It’s just past noon when I hear the door open.
“It’s just me!” Noah tosses through the door.
After breakfast and after I paid her, Ms. Sullivan returned to her chair to read while I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen—never said I was an organized cook. I also threw my clothes from yesterday in the wash, along with a few of Ms. Sullivan’s items that needed washed. From what I gather, the cleaning lady that comes once a week also tackles the laundry, but I figured since I was tossing only a couple items in anyway, it would be a good idea to get a full load’s worth. Especially since most of my clothes are in the back seat of my car.
Which is why, when Noah strides into the living room, I’m grateful to see him.
“What are you doing here?” his mom asks.
“Took half the day off work so I could take Lily to check on her car in the shop.”
I slap the three-year-oldCosmopolitanmagazine I’m flipping through closed and toss it beside me on the loveseat. “I didn’t ask you to do that. You didn’t have to do that.”
I cross my arms and stand as he comes in to sit on the couch next to me. He smirks as our roles reverse, but it falls immediately when he notices my shirt. His shirt.
He blinks, then stammers, “We need a diagnosis on your car. I’m sure you have the diner to get back and forth to.”
I cringe. Yep. I do. Luckily, I don’t have to work for the next two days, but if my car is in the shop for longer, or if it’s too expensive to fix it, I don’t know what my plan will be.
“Want to go?” Noah asks, peering up at me. The light from the wide sliding glass doors to the left of the couch hits his eyelashes. They’re longer than I realized …
What the hell? It’s ridiculous to be mesmerized by a man’s eyelashes, but there’s something about how he asks, “want to go?” that softens his face.
Angry with myself, I snap back. “No.”
He leans back, spreading his arms over the back of the loveseat, seemingly unfazed, and I wish I could reach out and slap my tone down a few notches.
“I mean … no, I don’t want to, but I have to. I need to grab some clothes and things out of my car.”
I need to do more than that, though. I need to check in with Mitch and pick up my paycheck if I have any hope of paying for this towandthe work being done to my car. Whatever that work may be.
“We should go then,” Noah says, standing to look at his mom who’s sitting there with a smug look on her face. “Need anything, Mom?”
She shakes her head.
“We’ll be back in a bit.”
“Take your time, I’ve got to finish this book.” She raises the book from her lap, the corner pulling the knit blanket with it, and Noah scrunches his nose at the cover.
I follow Noah into the kitchen, but pause, moving to the cabinet to grab a glass to fill with water. I add some ice from the freezer and march straight back into the living room to leave the water on the table next to Ms. Sullivan. She eyes me suspiciously, yet I shrug.
I don’t say anything as I turn to leave and put my still-dirt-caked boots on by the front door. Noah watches me, eyes flicking toward the living room.
By the time my boots are on, Noah has the front door open, and we make our way down the steppingstones. How Ms. Sullivan gets down these for doctor’s appointments is beyond me. Or better yet, how does Noah get her down these steps?
I follow Noah, his typical uniform replaced by dark wash jeans and a plain-long sleeve shirt the color of slate rock. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric, the material pulling just enough to garner my attention. Each step he takes, his muscles shift subtly, and it’s almost unfair how every line and contour is highlighted in the high-noon sun.
Max barks from the back of the truck, and I roll my eyes. A sly smile creeps into the corner of my mouth when his nose sticks out the cracked window, sniffing and licking the air.
“So how did you sleep last night?” Noah asks.
“Fine.” I don’t mention the episode in the shower, nor do I admit how easily I sank into the dip of his body imprint, how it anchored me through the panic. That would be awkward.
“That good, huh?”
I stare after him, and when he reaches the passenger door, he opens it for me. Normally, I’d fight him on the whole chivalrous gesture, but honestly, I’m exhausted from little sleep and making deals with Ms. Sullivan this morning. So, I hop in, instantly earning myself a sniff from Max, whose tail won’t stop its constant thumping against the seat.
I turn toward him, and he looks at me with those warm, liquid brown eyes, wide and intensely staring at me—he’s impossible to ignore.
