4. Noah
Chapter four
Noah
O ne Week Later.
It’s not even eight, but the station’s already humming with voices and coffee machines grinding like they’ve got somewhere better to be.
I’m sitting on the bench in the back room, pretending to re-lace my boots for the third damn time. My fingers tug at the laces, but my brain’s miles away—right back on that gravel path that curves around my land. Right where she jogs.
Kate .
She runs at the same time every morning as she did this morning. Right before her boy wakes up. She has the same quiet rhythm, the same determined bounce in her stride, like she’s chasing something no one else can see.
She doesn’t know I watch her come back—hell, she doesn’t know. I used to run at the same time until I started waking up earlier, just to avoid her and not give any attention. But the joke’s on me, isn’t it?
Because somehow, I still end up watching.
I see her before she makes it to the porch—sweat slicking her forehead, the material of her workout clothes clinging like it’s got something to say, her breath all heavy and controlled, lips parted enough that my gut tightens as though I’ve done something wrong.
And imaginably, I have.
I don’t know her. Not really. But I know she paints and sings while at it.
Hums mostly. Little pieces of songs like they’re caught in her throat and can’t find their way out.
Yesterday, it was something soft and sweet, with no lyrics…
.only a melody that curled into the air and got stuck under my skin.
I haven’t been able to shake the tune out of my head or the way I’m becoming fond of that sound. I realize I’m humming it now.
Under my breath...
Shit .
“Is that a smile, Bennett?”
The fire station’s switchboard operator, Margaret’s voice, comes from behind me, full of teasing warmth and way too much knowledge. I don’t move, but my jaw goes tight, and I drop the bootlace like it bit me.
I don’t turn. Perhaps if I stay still enough, she’ll forget I exist.
“You are smiling.” Her shoes squeak against the tile as she rounds the bench and stops in front of me. One hand on her hip, the other gripping a cup that probably hasn’t been washed since last Tuesday. “Didn’t think that muscle still worked.”
“Must be gas,” I mutter, reaching for my boot again. “Go bother someone else, Margaret.”
“Don’t play with me, sweetheart. You’re humming, and your face isn’t doing that usual broody thing. You’ve been caught.”
I look up. Narrow my eyes.
Margaret Henley doesn’t flinch. She never does. She’s wearing that knitted lavender sweater that smells similar to cinnamon and peppermint tea, and she’s giving me the eyes she saves for when I try to lie.
“Is this about that pretty thing staying in the cottage?”
My fingers are still. Blaze lifts his head from where he’s curled near the lockers and lets out a grumble like great, here we go .
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You never do,” she says, smiling like she’s already ten steps ahead. “But you’re humming. And smiling. And the only thing that’s changed around here is a woman with eyes like summer sunsets and a little boy who waves at me as though I’m Santa Claus.”
I run a hand down my face. “Margaret—”
“She’s got a story,” Margaret says, gentler now. “You can see it in the way she holds that boy. Like he’s all she’s got, and she’d burn down the world for him.”
My chest tightens.
Yeah. I’ve seen it too.
The way her arms wrap around him after the tree incident. The way she breathed in his hair, like she needed the scent of him to breathe at all. I’d barely touched the ground the day he went up into the tree before she had Parker scooped against her chest like a mother lion claiming her cub.
Fierce. Wild. Beautiful.
Josie wanted that. For our kid. That kind of love. And that’s why I keep my distance and avoid her. She’s the first to make me feel what I felt for Josie and more.
While I avoided her, I haven’t stopped staring stupidly at her. Haven’t stopped wanting to.
Margaret watches me too closely. “You’re allowed to live, Noah. I want to see you happy, and it seems like the pretty little thing does that.”
My stomach knots. I turn my head away.
She sighs like she’s known me too long. “Anyway. I didn’t come in here to meddle—well, I did—but there’s a storm brewing.”
That gets my attention.
I sit up straighter. “What kind of storm?”
“Big one. The Front’s moving in fast. Power lines could be an issue. Sheriff’s already telling folks not to be caught out in it. You might wanna check on your little cottage family before it hits; they are newcomers and won’t be used to storms around here.”
My jaw twitches.
“I’ll make sure they’re good.”
She gives me one last pointed look before heading out, muttering something about knitting needles and romantic tension. “I want you to find a woman, but maybe you already did.”
Blaze huffs again and stretches.
I scratch behind his ears. “Don’t give me that eye, I didn’t do anything.”
He blinks slowly.
Outside the window, I can see clouds starting to thicken, gray and full-bellied. The air feels different.
My fingers tap the bench, and I glance down at my watch.
I won’t avoid her when I get home. Just a check in. Make sure they’re okay. That’s all.
It takes everything in me to not leave work immediately and head back home. Instead, I focus on what needs to be done.
By twelve in the afternoon, the guys are out back doing inventory, voices conversational and easy, and I’m left in the engine bay, tightening a loose valve on the pump. It should take all of ten minutes. It takes me twenty because I can’t stop hearing her voice.
That damn humming.
I wipe my hands on a rag and toss it into the bin. The sky through the bay windows appears heavier now, clouds swelling gray and low. She’s probably still outside. She'll think it’ll blow over. Most people do until the wind comes sharp and sideways.
I tap the top of the workbench once.
Then again.
And then I’m moving.
I give the guys a quick shout of heading home, grab my gear, and slide into the truck without waiting for them to ask why. Blaze perks up in the passenger seat the moment I slide behind the wheel.
He knows why we’re going home.
I don’t speed.
But I don’t drive slowly either.
It’s past noon when I finally pull into the drive.
The clouds have thickened—slow-moving, bruised, and swollen—pressing the sky like it’s holding something back. There’s a tightness in the air, an electric kind of hush, like the land’s waiting for the first crack of thunder. Even Blaze doesn’t bolt from the truck the way he usually does.
He hops down, stretches, then pads forward slowly, ears perked. I spot them before I even reach the house.
Parker’s giggles cut through the stillness, high and clear. He’s running circles around the yard again, arms stretched like wings. The minute Blaze catches sight of him, he begins to chase him, tongue lolling out, tail wagging hard enough to stir dust.
It’s a happy chaos that immediately makes my chest feel lighter. But the boy and the dog don’t hold my attention for long before my gaze finds her.
Kate’s seated on the ground, legs crossed, barefoot on a sun-warmed sheet. There’s a canvas in front of her, colors bleeding across it in long strokes. She’s humming again, low, absent-minded, like it comes from somewhere deeper than her throat.
Her head tilts, catching the light, and her eyes follow the motion of her brush like the world’s narrowed down to that moment. That color. That breath.
She doesn’t see me.
And I don’t move.
I stand there, hands curled loose at my sides, heart doing something it shouldn’t.
That sound coming from her, half-melody, half-daydream. It settles under my ribs and spreads in a way that makes me feel warm and wide open. As though I’ve shut out things for so long, I forgot what peace sounds like.
Blaze barks once.
Parker shouts his name and takes off after him, feet thudding against the ground.
Kate raises her head up.
She turns toward the sound, and that’s when she sees me.
Her shoulders lift the slightest bit, lips parting as though I startled her. But she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. She wipes her hands on the cloth by her thigh and gets up slowly.
And I—God help me—I watch.
I’ve never noticed how a woman walks before.
Not like this.
There’s nothing rushed about her. Nothing posed or artificial. She walks like the air moves around her. Like the world waits for her to take her time. Her hips shift softly under the worn cotton of her joggers, her chest rising with each breath.
Her gaze flickers up to mine, then drops, like she’s unsure…perhaps she feels the same thing pulsing in the stretch of silence between us.
My pulse taps against the base of my throat.
“You came back early,” she says, brushing her hair behind her ear. I wonder why my heart is beating fast at the thought of her knowing when I get back.
I glance toward the sky. “Storm’s rolling in faster than expected. Thought I’d check on you two.”
She nods, eyes lifting toward the clouds like she hadn’t noticed them before now. Her lips pull in, thoughtful. The pink of them looks soft, the kind of soft that leaves a mark when bitten.
I shift.
Try to focus on anything else.
Her hands.
There are streaks of paint under her nails—blue, perhaps green, something like sunlight caught on water. One smear near her knuckle. She doesn’t seem to care. Like creating something matters more than staying clean. I don’t know why that hits me in the gut, but it does.
I clear my throat. “You should head inside soon. Winds will pick up quick. Might lose power.”
She nods again, quiet. Then softly, “Parker will be sorry to stop playing.”
I glance at the kid. He’s tumbling through the grass, Blaze on his heels like they were made from the same mold of mischief.
“They can play a little longer.” My voice drops low. “Blaze can come when they are done playing. He knows the way.”
Her eyes flick to mine.
I don’t step closer.
But I want to.
There’s a smudge of yellow paint near the curve of her cheek. I have the wild thought to reach out and brush it off with my thumb. Feel the heat of her skin. Let my hand linger a second too long. Let her lean into it.
I don’t.
I stand there instead. Heart thudding like it’s asking me what the hell are you doing, man?
She gives the impression that she wants to say something. Then doesn’t.
Instead, her gaze flickers down to my boots, up to my chest, and then back to my face. Like she’s memorizing something without realizing it.
“Thanks for checking on us,” she says, voice quieter now. “Really.”
I give a small shrug, trying to make it nothing. “You’re on my land. Not gonna let you blow away.”
But the look in her eyes?
It says she heard something else entirely.
And I probably meant it.