I stand there while she walks inside and closes the door behind her, waiting until I hear the lock click before I turn away.
By the time I'm back in the basement apartment, I don't know if I'm a good man or a chump.
But I do know I'm completely and totally hooked on a sexy pixie single mom.
Chapter 11
Rika
It'sMonday,andI'mpretty sure I've been dreaming about that kiss with Noah.
Which is pathetic. And distracting. And deeply inconvenient.
Especially since I haven't seen him or heard from him since Friday night. He apparently spent the rest of the weekend at his Gramp’s house on Maple Street.
I bet he’s avoiding me because he’s ashamed of what he did. Or he’s worried I’ll become a clingy, needy woman in need of constant reassurance after my husband’s repeated infidelity.
No text. No casual check-in. Nothing. Just a big, loud absence that sits in the back of my mind like an itch I can't reach.
The problem is, I'm not thinking like a mother right now.
I'm thinking like a woman who got kissed senseless on her front porch and then got told to take a rain check like she's a teenager and not a grown-ass adult with a mortgage and car payments.
None of that matters right now, despite what my out-of-control hormones are trying to tell me.
Because right now, I'm interviewing someone who has the potential to solve a lot of my problems and bring some semblance of sanity back into my life.
Dennis Thorngate looks at me with the kind of eager, hopeful expression that reminds me of a puppy waiting for a treat.
The young orc sits across from me in the conference nook, his green-gray skin catching the late afternoon light streaming through the window. His small tusks peek out when he smiles, and he's smiling a lot right now, his dark eyes bright with excitement as he reviews the employment contract I've just slid across the table.
"This is amazing, Ms. Everdeen," he says, his voice deep but youthful. "I mean, really amazing. The salary is more than fair, and the benefits package is incredible for a firm this size."
I allow myself a small smile. Dennis is twenty-four, fresh from passing his CPA exam on the first try, and his resume is honestly better than mine was at his age. Geraldine vetted him thoroughly, running background checks and calling everyreference he listed. The kid is smart, available, and, most importantly, hungry to start his career.
"I'm glad you think so," I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "As I mentioned, tax season is coming up fast, and I need someone who can hit the ground running."
"I can do that." Dennis nods so enthusiastically his whole upper body shakes. "I've already been studying the tax code changes for this year, and I'm familiar with all of the software platforms you mentioned."
He's perfect. Almost too perfect. I'll need to keep him happy if I don't want another firm to poach him from right under my nose. All the while, he just sits there, grinning like I've handed him the keys to the city.
"You can start tomorrow," I hear myself say. "If that works for you."
"Tomorrow's perfect." Dennis uncaps his pen and signs the contract with a flourish, his handwriting surprisingly neat for someone who looks like he could bench-press a small car. "Thank you, Ms. Everdeen. You won't regret this."
"Welcome to Saltford Accounting, Dennis." I shake his hand, his massive one engulfing mine, and try to ignore the way my wings are practically vibrating with relief. "And call me Rika. I feel like a crone whenever someone calls me Ms. Everdeen."
After he leaves, I sit alone in the conference nook, staring at the signed contract like it might disappear if I look away.
This is real. I hired someone. I have actual, genuine hope of spending more time at home with my kids.
For the first time since way before Mitchell left, I let myself imagine what it might actually look like to have work-life balance. To leave the office at five o'clock and come home without my brain still being at the office. To not spend every weekend catching up on work I couldn't finish during the week because I was too busy putting out fires.
My phone buzzes on the table. For one humiliating, hopeful second, my stomach flips like it thinks it might be Noah.
It's not. It's Zoe.
ZOE:I hate Jasmine.
