My head still pounds with a steady headache when I give up and open my eyes. I need to get back to work. I have a list of tasks compiled for my to-do list today and none of it is going to take care of itself. I'm not complaining. Being busy means my business is thriving, but since my old mentor took her retirement and sold me her shares of Saltford Accounting, I'm drowning in work.
At least I can rest easy that the home front is taken care of by Noah. It's amazing what he's done in a single week of working for me. The man is truly a gift from the gods.
Not only did Zoe not pull any pranks, but she was on time every morning this week and I didn't receive any phone calls from school. Matthew, too, seems to be more relaxed and less clingy than before. It's like Noah's presence was the magic ingredient my family needed to feel at peace.
It doesn't hurt that my house is cleaner than it's been in years and that dinner is hot and ready whenever I step in the door. Noah is also an accomplished cook, and I've been sneaking second servings most days of the week. Creamy chicken casserole with wild rice and mushrooms? Yum!
The truth is that Noah took a huge weight off my shoulders. Speaking of shoulders, they're so stiff they hurt as I roll my arms, sitting in my chair.
I'm deep into the Melvin Cartwright real estate deduction when the scent of lavender and patchouli reaches my nostrils. I blink, looking up to see the time.
Ugh. I forgot I promised my mom we could eat lunch together today. Too late now to cancel.
I hear Geraldine and my mom exchange a few words, and then Belinda Everdeen sweeps into my office like a pastel-coloredhurricane, carrying a large paper bag that smells like pure heaven.
"Lunch delivery!" she announces, a wide smile on her dainty face. "I brought your favorite from the Wandering Gnome. Bacon and chicken sandwiches with a side of Parmesan fries!"
I blink at her, ignoring the noise coming from my stomach at the mention of the Parmesan fries.
"Hey, Mom." I straighten up and glue what is probably the fakest smile in the universe on my face. "You know I don't eat bacon anymore. I texted you I wanted a salad."
"Did you?" Belinda pulls out two boxes of fries and two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and places them in front of me. "Huh. Strange. I didn't receive anything."
From the corner of my eye, I see Geraldine peeking through the open door, then rapidly busying herself with whatever task she's working on at her laptop. Or pretending to work on. My gargoyle office manager may be terrifyingly efficient, but she's also a relentless gossip, and she likes to tell me I don't eat enough. Still, with the sinful smell coming from the food on my desk, I can't resent her for looking out for me.
I feel a small smile tug at my lips. "You're impossible."
"I prefer 'delightfully persistent.'" Mom lifts a finger like she's correcting a student in one of her mindfulness classes. "Eat. You look like you're about to keel over."
She pushes the fries toward me, and I immediately stuff a handful in my mouth. Then another. My mother is right; I'm starving. I can't remember whether I ate breakfast this morning. Probably not.
I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. It's perfect, and I hate how much better it makes me feel. I should know better than to skip meals, but here I am. Scattered.
Belinda settles into the chair across from my desk, pulling out her own sandwich and eating at a much more subdued pace.
"So," she says casually. "How'd your first week with Noah go?"
"Like I have a brownie living with me." I take another bite of my sandwich, chewing slowly. "Noah has the kids eating breakfast by the time I come downstairs. When I come home, the kids have eaten their dinner, have done their homework, and the kitchen is clean. He's super competent."
Just the mention of his name makes something flutter in my belly. Or maybe it's the sandwich. Probably the sandwich. I ignore it.
"Competent." Belinda grins. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"What else would we call it?" I shouldn't take the bait. I do it anyway.
"Oh, I don't know. Tall? Built like he could bench-press a car? Hot enough to melt your panties?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "Mom!"
"What? I'm just making observations." Belinda takes a delicate bite of fries, but her eyes are dancing. "And I'm not blind. Neither are you."
"He's my employee," I say firmly. "That's all."
"Mm-hmm." Belinda doesn't look convinced. "Did you notice how he looked at you when you interviewed him, though? Because honey, that man was ready to eat you up with whipped cream."
I nearly choke on my sandwich, and a very graphic, very inappropriate vision of Noah licking whipped cream from my naked breast pops into my head.
"Oh my God, Mom. Stop."
