She stepped into the kitchen and reached for a glass. “Those two are exhausting.” She poured herself two fingers. “I love them, but every time I come over, I feel like I need a double shot espresso.”
Noah didn’t see exhaustion. He saw a woman who was glowing. He crossed the space between them, set his glass aside, and lifted his hands to her face, drawing her closer. He brushed his lips against hers in a slow, tender kiss. He didn’t rush it, but he didn’t hesitate either.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. His pulse roared in his ears. “Do you want that?”
“Want what?”
“Marriage,” he said. “Family. Kids.”
She let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh, her hands settling on his shoulders. “You’re asking me that now?”
“I’m serious.”
“I think I’m getting a little old.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he said. “I love you. I want a life with you. If we stop wasting time, we can have all of it.”
“What about?—”
He lightly brushed his finger over her lips. “When my secret comes out—and it will—life will blow up for a while. And maybe it lasts longer than a news cycle. And maybe my show tanks. But there are worse things than that—or so says your brother.”
Ziggy leaned in and kissed him. It was gentle—feather light.
“You’re thinking about it wrong,” she said. “If you control the narrative, you don’t give anyone else the chance to twist it. Your show survives. Your name survives. People won’t care the way you think they will. They’ll see someone who made a hard choice. Not someone defined by it.”
Noah opened his mouth but snapped it shut before he could argue, letting his brain caught up with the logic.
He’d spent years preparing for the moment everything came out.
For the fallout.
For the wreckage.
He hadn’t considered that he might get to control how that looked.
And that changed everything.
He was about to tell her how brilliant she was when Jag and Callie strolled into the kitchen.
“I just heard from Brian,” Jag said. “He got the prison visitor list for your dad, and ’it's interesting.”
“What does that mean?” Noah held Ziggy’s hand—perhaps a little too tight.
“Before I tell you that, it prompted Brian and Amy to request a court order for your dad's correspondence and phone calls.” Jag held up his hand. “That hasn’t come through yet, but it should.”
“Your kind of freaking me out.” Ziggy reached for her glass and sipped.
“Once a week, like clockwork, your dad has had a young female visitor.” Jag ran his fingers through his hair. “And her name is Claire Harlow.”
“Claire? I shouldn't be surprised. She's his type.” Noah stood there and his body went completely numb while his mind fired off a million questions at the same time it replayed in fast forward every encounter he’d ever had with Claire.
Every text.
Every phone call.
“Why? What does she have to gain from…,” Ziggy trailed off.
“I’m sure Brian and Amy will want to have a discussion with her. I’ve already put the bug in their ear about checking video footage of the person at the station and the florist. Along with checking the ferry docks. And of course, her alibis for those times.”