The Sky We Seek (Love and Other Dreams #2)

Chapter 18

Noah

"Hey." Her voice is as soft as melted chocolate. Her deep blue eyes study me with concern.

I look around. Where am I?

Home.

Absentmindedly, I run my hands through my hair, then push myself up from the sofa.

Elina holds me back. "Stay seated. I'll get you a glass of water." Barely finishing her words, she turns around and walks to the kitchen. There, she confidently opens the overhead cabinet where I keep the glasses.

How did she know?

My mind refuses to find a solution to this puzzle. It feels foggy. And so heavy that I can barely carry it. Weary, I sink deeper into the sofa.

Suddenly, the city mouse sits next to me. Her blond hair glows in the incoming sunlight. "Drink this." With an encouraging nod, she hands me a glass.

"I'm not thirsty," I reply.

Nibbling on her lower lip, she sets the glass on the coffee table, grabs my wrist, and closes her eyes. Why does she have such a concerned expression? "Definitely too high," she murmurs eventually, and then her hands rest on my cheeks.

I want to protest, but I lack the strength.

She looks into my eyes with an inquisitive gaze. Her forehead furrows, and suddenly, she comes so close that I can feel her breath on my lips. I can barely register how she lifts my right eyelid, then the left.

"Did you black out?" she asks with her controlled doctor's voice. "Did you feel nauseous? Or dizzy?"

Quickly, I shake my head. "Just tired."

Finally, she lets go of me and puts some distance between us. "Why?" she asks as if it were something special to need sleep.

"Everyone gets tired." My tone is dismissive, but it has to be. I don't want her to have any reason to ask probing questions again.

"But not to the extent that you abandon everything while cooking to take a nap." She fixes me with her gaze, and something tells me she won't back down until I let her see into my innermost self.

She has cornered me once again.

Despite my exhausted limbs, I push myself up from the sofa. "Thanks for waking me up." I gesture with a hand motion that it's now time for her to make her way to the front door.

She leans back on the sofa, crossing her legs. The defiant doctor suddenly transforms into a defeated girl. "Always happy to help," she replies.

I have no idea what she wants from me. Only one thing is clear. She has no intention of leaving. "Well then..." I say again, tilting my head toward the door.

"Let me help." She looks at me intensely. "Please, Noah."

Of course, I already know that she has seen through me. Nevertheless, it's better if I pretend not to know what she's talking about.

"There's nothing you could help me with," I say, and that's actually the truth. As much as I wish it were different. No one can help me. I am and will remain lost. It takes effort, but I manage to curl up the corners of my mouth.

Instead of getting up, she looks at me with shining eyes. "I may not be a skilled cook, but if you tell me what to do..."

She wants to cook for me? That's kind. Very kind, actually. But...

"No arguments," she insists. Motivated, she jumps up from the sofa and rolls up the sleeves of her blouse. "Should I continue with the carrots?" Bewildered, I watch as she grabs the vegetable knife, positions a carrot on the cutting board, and gets to work. "What is this supposed to be, anyway?" A carrot piece rolls along the countertop.

"Soup," I reply and can hardly believe what I see next. The prim and proper city girl presses herself against the edge of the countertop, using her fancy blouse to prevent the carrot from falling to the floor.

"You won't escape me." Triumphantly, she takes hold of the piece. Then she turns to me and takes a blissful bite of the orange vegetable. Her top has a wet spot, but she doesn't seem to mind. With her gaze fixed on me, she chews loudly on the carrot. "And neither will you. Do you understand?" she says in such a serious tone that I have to swallow.

She wants to fight. For me.

A pleasant tingling spreads within me. Quickly, I avert my gaze and walk to the freezer. I rummage for frozen peas longer than necessary. "Once you're done with the carrots, you can move on to the kohlrabi."

"It will be done," Elina says happily. A second later, she's back at the cutting board, chopping away with the knife.

I turn on the stove, grab the zucchini, and start dicing it. I suppress the yawn that's about to emerge.

"You have a really beautiful place here," the girl says in the silence between us. "I noticed similar wooden furniture at Hanna's. They're unique... made with so much love."

"Thank you." I can't say more than that. What else should I say? That her compliment fills me with a cozy warmth? That I can't remember the last time someone who isn't related to me said something nice about me?

From the corner of my eye, I see her sneakily observing me. She has long since paused her work. "You make them yourself, don't you?"

Surprised, I let the knife sink. She can't know that. It's impossible. "Did Hanna tell you?"

Chuckling, she shakes her head. "There's more to you than meets the eye." And apparently, the same goes for her. I clear my throat awkwardly. "Will you show me your workshop?" she asks, with a gaze that makes it impossible for me to deny her this wish.

"Later," I say, quickly turning back to my vegetables. Whatever the city mouse is doing to me, I don't like it. I feel vulnerable to her, and it bothers me far less than it should.

"Great, I'm looking forward to it." Either she doesn't notice what's happening here right now, or she's pretending not to care. "The water is boiling. Should I add the vegetables?"

"The carrots first." Glad for the distraction, I cut the leek into rings.

"Oops." Elina's tone sounds alarming .

Immediately, I look over at her. She stands by the stove with the carrots in her hands, letting them plop into the boiling water. Naturally, the hot liquid splashes up onto her. She has never cooked before. Definitely not.

I can't help but smirk. Especially when I look at her blouse, which is now dotted with dark spots. When she steps so far back from the stove that her hands are only above the pot at maximum stretch and she turns her head away, a burst of amused laughter suddenly escapes me.

It's just too funny.

I can see her offended look. "Are you laughing at me?" she asks.

"Never." I raise my hands, and although I try to remain serious, I can't.

She lifts her chin and opens her fists. The carrots fall into the water. Once again, the liquid splashes in all directions, but Elina remains dry. "You see, it worked."

I step beside her, take the cutting board with the vegetables, and hold it over the pot. Then I carefully slide the carrot pieces off the board with my hand, gently letting them glide into the water. "Like this," I say, raising an eyebrow.

She bites her lower lip, lowers her head, and looks up at me from below. "You're a hero."

No. Not this hero thing again. "You'll manage the rest on your own, I'm sure," I quickly say, creating distance between us.

She looks at me, bewildered. Her mouth opens, but it closes again without her saying anything. She turns her gaze away from me, and we work silently until the last piece of vegetable is boiling in the water. Throughout, I can't shake the feeling that I offended her.

I hand her the lid so she can cover the pot. "Thank you for your help."

There it is again. That radiant smile. She seems a bit proud that she managed to cook a soup.

Strange, this city mouse. Very strange.

Suddenly, she gives me a sly look. "So I owe you something now, right?"

She has surprised me too many times already. But now I'm on guard. She definitely wants to talk about my health, but there's nothing to discuss. "The workshop is in the outbuilding."

Her joy is unmistakable. She walks straight to the door where her elegant shoes await her. Forest soil mixed with pine needles is stuck to the lilac-colored suede. She lifts the heels and looks at them with a furrowed brow. She's probably angry that they got dirty. Dirt doesn't suit the city girl, just like sturdy footwear.

"You beauties will have to stay in the closet from now on," she murmurs, then looks over at me. "Can I borrow your clogs?" She points at my closed-toe garden shoes with her finger.

With a mix of fascination and disbelief, I nod. "But they're way too big for you," I say even though I'm sure she's aware of that.

She shrugs and slips into the clogs. As soon as she puts them on, she strikes a model pose. "Looks great, doesn't it?"

Once again, I burst into laughter. The combination of my garden shoes, which look like cruise ship steamers on her miniature feet, the chic pleated trousers, and the stained top from cooking are just too funny.

"It can't get any better," I confirm, still chuckling. And although this situation is nothing special, I feel somewhat freer than usual. "Come on, Mrs. Clown."

She follows me to the workshop. I open the heavy door and let her enter. Most things are as I left them after the accident. I've only been able to do some sanding work here and there; my injured hand is not yet fit for more.

"Wow." Elina strolls along the aisle between the workbench and saw, stopping at the shelf where I store my small projects. "This is amazing," she says, taking one of the spoons from the wooden cutlery set in her hand. She lovingly strokes the handle. "The grain... and the elegant shape..."

Her enthusiasm touches me deeply. "Woodwork doesn't always have to be rustic," I say since I'm sure she believed that before. When a city girl thinks of wood, she envisions antique or traditional pieces. Old-fashioned stuff, basically.

She puts the spoon back and examines my other works. Some of them I design on commission, like the door sign she just discovered. She reverently runs her fingers over the delicate relief.

"There's an artist inside you," she says, lifting her head and looking at me as if she suddenly sees something in me that was previously hidden. "You're not..."

Now I'm the one looking at her questioningly. What did she think I was? Granted, I probably don't give off a friendly impression to outsiders. But that doesn't mean.. .

Her gaze becomes more intense, and suddenly, I realize she's not the only one with prejudices. I, too, have been blinded by her posh facade. What if she's completely different inside? What if she, too, prefers to hide what's going on inside her because no one in this world could ever understand?

Without taking her eyes off me, Elina steps closer. She stops just a few inches away from me. "You put so much love into these wonderful, unique pieces." Her hand twitches as if she wants to touch me and, at the same time, doesn't dare. "But you also need a little something for yourself."

I feel my expression darken. Perhaps it looks that way from her perspective. Because she doesn't know what happened. In fact, she doesn't know anything about me.

"Your blood test results are inconclusive, but they provide clues we can follow up on." Her penetrating gaze meets mine. "You're not well, that's obvious. Only if you let me find out what's wrong can I help you."

Why does she have to bring this up again? I'm just a little tired, that's all. At least, that's all I want to believe.

"There's no need to worry," I say, sounding harsher than intended.

"But your low platelet count worries me. It could be a sign of..."

I immediately raise my hand. She doesn't need to explain what a low platelet count indicates. "There's nothing wrong with me. Let it go."

She should back off based on my tone, but the opposite happens. She takes another step closer, her upper body touching mine, and the delicate scent of apple reaches my nose. "What are you afraid of? "

I swallow, but my throat feels tight.

As if she hasn't pressured me enough already, she now places her hand on my upper arm. "My best friend Maya always claims that every journey starts with the decision to take the first step."

My God, what can I say to that? Is there anything I could say to deter her from her plan?

"Trust me." She looks deep into my eyes for a moment that feels like an eternity. Then she lowers her gaze and slips past me to leave the workshop. "You know where to find me," she calls back before disappearing into the trees with my garden shoes.

I watch her pensively. Once the solitude of the clearing envelops me again, I feel torn inside. And the longer I imagine what could happen if she were to turn around and come back to me, the wider the chasm in my inner self becomes.

Because I sense the consequences it would have if she were to look at me again with her loving expression or make me laugh just one more time.

I would ask her to stay with me a little longer.

But if she were to scrutinize me with her piercing doctor's gaze or corner me with her precise questions, I would wish for nothing more than for her to disappear from my life as quickly as possible.