Sprinkle All The Way (Evergreen Lake: Under the Mistletoe)

Chapter 6

six

NOAH

The cold water runs through my hair and down my back as I stare down at my erection.

Being hungover always makes me horny. It’s usually not a problem since I can wake up and take care of it. But waking up to Violet standing in my room, filling my space with her sweet plum and floral scent, didn’t help.

If I had gotten out of bed with her still in the room, she would have seen how painfully hard I was, not to mention other things she probably shouldn’t see.

I was able to collect myself enough to join her in the kitchen and listen to her proposal about helping me with the shop.

Now she’s gone, but her presence still lingers around me. She’s always had that effect on me, and time apart doesn’t matter. I always thought I’d be okay if I were to see her again, but all those feelings from high school came flooding back, drowning me. Including the harsh reality of how it ended.

She looked beautiful, standing in my kitchen. Her new red lipstick was something I remembered from last night, and it took all my effort to avoid staring at her lips the entire time she was talking .

I need to get rid of this erection, but I can’t stop picturing those damn lips. I need to think about something gross. Like dead bodies. My body instantly cools, so I keep going. Dead bodies at a funeral. Funerals have flowers. A rose is a flower. Roses are red. Violets are blue. Violet has red lips now.

Fuck.

I finally give in to the inevitable, reaching to fist my cock. I don’t stop the thoughts of her as my thumb rolls over my tip, spreading the bead of precum around. I groan as desire consumes me. Closing my eyes, I imagine her here with me. Her breasts pressed against me, her lipstick leaving marks on my neck, and her hands bringing me the greatest pleasure I’ve ever experienced.

The second I picture her getting down to her knees, red lips wrapped around my cock, I spill into my hand, watching it go down the drain. My chest heaves as I catch my breath, but the lack of company leaves me unsatisfied. She’s been the center of my fantasies since I was a teenager, but seeing her after so long leaves me the most hollow I’ve ever been.

I wish I could channel some of her bluntness and tell her how I feel about her, how I’ve always felt about her. When we were teenagers, I was in no place to give my heart over to someone as good as her. I was starting fights, getting suspended, and driving over to the next town with my friends to ask strangers to buy beer for us. I didn’t understand what love should be like, since my parents were the farthest thing from a good example. There was no way teenage Noah would have been able to give Violet what she deserved, even though he tried and failed spectacularly.

Hell, I’m doubtful adult Noah has anything to offer her either. The past eight years have been nothing but moving from job to job since none ever felt right, never at one place long enough to make friends. There was no way anyone, let alone Violet, would be interested in falling in love with me. I couldn’t hold down a relationship for more than a month. Plus was I interested in falling in love? Of course I was, but only with her. It was only ever with her.

There was no hope there, though. Not with how much of a failure I was. It would almost be easier to give in to what people were saying about me. I could start selling weed cookies, buy beer for all the teenagers, or dye all the animals at the rescue. Show this town what they always believed about me was true, that I am worthless and unlovable. But that would be the easy way out.

Drying off, I stare at myself in the mirror, towel hung low on my waist. The one thing on my chest Violet couldn’t see staring back at me. It was a good thing I was on my stomach this morning when she came in. If she had seen the tattoo on my chest she would have known what it was and what it meant. I wasn’t ready for rejection again.

Thinking about her again, standing in my room, sends shivers down my spine and straight to my groin. I can feel my dick getting harder by the second and don’t do anything to stop it. I’m not going to jerk off to the memory of her this time. I could use some pain in my life right now.

Getting dressed, I make sure to put on the sweater my mom got me earlier this month. I told her I would be over to her house soon, but I don’t want to get there too early and risk seeing Violet. I need time to think about what she said without her presence actively clouding my mind. Looking around my apartment there are signs of her everywhere. The dried footprints from snow and salt in the hallway, my keys by the door where she left them, the muffin sitting on the counter, and the coffee cup in the sink. I’ll have to return that to her eventually. I’m not going to be able to think clearly about what’s right for the shop without my feelings for her taking over .

Her proposal isn’t a bad idea, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to work alongside her without asking about how our friendship ended. I need to give her idea more thought, as I remember that my staff is only me, myself, and I, and my heartbeat picks up. I have no idea what I’m doing. I only baked cookies back then, I barely ran the register. Now I’d probably fuck the whole thing up and file the wrong tax form.

When it comes to running a business, I need more help than a few teenagers who are willing to work the front. I need someone who understands how businesses work, or at least someone who can help keep me organized.

With every spiraling thought, I breathe heavier, and my heart pounds in my ears. Going over all the stuff I need to do isn’t helping, and I need a day to do nothing. I’ve been working nonstop since I got home to clean up and fix everything in the shop.

Falling onto the couch, I pick up the video game controller to play a quick game before heading out to my mom’s. I put my feet up on the coffee table, where the big box of letters still sits, taunting me. With so many prompts, I’m worried Ginger had too much faith in me, and I won’t be able to fulfill each one. Suddenly, I remember seeing one with a prompt that fits the occasion.

Leaning forward I dig through the contents until I find the letter I’m searching for.

Open when you’re scared

Kind of ominous, but hopefully it’s what I need right now.

Dear Noah,

What the hell are you scared for ?

I’ll tell you what’s scary. Scary is leaving behind everything to someone you believe in, but who might not believe in themself.

I didn’t leave you in charge because I didn’t have anyone else, I left you in charge because I believe in you. You can call me stupid or insane, but I’m not wrong.

Don’t listen to what everyone says about you. You’re not some troubled kid who deserves to be unhappy. No one deserves that.

You’re kind, thoughtful, and smart—even if you don’t see it. I saw it in you the second I met you. Why else do you think I struck a deal with you instead of turning you in? I believed in you.

So take your time to be scared, but then pull yourself together, get off the couch, and start taking action. Life’s too short to be scared.

All my love,

Ginger

I can’t help but laugh. Leave it to Ginger to write me a letter yelling at me. She’s right though, life is too short to be scared. Shutting off my game, I get up to leave for my mom’s.

Soon, I’m standing outside my mom’s house knocking on the door. Even though I spent most of my teenage years here, it’s not my home anymore and I’m uncomfortable walking in unannounced. With my luck I’d walk in on her and her boyfriend in the middle of something I don’t need to see.

“Noah, love, you don’t have to knock,” my mom tells me as she opens the door and pulls me inside. I can instantly smell the turkey already in the oven and I’m already looking forward to my post-meal food coma on the couch.

“Sorry, Ma,” I apologize, wrapping her in a one armed hug. I tower over her now, and have ever since my growth spurt at seventeen.

“The turkey is cooking and I could use some help with the sides if you’re up for it. Nick is in the living room if you want to say hi.” Her eyes twinkle with light and she’s almost skipping down the hallway toward the kitchen as she fills me in on the current status of everything.

Guilt settles deep in my gut for being gone for years, especially since Dad died and left her alone. Every time I see her now she’s always thrilled to see me, like I might disappear on her again. Ever since moving back to town we’ve had several long discussions about the past. I opened up to her about how hard it was for me when her and Dad fought. She apologized and told me how much she missed me. It seems like we’re finally in a good place.

She’s also started dating someone new. Nick has been around for a few years now, and I’ve met him over the phone once or twice. Coming home to him living here was an adjustment, but he gives me and Mom space when we need it. Plus, he makes her happy, and that’s all I want.

“About that. I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” I tell her, following her into the kitchen after greeting Nick with a handshake. I quickly fall into old habits, helping her with whatever she needs to get dinner ready.

“Did you know Violet Emerson is home? You said she wasn’t going to be in town for Thanksgiving?” I ask, keeping my hands busy and avoiding looking at her.

She perks up at the question and starts nodding her head like a bobble head. “I did hear on Facebook that she was seen driving through town yesterday. Did you see her?” This is one part of being home I always missed, my mom asking me questions and trying to remain calm when she isn’t.

“Yeah,” I admit, unwilling to tell her the full truth. “What does she do? Like, for a living?”

“Mildred said she worked in project management. I never understood what that meant. What projects is she managing? Is it a company that only manages projects? Beats me,” Mom rambles as she starts peeling potatoes, handing me some to peel as well.

“Nice, nice,” I say.

“Why?” Mom asks as we fall into a rhythm.

“I was thinking I could use some help at the shop, business-wise,” I tell her.

Her peeler freezes halfway through a slice and her eyebrows shoot up. She’s been really helpful about not asking me a ton of questions about what’s going on at the shop. “You should ask her,” Mom says, hiding her smile behind a bite. “She was always so helpful, she kept me informed about more school activities than you ever did,” she teases, elbowing me in the side.

“Yeah, I might,” I agree, and we silently return to the potatoes.