“Protective instinct,” he says. “Nothing wrong with that.”
There’s a brief silence, the good kind—warm and unforced.
“You and your ex seemed cordial earlier,” he says. “That for show?”
“Not a show. Just a rule. We’re always civil in front of Stella.”
“Smart. She doesn’t need the crossfire.”
“Exactly. But Richard and I don’t always see eye to eye.”
He grins. “If you did, you wouldn’t be divorced.”
“True.” I glance at him, noticing how relaxed he looks here—one arm draped over the back of the stool, a faint smile playing at his mouth. “You? Ever married?”
“No. Not even close. I’ve had serious relationships though.” He taps his glass against the counter. “They were good people. I’d like to think I am too. But together? We didn’t fit. I’ve stopped seeing breakups as failures.”
Thirty-one and self-aware enough to not force something that doesn’t work. I respect that.
“That’s an evolved view.”
“Or just practiced,” he says lightly. I laugh, and it feels good. The first genuine laugh all day.
He studies me for a beat. “You’re not judging me for being single. That’s what you’re getting at, right? When you say evolved?”
“No judgment,” I echo. “Period.”
He glances toward the dark windows and the flickering headlights passing in the street. “You walk around and close these every night, or…”
I reach for the remote beside the fruit bowl. The mechanical hum fills the silence as the blinds descend. Noah watches them lower, one by one, until we’re cocooned in soft light.
“That’s convenient,” he says.
“Dorian insisted.”
Just as the blinds click shut, the doorbell rings.
“Pizza,” I say, setting down my glass. “Please, stay. Eat with us.”
He stands. “Only if it’s my treat.”
I arch a brow. “I ordered two pizzas. Stella can eat half a pizza on her own.”
“Works for me.” His smile widens—possibly the first real one of the night.
The doorbell rings again, impatient this time.
Noah opens the door before I can. He exchanges a few words with the delivery guy, tips him, and returns with both boxes balanced on one forearm. Like this is normal. Like he belongs here. The thought catches me off guard.
The smell of melted cheese and garlic fills the kitchen.
“Careful,” I warn. “She can smell pizza from a mile away.”
“Should I brace for impact?”
“Probably.”
Right on cue, Stella’s voice calls down the stairs. “Is it here?”