“Sure. That’s fine.” She barely glances up.
“The weekend was good?”
“Yeah.”
“And dinner last night?”
She tilts her head back in what’s the equivalent of a full-body eyeroll. “Mom…it lasted forever. It should’ve been a date night for the two of them. I don’t know why I had to be there.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Some place that takes forever and sets out a dozen silverware options.”
“You knew what to do with each of those forks and knives, right?”
“And the spoons, Mom. Doesn’t mean I liked it.”
“As long as you behaved.”
“I’m just glad I don’t have to go there this coming weekend. And speaking of, you remember I’ve got Madeline’s birthday sleepover this Friday, right?”
“Of course. I haven’t forgotten.”
“We need to buy her a birthday gift.”
“Right. You don’t have play practice Wednesday, right?”
She nods.
“We’ll do it then.” I slip out my phone and make a notation on my calendar. When I look up, Stella’s back to messaging friends on her iPad. “Dinner in twenty.”
I don’t wait for a response. I’ll try and get more out of her later.
When I descend the stairs again, the house smells of simmering tomato sauce and garlic. I focus on the familiar rhythm—chop, stir, taste—grateful for the mundane. It’s easier to think about dinner than about the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago, Noah’s hands were on my skin, his mouth everywhere, my name on his lips.
Stella’s tennis shoe is in the middle of a step, and I nearly go down, catching myself on the banister. Right. Boundaries. Stella’s home, and whatever happened yesterday exists in a separate compartment now. I’m excellent at compartmentalizing. Even if my body hasn’t quite gotten the memo yet.
Noah approaches from the front hall, shoulders filling the space, and my body registers his presence before my mind catches up—muscle memory from last night making me hyperaware of how close he’s standing. I force my voice to be steady.
“Hi,” I say. “When did you get back?”
His eyes meet mine briefly, and there’s something there—recognition, heat, careful restraint—before he blinks it away.
Noah followed me to the office this morning, met with Gabriel, and then went on his way to meetings.
“About ten minutes ago. Relieved Gabe. Did a loop around the property.” He studies me briefly, and I wonder if he’s thinking about last night too—wondering how we navigate this now that Stella’s home. But there’s something else in the way he’s hesitating that sets me on edge. “Did you know you left your liftgate open?”
“That’s not possible. I didn’t get anything out of it.” The defensiveness in my voice surprises me. “Was anything taken?”
He shakes his head. “Was anything in there?”
I try to remember. “I don’t think so.”
“All I saw was an emergency medical kit tucked to the side. And the bag that came with the car for the chargers.”
That fits. “Maybe someone was checking for packages.” The thought feels flimsy even as I say it. My car’s behind the gate; no one should’ve been close enough to touch it. “You think someone climbed the fence?” I ask quietly.
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ll check the perimeter tapes. Are you in for the night?”