AJ looked up as he entered the drawing room. Noah was wiped. He’d removed his suit jacket and was now in a plain white oxford shirt. As he reached up to loosen his tie, AJ noticed a legal-size manila folder tucked under his arm.
“Sorry about that,” he said, dropping the tie over the couch back and seating himself beside AJ.
He placed the folder on the coffee table in front of them and began undoing the buttons at his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves. He was obviously hot from rushing around, his cheeks flushed. As he ran a hand over his face, his hair fell across his eyebrows in this Noah way that was so carelessly handsome, AJ suddenly couldn’t breathe.
She forced herself to look at the folder. “What’s this?”
Noah’s face was somber. “Handbook for the Recently Deceased.”
AJ gave a start. Then she burst out laughing.
Noah shot her a sidelong glance. “I’ve been holding on to that one for thirteen years.”
AJ wiped her eyes. “That was perfect.”
He grinned, gazing at her. In that moment, AJ would have given anything to touch him.
Which was insane. His gorgeous girlfriend would be back any minute. AJ cleared her throat, folding her hands in her lap and returning studiously to the folder.
Noah placed a finger on the front flap. “I figured since you’re here, it makes sense to go over this in person,” he said. “Less jarring that way than in an email.”
“Jarring?” said AJ.
Noah nodded. “I know you and Eudora had a complicated history, but I don’t think there can be any doubt that you were important to her.” He pushed the folder toward AJ on the table. “Especially when you see this.”
Heart pounding, AJ took the file into her lap. Inside she found aportion of a will. She felt Noah lean closer to read over her shoulder.Ah—his weight, his warmth. AJ kept her eyes forward, trying not to react to his sudden nearness and the dark, salty smell of his body.
“It’s clauses 6a to c,” he said, his voice low in her ear.
AJ commanded herself to focus on the page. This section of the will pertained to Eudora and Ezell’s intellectual estate. Clauses 6a and b bequeathed all of Eudora and Ezell’s personal papers and the rights to their collected works to two people, jointly: AJ Graves and Noah Drew.
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
Clause 6c referred to Ezell Farr’s unfinished play,Fire & Water,and came with a proviso—AJ flipped the page and began to read item iii: “The text or any dramatic rendition ofFire & Watermay be read or performed only with the joint approval of the beneficiaries outlined in section 6b.”
“Whoa,” said AJ, running her index finger down the paragraph, double-checking it. “So, we could potentially stageFire & Water? Or someone else could with our permission?”
When Noah didn’t respond, AJ looked up at him. He had gone very still, an odd expression on his face. He was staring at her hand on the page.
“Hey,” said AJ, tentatively.
Noah’s expression didn’t change. “You’re not wearing your ring.”
“Oh,” said AJ, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I don’t have it anymore,” she mumbled, balling her fist to hide the exposed knuckle.
“What?” said Noah, his tone deadly quiet. “Why?”
AJ wished then that she hadn’t come. She wished she had left her stupid hand out of sight. And she wished she weren’t suddenly on the verge of tears. This was an actual horror show.
“I gave it back,” she said finally.
Noah’s eyes went round. “You’re not—”
AJ’s cheeks burned but she forced herself to look at him. She shook her head. And in that instant, the air between them electrified. Noah was gazing at her as though she’d only just appeared, as if her face had suddenly come into focus. Slowly he reached for her, opening her fist to examine the bare knuckle. At the brush of his fingers AJ’s heart clutched.
“Did he hurt you?” Noah’s eyes were on their hands, his long lashes shading his cheekbones.
“No, Brian—Brian’s a good guy,” AJ heard herself say. “He deserves someone who actually loves him, and he was never going to have that with me. It just wasn’t fair.”
