I nod. “Dinner with Stella, then emails. The usual.”
“Set the alarm,” he says, already turning for the stairs.
“Chicken parm if you’re hungry.”
“Already ate.” He glances back once, something unreadable passing across his face. “But thanks.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing into the lower level where the screens flicker blue and the world outside disappears.
The house feels different once he’s out of sight—like the air has thinned. I ladle sauce onto plates, but my thoughts bounce between the car, and Jessica’s easy smile, and the way she’d said they don’t mind keeping Stella.
It takes me until Stella’s in bed, her door cracked open, before I give in and go find Noah.
Downstairs, faint light spills from the security room. Noah’s seated in front of the monitors, sleeves rolled to his forearms, focus absolute.
For a moment I just watch him—the steady precision, the way his shoulders fill the chair, the contrast to the chaos always threatening to seep into my world. My fingers remember the feel of those shoulders. My mouth remembers?—
Stop.
I clear my throat. “You find anything?”
He swivels slightly, not startled but aware. His gaze travels over me—quick, assessing—and I wonder if he’s remembering too. If he’s thinking about how different this feels now.
“Not yet. Cameras don’t cover where you parked.”
“That’s…comforting,” I murmur.
He exhales through his nose, a sound that’s half-sigh, half-quiet laugh. “I’ll adjust the angles.”
I cross my arms, mostly to keep from fidgeting. We haven’t talked about yesterday. Haven’t acknowledged it beyond those loaded glances. And with Stella upstairs, this isn’t the time.
“Do you think someone was in the carport?”
“Could’ve been nothing.” His tone is steady, but I hear the could more than the nothing. “Could’ve been curiosity. Or opportunity.”
I nod, pulse ticking faster—though whether from the trunk situation or from standing this close to him, I’m not entirely sure.
“Jessica mentioned earlier that Richard’s worried someone might come after me. I brushed it off.”
Noah looks up then, eyes steady on mine. Something passes between us—concern, yes, but also that same heat from earlier. Banked but present.
“You did the right thing.”
“By brushing it off?”
“By not letting her see it rattled you.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “You think it did?”
“I think you wouldn’t be down here if it didn’t.”
He’s not wrong. But there’s more than one reason I’m down here, and we both know it.
His gaze holds mine a beat longer than necessary, and I feel it everywhere—that pull, that wanting. Then he deliberately turns back to the monitors.
“I’ll keep checking the footage,” he says. Professional. Careful. “You should get some sleep.”
“Yeah.” I don’t move immediately. “Goodnight, Noah.”