15
Noah was a trickster and a liar.
Mostly, he was lying to himself, telling himself that having Jilly in a few stolen moments was enough.
The half hour hanging Christmas lights hadn't been enough. Jilly was terrible at untangling the things, even straight out of the box, and he'd found himself smiling hours later just thinking about it.
Thinking about her.
He didn't want to start craving the time spent with her.
But he was afraid he was already on his way.
Which was why he'd added supplies for making cookies to his grocery delivery list this week.
There had been a pregnant pause from Aiden when Noah had made the request. Noah imagined his assistant's curiously upraised eyebrows, though the other man hadn't asked him about the purchase.
It was Saturday morning, and Noah had left the flour and sugar and chocolate chips and sprinkles and icing strategically out on the kitchen counter. He was sure that Lindsey or PJ would see the cookie stuff and ask about it. They were as nosy as Jilly and had no filter.
If he was lucky, he could keep the kids occupied for at least an hour. And surely during part of that time, he could steal a few moments with Jilly.
He hadn't kissed her again since Monday. With three kids dogging every move they made, he hadn't had a chance to get her alone.
Not that he needed a kiss to be happy. He'd be happy with a brush of her hand against his as she passed through a room. Holding hands again would be divine.
A kiss would be heaven.
"So we're clear on the plan?" he asked Honey Bear, who was wrestling with an old sock she'd stolen out of the laundry basket days ago. The bell on her collar jingled.
She played tug of war with him, fighting fiercely for the cotton sock, grabbing it with her paws and mouth and then rolling onto her back to kick against it with her back paws.
She'd grown in just two weeks. She no longer fit in his cupped hands. She'd learned her way around the house. She still loved freaking him out by hiding in unexpected places. They'd both nearly given each other heart attacks when he'd turned on the shower and surprised her where she was sleeping in the bathtub. And she still liked to snuggle—at her own discretion, of course—while he worked at his computer.
Opening his life to the kitten had been surprisingly pain-free.
"But inviting a human in has more risks, doesn't it?" he murmured to the fierce kitten.
Someone knocked at the door, and his heart leapt. Jilly and the kids were here.
"It's open!" he called.
Last time, PJ had walked right in without knocking. Weird.
Be casual. He made himself stay seated on the living room floor, legs outstretched from where he leaned against the couch.
The door opened, and Honey Bear abandoned him, curiosity piqued.
"You leave your door unlocked now?"
That wasn't Jilly.
"Mom?" His voice cracked on her name. He scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing here?"
"What kind of greeting is that?" She dropped something heavy—he could tell by the muffled thump—by the wall next to the door.
"And who is this?" Mom cooed. Fabric rustled as she must've bent and scooped up Honey Bear. "It's—she's darling."
Honey's purr rumbled, loud in the suddenly silent room.
