“Yep. Come on down!” I shout.
She appears a moment later, sock-footed, hair back in a messy bun, her face lighting up at the sight of the boxes. She freezes mid-step when she sees Noah at the counter.
“Oh. Hey.”
“Hey, Stella.” He nods, friendly but not forced.
“I got half pepperoni, half veggie and a cheese. Gave you both options,” I say.
Stella eyes the boxes like she’s choosing between desserts.
Noah lays both out on the island, tops back to display the contents. “You get first dibs.”
She cracks a grin, and something softens in her expression. “Thanks.”
We sit around the island—me with my wine, Stella with a soda, Noah with his glass of water—and everything that happened today dissipates—or at least, it doesn’t feel as present.
“Do you always eat at the counter?” Noah asks, lifting a slice.
“Depends on the night,” I say. “Rarely in the dining room. Sometimes on the couch if we’re watching a movie.”
“Mostly here,” Stella pipes in.
“Good call.” Noah asks Stella, “You a movie person?”
“Depends on the movie,” she says around a mouthful of cheese. “If Mom picks, it’s usually something depressing with subtitles.”
I gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me—educational.”
“Exactly what I said,” she mutters.
Noah chuckles, the sound low and easy. “I’m guessing you prefer something with explosions.”
“Or dogs,” she says, wiping her mouth. “Explosions and dogs would be perfect.”
He grins. “You ever seen John Wick?”
“Mom won’t let me.”
“For good reason,” I say. “Dogs, yes. Explosions, yes. But also nightmares.”
Noah raises his hands in surrender. “Fair. I forgot about the nightmare potential.”
Stella giggles. “Mom checks everything with Common Sense Media.”
Conversation drifts from movies to food—her school lunch options, the healthy items that I cook that she’s not crazy about, Noah admitting he once set off a smoke alarm trying to make pancakes in a hotel room.
By the time the pizza box is empty, the air has loosened. Stella’s leaning on her elbows, telling Noah about play practice for The Crucible.
“The monologues can get tedious. But the later scenes…you can really get the hysteria—and that’s with middle school kids performing.”
“I bet,” Noah says, genuinely interested. “You like performing?”
She shrugs, but her eyes brighten. “Kinda. It’s fun. Even if you don’t get a big role.”
“She’s being modest,” I say. “She has perfect timing. Always has.”
“Timing’s everything,” Noah says, smiling. “You know, that’s true for the field too.”