“I gave myself the morning to enjoy the rain.”
“Gotcha. And plans for tonight?”
“My friend Christine bailed. She’s not one for going out in bad weather.”
“Understandable.”
“Lazy,” I say, grinning. “Or maybe smart. But I don’t mind. I’d much rather stay in.”
“I’m thinking I might power up your media room that’s downstairs. Pop some popcorn. You want to join me?”
“Maybe.”
That maybe dangles in the back of my mind all afternoon as I catch up on email correspondence, review the accounting reports for Morgan & Company, and flick through news articles and trade reports.
By seven o’clock, the rain has intensified to a steady roar. I’ve accomplished more than expected, but my mind keeps drifting to Noah’s invitation. The house feels too quiet with just me on the second floor. I close my laptop and head downstairs.
The basement media room glows with soft amber light. Noah’s already there—popcorn on the coffee table, two glasses of water, throws pulled from the closet and draped over the sectional. He’s set this up. For us. The realization sends warmth through my chest.
“Perfect timing,” he says without looking up. “Action, thriller, or comedy?”
“Surprise me.” I settle into the opposite corner of the sectional, tucking my feet beneath me. “According to Stella, it’s always best if someone else picks.”
He scrolls through options, pausing occasionally. He selects something—The Fall Guy.
“Ryan Gosling. Can’t go wrong.”
“Stella made me watch this last month.”
“And?”
“And I fell asleep halfway through.”
“Want to pick something else?”
“No — I’d actually like to see the ending.”
He grins. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”
The movie plays, but I’m distracted. By the way he laughs. By how relaxed he looks, shoulders loose, defenses down. By the blue light from the screen catching the angles of his face. When our fingers brush reaching for popcorn, neither of us pulls away immediately.
When he laughs at a particularly ridiculous stunt, it’s genuine.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing.”
I’m far more aware of the man beside me than of the movie playing out on screen. I’d like to believe that’s because I’ve seen this before—but that’s not what this is, and I know it.
Ten years younger. Here for a job. I know exactly what this is, and I know better. I should call Christine and curse her for canceling. If she hadn’t, I’d be at a restaurant making small talk, not sitting here hyperaware of every shift in his posture, every casual brush of contact. This is absurd. I’m over forty. I know better.
The movie plays on, but I swear the energy between us is palpable. Of course, it’s all in my head—one-sided attraction. At least, that’s what I need to believe. I don’t have time for a relationship, and I’m a single mom. It wouldn’t be remotely responsible.
When the stunt guy saves someone in a thunderstorm, Noah murmurs, “Unrealistic. But I guess that’s the point. You don’t do that with a helicopter.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Maybe.” His eyes meet mine, and the frisson of energy spreads through my chest. The sensation is ridiculous—more fitting for a teen on a date. “But yeah, I’ve got my pilot’s license. Wish I’d gone Air Force.”