Chapter 4
Noa
I'm in the middle of explaining my plans for Emma's book signing when the lights flicker once, twice, and then plunge us into darkness. The only illumination comes from our menorah in the window, casting long shadows across Brian's startled face.
"Well," I say into the sudden silence. "Good thing we already lit the candles."
He lets out a low chuckle that does things to my insides. "Does this happen often?"
"Welcome to an old building in a snowstorm." I stand, oddly grateful for the excuse to move. Staying still while he looks at me with those intense blue eyes is getting harder by the minute. I gesture at the jar candles already scattered around my living room. "I have matches in the kitchen."
I know my apartment well enough to navigate in the dark, but I still bump into him as I pass. Maybe it's not an accident... His hands come up to steady me, strong and warm on my waist. "Sorry," I murmur, but I'm not. Not at all.
God, when was the last time a man like this was in my space?
My ex, Marcus, was barely older than me, full of boyish charm and a hint of Peter Pan syndrome.
Even at twenty-eight, he couldn't commit to anything—not a lease, not a job, certainly not a relationship.
Brian Klein is the opposite of everything I thought I wanted when I was twenty-five and naive.
He's established, confident, and knows exactly who he is.
The kind of man who doesn't need me to mother him or make excuses for his behavior.
"I should check on the car service." His phone illuminates his face as he clicks it on. The harsh light breaks the spell, and I move toward my kitchen.
"Any luck?" I call over my shoulder, locating the matches by touch.
His sigh is answer enough. "They've suspended service until the storm passes. I'm so sorry to impose—"
"Stop apologizing." I strike a match and touch it to my sugar cookie-scented candle. "I invited you, remember?"
As I light a few candles, the room fills with a warm glow and sweet aroma. Brian has loosened his tie even more, and the top button of his shirt is undone. It's a good look on him. Too good.
A thought flickers through my mind: this feels like my own personal holiday miracle.
The legendary oil was supposed to last one night but stretched to eight.
My quiet evening alone has transformed into this—snowed in with a gorgeous man who seems to have fallen into my life from nowhere.
A gift from the universe, here to bring a spark to my dim apartment.
I sink back into my armchair, twirling a curl around my finger. "You said you spend a lot of time on the road. Do you ever miss having a home base?"
He hesitates, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. "Sometimes," he admits finally. "My father died eight years ago. Heart attack, completely unexpected. Ever since then, I've thrown myself even deeper into work. Being on the road means I don't have to deal with an empty apartment."
"I'm sorry about your father," I say, genuinely moved by this glimpse beneath his polished exterior.
He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability. "What about you? Did you always want to own a bookstore?"
"Actually, no." I trace the rim of my mug with my finger.
"I was on track for corporate marketing: good salary, benefits, soul-crushing meetings.
Then my grandmother died and left me enough money to make a change.
The bookstore was up for sale—I'd been coming here since I was a kid—and it just felt right. "
"Big leap," he comments.
"I needed roots," I tell him. "My parents divorced when I was twelve. Dad stayed in Pittsburgh, and Mom moved to Seattle. I spent years bouncing between them, never feeling settled. This place"—I gesture to the apartment, the shop below—"is the first thing that's ever felt completely mine."
He nods, and I see understanding in his eyes. "Your dad's donut stash suggests you stayed close."
"We've gotten closer since I opened the store. He lives about twenty minutes away and comes in several times a week. My sister thinks I'm crazy for giving up corporate money, but..." I shrug. "I sleep better now."
"And your mother?"
"Happily remarried in Seattle. We talk every Sunday." I smile, remembering something. "She always said I'd end up with books. When other kids wanted toys, I asked for stories."
I smile at him in the flickering candlelight. "What's it like working with famous athletes?"
He blinks, obviously caught off guard by my question. "I... It's just how the job works."
"I would say it's the same with authors, but I think there's probably a lot more money and pressure and prestige in your line of work."
The wind rattles my windows, but here, it's warm and intimate. Brian studies me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. "How old are you?" he blurts, then immediately looks mortified. "I'm sorry, that's not—"
"Thirty-two." I can't help but smile at his obvious relief. "Did you think I was some young ingénue?"
"I thought..." He shakes his head and laughs. "I've been feeling like a creep all evening."
"Because you're what, forty-five?" At his surprised look, I shrug. "I'm good at reading people. It's an occupational hazard." And I’m fairly sure I’m sensing some serious attraction between us, which feels like the perfect glaze for this donut of a day.
"Are older guys... an issue for you?" he asks, and there's genuine uncertainty in his voice.
I consider this. "My last relationship was with someone my age who still needed his mother to remind him to pay his electric bill and thought loading a dishwasher was 'women's work.
' Age is just a number, Brian. Maturity is something else entirely.
" The compliment isn't lost on him; his eyes darken slightly as he watches me.
"You've given this some thought." His voice is lower now, almost husky.
I stand and move to perch on the arm of his chair. Maybe it's the darkness, the storm, or the holiday magic, but I feel reckless tonight. Tomorrow, I'll return to being responsible for Noa Bishop, a small business owner. But tonight? I can take what the universe has dropped in my lap.
My fingers find his tie and toy with the silk. "I thought about you from the moment you walked in my door. Only now I'm worried you're about to check your phone again instead of kissing me."
His breath catches. "Noa..."
I lean down and press my lips to his, soft at first, then with increasing urgency when he responds immediately. His hand comes up to cup my face, and I melt into him, sliding from the arm of the chair into his lap.
When we break apart, we're both breathing heavily. He rests his forehead against mine. "I should check—"
"Your phone?" I nip at his lower lip. "The car service isn't coming tonight, Brian. You might as well stay put."
His hands grip my hips. "Are you sure?"
I think of the melting candles lit in the window, small but persistent against the darkness. Sometimes, miracles come in unexpected forms—like a snowstorm and a stranded stranger. Like bravery in taking a chance on one perfect night.
Instead of answering, I kiss him again, deeper this time. He groans into my mouth, and the sound rushes through me. When I pull back, his eyes are dark with desire.
"My bedroom's this way," I whisper, standing and holding out my hand. "Unless you'd rather check your messages..."
He glances at his phone one last time, then deliberately places it face-down on the coffee table. When he takes my hand, his grip is firm and confident.
But as he rises to his feet, something flickers across his face—a hunger, barely restrained. His jaw tightens, and he pulls me close, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.
"Noa," his fingers thread into my hair. "If we go in there, I need you to know something." His eyes search mine in the candlelight. "It's been a long time."
A delicious shiver runs down my spine. This is the real Brian Klein—not the polished professional, but the man beneath. Raw with desire.
I smile up at him, heart racing. "I'll be gentle."
Something primal flashes in his eyes, and before I can take another breath, he bends down and sweeps me into his arms. "Baby.” His eyes darken. “Gentle is not what I'm looking for." The sudden movement makes me gasp—I'm not a small woman, but he lifts me effortlessly.
"Which room is yours?" It's more of a command than a question, his voice a growl against my ear.