Suddenly, it's just Noah and me, standing in the warm morning light, the coffee maker humming softly in the background.
Noah steps closer, his expression shifting from playful to serious. "Hey. Have you heard anything from Mitchell about Thanksgiving break yet? It's been at least a month and a half since he took the kids."
I sigh, setting my mug down on the counter. "I texted him twice last week. No response."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing." I cross my arms, annoyance shooting through my body. "I haven't heard from him at all since Jasmine left him for that private equity guy. He's gone completely radio silent. Even with the kids."
Noah's jaw tightens, and I can see the frustration and disbelief written all over his face. His hands curl into fists at his sides, then deliberately relax.
"I will never understand how he can just not show up for them," he says quietly. "They're incredible kids. How does he not see that?"
My throat tightens. I reach up and cup his face, my thumb brushing over the clean, freshly shaved skin of his jaw.
"I know. But that's his loss. The kids are okay. Better than okay. They're happy."
My voice catches slightly on the last word, and Noah's expression softens. He covers my hand with his, holding it against his cheek.
"I'll try reaching out to him again," I continue. "But honestly? If he doesn't want to be part of their lives, I'm not going to beg him anymore. They deserve better than a father who only shows up when it's convenient."
"They do," Noah says quietly. "And so do you."
The words settle over me, warm and solid and real.
I used to think I didn't deserve better. That maybe Mitchell was right, that I was too cold, too difficult, too much work.
But standing here in my kitchen with Noah looking at me like I'm something precious, I'm starting to believe otherwise.
I lift myself on the tips of my toes and kiss him.
It starts soft and sweet, just a press of lips. But then Noah's hands settle on my waist, pulling me flush against him, and the kiss deepens.
His mouth is warm and familiar, tasting faintly of coffee. One of his hands slides up my back, his fingers threading through my hair, and I make a soft sound against his mouth that I'd be embarrassed about if I had any capacity for rational thought right now.
I thread my fingers through his hair, loving the way it's still slightly damp from his shower, the way he groans low in his throat when I tug gently at the strands.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing harder. Noah rests his forehead against mine, his eyes dark and heated.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Rika Everdeen?" he murmurs. "Because I have to warn you, you're playing with fire."
I laugh softly, my hands sliding down to rest against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat beneath my palms, strong and steady.
"Such a bad boy," I tease, then my eyes land on a white envelope on the kitchen counter and my chest squeezes. "You're not going to have any regrets about selling your gramps' house?"
The offer was accepted two weeks ago, and I know it's been bittersweet for him. Noah's expression softens, and he pulls me close again, burying his face in my hair.
"I don't regret a damn thing," he says right against my ear. "My only regret is that we have to go to work instead of going back upstairs."
Heat floods my cheeks, and I laugh, swatting his chest lightly. "Behave."
"I'm serious." He grins, that playful light returning to his eyes. "We could call in sick. Spend the day in bed."
"You are not calling in sick on your first day of teaching," I say firmly, but I'm smiling.
Noah sighs dramatically. "Fine. Tonight."
"Tonight," I agree.
