Noah
That woman is here again. The one that paints. She has been unnervingly persistent in the pursuit of Noah’s acceptance of the invitation that Molly Whitmore is once again trying to shove down his throat.
It had been three days since the first time she came and every day was the same. She would ring the doorbell. Noah would ignore her. Then she would set up her art supplies like the yard belonged to her and paint the day away.
At first it had been rather annoying. She’d mistaken him as a female and he was most certainly not a female. But try as he might, he could not stop watching her. And it was on the third day that his curiosity got the better of him.
He’d left his house about thirty minutes before she was due to arrive. He had put on a cap and glasses to cover his features.
