17. Sabrina
CHAPTER 17
SAbrINA
With a couple of weeks to kill before the Miami Open, we’re at home in Texas, so I’m soaking up all the time I can get with Lucy and Alyssa.
Freshly showered after my run and with an hour before I have to leave for Noah’s house, I tug my laptop out of my bag and sit on my bed to check my email.
As it loads, a bolt of excitement mixed with uncertainty courses through me. The first message in my inbox is from Terri Jaymes. I interviewed in person before the trip to Delray Beach, and until now, I haven’t heard anything. At this point, I’d resigned myself to not getting any type of notification, let alone a job offer.
With a long breath out, I click on the email. As validating as it would be to finally be what an employer is looking for, the idea of leaving Maddie makes me feel ill. That little girl has already weaseled her way into my heart. But I’m not sure I could say no to the kind of job I really want.
Two lines down, it’s apparent I didn’t get the job. Quickly, I shut my laptop, trying to focus more on the relief I feel than the dejection.
It’s easier said than done. At this point, the constant rejections feel personal. Yes, the job market is highly competitive and to even be considered is a privilege, but none of that lessens the sting of not being good enough.
I shove those thoughts from my mind, the best I can at least, and finish getting ready for the day.
Lucy and Alyssa have already left for work by the time I head out, but they’ve a note left on the fridge, promising that there will be lasagna for dinner.
My ancient 4-Runner sits in their driveway like a senior dog waiting for love and attention. Yes, it’s in the driveway, despite my vehemence that it’s better parked on the road so as not to damage their pristine concrete. They never listen.
When my faithful companion starts right away, I sigh in relief. Then I head out.
Thirty minutes later, I pull up to Noah’s place. I let myself inside and leave my boots in a cubby in the mudroom. I’ve gotten in the habit since I left them sitting on the floor one day and Maddie tripped over them.
“Hey,” I call out. “I’m here.”
“Kitchen,” Noah responds.
I head that way and find him dumping smoothie ingredients into the blender, but his little sidekick is nowhere to be found.
“Where’s Maddie?”
“Still sleeping.”
“Wow.” I slide onto a stool. “That’s shocking.”
He presses the button, the loud whirl of the blender making conversation impossible until it’s done. “You want one?” he asks as he pours the greenish sludge into a cup.
I curl my lip in disgust. “I’m good.”
“It’s better than it looks.”
A shudder works its way through me. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He leans against the counter and takes a gulp of the vomit-colored liquid, then extends the glass to me. “Come on, try it.”
I hold out my hand and take a step back. “Keep your weird athlete juice away from me.”
“All right, all right.” He looks at the watch on his wrist. “Fisher should be here soon.”
“Do you want me to wake Maddie up or let her sleep in?”
Worry creases the small lines around his mouth. “Let her sleep. She had a nightmare last night.” His eyes drop to the floor and his body deflates. “About her mom.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” he draws out the word, then rests his forearms on the counter and roughs a hand over his face. “For the most part, she’s handled Annie’s passing well, but sometimes it gets to her.”
“She’s a kid,” I reason, my heart aching. “She lost her mom. That can’t be easy.”
“With any luck, she’ll feel better once she gets up. If you wouldn’t mind, could you text me and let me know?”
I give him a small smile. “I will.”
Noah may drive me crazy, but he’s still a dad doing his best for his daughter.
For a moment, we’re silent, but eventually he breaks the tension by clearing his throat. “Uh, do you want coffee or something?”
I don’t really want coffee, but hoping it’ll break up the awkwardness, I say, “Yeah, coffee would be great.”
Shoulders sagging in relief, he turns and busies himself. He pours the steaming hot liquid into a mug, then pulls the creamer from the fridge and adds a surprisingly perfect amount, along with sugar. When he’s doctored it just the way I like it, he slides it over the counter.
I wrap my fingers around the warm mug and bring it to my lips. “Mmm,” I hum as the flavor registers. “That’s good.”
He smiles, clearly pleased. “It’s this local blend I get. It has a hint of?—”
“Chocolate?” I take another sip. “And butterscotch?”
His smile broadens. “How could you tell?”
“I pay attention to flavors.” I’ve been fending for myself since I was a kid, so I learned early on which flavors worked well together and did my best to make anything I could scrounge up taste good.
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
I may not have been in the mood for coffee, but now that I’ve tasted this, I’ll absolutely drink the whole thing.
The front door opens, and Fisher calls out a cheery “hello?”
“Kitchen,” Noah calls, just like he did when I arrived.
Fisher pops around the corner, hair mussed from the wind. “Morning, Sabrina.” He gives me a nod, then eyes Noah. “You ready?”
Across from me, Noah picks up his smoothie and nods to me. “Let me know how she is.” With that, he follows Fisher out to the training court.
Things are okay between us, I guess. We haven’t really addressed the elephant in the room—elephants, I suppose, if we’re counting our make-out session on the couch and how he stayed up when he thought I was with Elias. Looks like we’re both too chickenshit to broach the subject.
I don’t want to admit that I liked kissing him. That memories of the way we dry-humped each other haunt me.
Really, why bother bringing it up? It can never happen again. He’s my boss and I need this job. Hooking up would only complicate things.
Has he slept with anyone since his wife passed? That thought has plagued me for weeks. He clearly loved his wife with his whole heart and is still grieving, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he hasn’t. If that’s the case, though, what does it mean if he wants to have sex with me?
By the time I’ve finished my coffee and rinsed the mug in the massive workstation sink, Maddie is padding down the stairs and I’ve worked myself into a tizzy over Noah. When she enters the kitchen, her brown hair is a wild rat’s nest around her head and one leg of her pajama bottoms has ridden up to her knee.
“Good morning. Sleep well?”
“Yeah.” She pushes a stool out and climbs up, looking the way she typically does when she wakes. Hopefully that means she’s feeling better. “I’m hungry. Can I have waffles?”
Not daring to bring up her rough night, I give her a smile. “Sure thing.”
As I step out of the pantry carrying flour and sugar and oil, she frowns. “They’re in the freezer.”
I set the ingredients down and put my hands on my hips. “You would choose frozen waffles over the real thing?”
She stifles a yawn. “I mean, the real thing is better but?—”
I clap my hands. “No buts, missy.”
She giggles, a little light entering her tired eyes.
Feeling lighter now, I pull out a mixing bowl from the drawer. “Do you want to help me?”
With an eager nod, she hops off the stool. Then she scurries around the island. The second she skids to a halt beside me, she turns and darts away. “Wait,” she says, running toward the pantry. “We need aprons.”
She pulls them off the hook inside the pantry door, and when she returns, she hesitates for a second before handing me the larger one.
“It was my mom’s,” she says softly, her voice threaded with pain.
I hold it up and survey the floral pattern. “Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing it?”
She nods, swallowing. “Yeah. I want you to.”
I put it over my head and tie the straps, then help her do the same.
We go back to the pantry for baking powder and salt, then pull milk, eggs, and butter from the fridge.
I snap pictures as we work and send them to Noah, hoping it’ll alleviate his worries. He won’t see them right away, but at least they’ll be there waiting for him when he has a minute to check in.
“These are so yummy,” Maddie says as she digs into the first waffle.
“Better than the freezer kind?” I ladle more batter onto the waffle iron.
“So much better.”
As she stuffs another forkful into her mouth, I snap a photo.
“Hey,” she laughs, the sound garbled. “Why do you keep taking my picture?”
“Because your dad wants them.”
Her nose crinkles. “Why? He’ll see me later today.”
I take the mixing bowl to the sink and fill it with water while I wait for the last waffle.
“He loves you,” I say as I shut off the faucet. “He wants pictures of you. Is that so bad?”
She puffs out her lips. “I guess not.”
All day, her mood is strange. She doesn’t bring up the nightmare, and I don’t ask. I’m glad Noah mentioned it. Otherwise, I’d be concerned with the change in behavior. I’ve never known her to be this mopey.
At the end of the day, when I’m headed back to Lucy’s, I find myself sad to be leaving them behind. Yes, them .
Despite my best efforts, hard-headed Noah Baker has grown on me.
“Was it a hard day?” Lucy asks thirty minutes later when the three of us are sitting at the table.
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking. Maddie was having an off day. She’s sad about her mom.”
She makes a soft sound of understanding, her hand going to her still flat stomach. “Poor girl. I can’t imagine losing my mom that young. She’s my best friend.”
Rather than respond, I use the side of my fork to cut into my lasagna. I’ve never had that kind of relationship with either of my parents, so I can’t relate.
When the flavors register on my tongue, I hum in surprise. “That’s really good.”
“Thanks.” Alyssa brushes her hair back over her shoulder, beaming. “It’s my sister’s recipe.”
Wiping the corners of my mouth, I decide to get the bad news out of the way. “By the way, I didn’t get the job.”
Lucy sets her fork down, her shoulders falling. “The fourth-grade teaching position?”
I shrug, poking at my dinner with my fork. “It’s for the best.” Even if it sucks to have lost out on yet another position. Anymore, I feel like I’m grasping at straws. Even though I know in my heart I would’ve turned it down, it hurts not to be chosen. “I can’t imagine leaving Maddie.”
“The nanny gig is supposed to be temporary for you.”
Eyes lowered, I nod once.
“What’s that look about?” Alyssa asks, her tone a mix of confusion and concern.
Lucy screams, scaring the shit out of me.
Alyssa and I both whip around, eyes wide, to find her with her hands pressed to her cheeks.
“Are you sleeping with Noah?”
“No!” I retort too quickly. Too defensively. Too shrilly.
She shrieks and flaps her arms. “You so are.”
“I’m not.” My cheeks feel hot.
Finger pointed at me, she wiggles in her seat, her face alight. “But you want to.”
I bite my tongue.
She claps her hands, then clutches them to her chest. “I knew it.”
“It can’t happen,” I tell her, just like I’ve been telling myself. “He’s my boss and I need this job.”
Brows quirking, she leans in. “But you want it to.”
“Yes.” God, does it feel good to admit it out loud, even if I have no plans of doing anything about it. “He drives me halfway insane, but…”
“But he’s hot and you’re hot and the two of you could have hot sex.” Lucy is practically vibrating in her seat.
With a shake of my head, I laugh. “Yeah, sure.”
Alyssa hasn’t said a word through this entire exchange, her face an expressionless mask.
“Why are you so quiet?” Lucy asks her.
Lips twisting, she studies me. “I’m not sure any of this is a good idea.”
Though her tone is kind, I flinch.
“I’m sorry,” she says, forearms resting on the edge of the table. “I just don’t want to see this end poorly. Noah’s a good guy, but losing Annie put him in a bad place, and I don’t want to see you get caught up in that.”
I take a sip of wine and swallow down the hurt with it. “I understand.”
She’s right. It is a bad idea. But no matter how many times I’ve told myself that, I can’t stop thinking about our encounter that night in the hotel.
“It’s temporary anyway.” Lucy waves her hand like she can swat away Alyssa’s common sense like a pesky fly. “Would it really be that bad if they had a little fun?”
Wine in hand, Alyssa presses her lips together.
Her silence speaks volumes.
My appetite disappears.
The worst part is, I can’t even lie to myself and say nothing will happen with Noah again, because stupidly I want it to.
What’s wrong with me?