Saving Grace (On Hold)

Close Call

When Noah pulls up in my drive I feel sick. Surprisingly, the ride had nothing to do with the butterflies having a party in my stomach. I hadn’t a clue what he wanted to talk about and I didn’t feel comfortable asking. We don’t speak as he follows me into the house and up the stairs into my room. As we enter I hover nervously about, afraid to look as Noah sits on the bed pulling Patch onto his lap. I frown and look up at Noah.

“How did you know where my room was?” I question. Noah arches a brow as he strokes Patch’s soft fur, lulling him into a sleep as he purred contently on his lap. If I told anyone bad boy Noah was sat on my bed stroking a kitten gently, they wouldn’t believe me. Noah’s brown hair flopped over his eyes, a slight wave curling the ends. My eyes darted from his leather jacket to his tatty black converse before connecting to his own dark eyes.

“Who do you think brought you home last night?”  I feel my eyes widen in response and rise to his, seeing the sincerity in the deep brown made something tug in my chest. 

“You brought me home? Thank you. Seriously, I don’t think anyone else would have…” I trailed off at the sound of car doors slamming and the front door being opened.

“Grace!” 

Uh oh. Scrambling I grab Noah and push him over the other side of the bed, wincing as he lands on the floor with a thump. “Sorry,” I mumble trying to squash him in between my bed and chair. High heeled footsteps clicked downstairs and heavy male footsteps followed. 

“Grace! Are you in?!”

“Grace? What’s going on?” Noah asks, resisting as I try and push him between my bed and a big comfy chair. The footsteps hit the stairs and I pushed him down harder, my words tripping over each other as they tumbled off my tongue in a rush. 

“My mum’s back. Just… hide, please.” Noah nods and squishes himself down as far as he can, his legs hiding under the bed, no questions asked. I almost laugh as his leather jacket scrunches up and his long legs cramp together but quickly sober as my mum appears at the bedroom door. 

“Grace? Where you ignoring me?” 

I straighten up fully and plaster on a big, fake smile and walk around the bed towards my mother. Her blonde hair is piled artfully around her head, a sketchbook in her hands. As usual she looks calm and collected her designer clothes all clean and unrumpled. I hadn’t seen her in at least a week; she never thought that I’d actually want to spend time with her. 

I give her a quick hug, trying not to rumple her perfect clothes. And notice Paul, her right hand man, stood behind her. Paul was someone I’d known since forever; typically gay in every way he was a fashion genius and my mum’s PA. His auburn hair was artfully styled and his grey eyes darted up and down, assessing my appearance. Just like my mother Paul was perfectly presented, his slacks ironed and sweater unwrinkled. 

My mum liked to work, her job as a fashion designer was something she loved and was extremely good at. I was happy for her and loved that she had something to be so passionate about… except, I didn’t get it. I wasn’t one of those girls who had to have the new season designer everything, if I had my way I’d just through on the first thing my hands touched but years of dinner parties and social visits stopped me. I couldn’t embarrass my mum like that, a world wide known fashion designer - what would it say if her own daughter wasn’t dressed as impeccably as she did? Mum was away with work, a lot. I didn’t mind, at least back in England I hadn’t. I’d had dad. Sometimes.