulders, Aly said, “He is.”

“Are you ready, then?”

She grinned. “I am.”