His gut tightened. This was a mistake.
"Hello, Noah," Jilly said before he could shut the door. "It's Jilly."
"I know," he growled.
With the way she'd pounded on his door, he'd expected her voice to be strident. But it was just the same as he remembered, drawing his attention to her as if she had him in a tractor beam or something.
They'd clashed from the start.
He'd been a ball of nerves, starting at a new school in the middle of the semester. He'd taken the first empty seat he'd come across in English class. Turned out it was her seat, which she informed him with a sass his thirteen-year-old self hadn't begun to appreciate. They'd gotten into a standoff when he sat back and crossed his arms and refused to abandon the desk.
They'd butted heads all of sophomore year in literature class, where he was opposed to every single one of her viewpoints—and vice versa.
He'd made a practice of stealing her favorite parking space outside the gymnasium.
They'd fought for high scores on tests across multiple subjects all through high school.
In senior year, when her friends Callum and Cord had become his friends, she'd allowed him into the small group with bad grace. They’d argued over pizza toppings, what movies to go see on the weekends. They’d argued over everything.
Right up to the end.
Now, all those memories, previously kept stuffed in the recesses of his mind, rushed forward, choking him.
"Isit okay if we turn on the light?" Without waiting for permission, Jilly reached through the doorway and flipped on the porch light.
Her other arm was wrapped around Lindsey, who clung to her side, silent and shaking.
Moments ago, when Noah had appeared in the dark doorway like an apparition, the girl had gasped and latched onto Jilly. She'd had to work to contain her own gasp. In the dark, Noah's powerful presence was frightening.
Until now, she'd never considered whether he turned on the lights after dark. She had tried hard not to think about him at all.
The light illuminated shoulders and arms that looked as if he spent time in a gym every day. He'd been a beanpole in high school, but the years had been very good to him, giving him breadth that stole her oxygen.
She raised her gaze to his face.
She'd been prepared for scars, but the surgeon who'd done his reconstruction must have been excellent. There was only a small white scar beneath his left eyebrow. His eyes were a rich brown; his pupils were inky pools, too large for the porch light shining in his face.
She saw the flinch he tried to hide and felt a painful punch of guilt in her gut.
Focus.
"These are my kids," she said. "Casey, PJ, and Lindsey. Guys, this is Noah. We went to high school together."
The children were silent.
Noah was as a movable as a mountain, his arms crossed over his chest and his face like granite. His foreboding attitude was about what she'd expected after the message he'd sent through his assistant.
But this wasn't about him. It was about the kids.
She sent a pointed look at Casey and PJ. They pretended not to see it as they continued to stare mulishly at their feet.
"We have something we’d like to say to you." She tried to effect the same look Mama had given her when she'd stepped out of line. She aimed it at the boys in turn.
PJ broke first. "We're sorry about ringing your doorbell." The younger cousin did look embarrassed.
Casey remained stubbornly silent. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking just as stubborn as the man.
"Casey." Some of her exasperation leaked out in her voice.
