“Nothing. I’m just not looking forward to spending my whole day on pre-algebra.”
“Oh. Well, time spent doing math problems is never time wasted.”
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
“You’re weird. Later.”
The call ends. That’s not exactly proper etiquette for ending a phone call, but at least I’ve nipped her habit of just hanging up without any goodbye at all.
I return to my seat at the table inside. By the time we finish brunch, I’ve got a mild, happy buzz and a friend who will not let the idea of enjoying my bodyguard go.
“He is your bodyguard,” she says, giggling. “And what does that body need?”
I push at her. Together we’re sophomoric. Often Angela is with us, but she’s recently started dating this guy named Frank, and so we don’t see her as often. When she’s single again, she’ll be a regular once more. It’s good she’s not here, actually. She’d probably insist on returning home with me to see this specimen for herself.
With a hug and a wave, I step out into the drizzle for a brisk walk home. When I enter the house, it’s conspicuously silent. As I’m toeing off my rain boots, the front door opens, and Noah enters. He’s in a black coat—a familiar black coat—and my pulse stutters before my brain catches up.
“Did you follow me?”
He’s not sheepish at all. “Did you try to give me the slip?”
“It’s not necessary for you to follow me to brunch.”
“That’s not your call.”
“I’m fine, Noah. I was having brunch, not walking into a dark alley.”
He shrugs, stepping out of his coat. Rain beads along the jacket lining before sliding to the floor.
“Dark alleys are predictable,” he says. “Brunch crowds aren’t.”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing. His face doesn’t give me much to work with, but something about his presence sends my stomach fluttering. I hang my scarf, aware that my fingers are clumsy. The champagne, maybe. Or the way he’s watching me.
“I don’t need you shadowing me everywhere,” I say, though my voice has lost its edge.
“Maybe not. But you do seem to get into trouble when I’m not around.”
I open my mouth to argue, but his smile—half-smirk, half-sincere—is incredibly appealing. He crosses the room, placing his keys on the console table. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing the veins and sinew of his forearms, all quiet strength and control, and I have the irrational thought that he could hold me together if I let him.
I should go up to my office. Instead, I say softly, “You’re soaked.”
“Comes with the job.”
I reach for a towel from the hall closet and hand it to him. His hand closes around the towel, and for a split second, around mine.
It’s nothing—and everything.
Christine’s voice echoes in my mind: Who says you can’t play?
Noah watches me, hands idle. “You’ve had a long week,” he says.
“I have.”
“Stella’s with her dad again tonight?”
“Yes.” My throat tightens. “She’s…staying over. They’re having a late dinner.”