9. Kate
Chapter nine
Kate
J ust until I’m home…that’s what I tell my brain each time I think about Noah.
The hours crawled by today, one ordinary task after another. Lesson plans. Coffee that’s gone cold before I finish it. Wiping little fingers streaked with watercolor and answering the same curious questions about clouds and dinosaurs on repeat. I tell myself the routine is good. Safe. Familiar.
But all day long, there was this tug, quiet, insistent, pulling me right back to him regardless of how hard I tried.
Noah.
I tried. God, I tried to shut it down. To fold the memory of last night and this morning into the tightest, smallest space in my chest and seal it away.
I tell myself there’ll be time for thinking later.
Overthinking, most likely. But right now, I don’t want to think of him or how my body betrayed me.
However, the more I push, the more my mind rebels, slipping back to the way his shirt smelled of cedar and storm-wet earth- like rain-soaked firewood, like safety wrapped in something untamed.
The texture of the cotton l still lingers against my skin, even though I’ve long since folded it away and tucked it out of sight. My body remembers what my mind is trying so desperately to forget.
The roughness of his hands, calloused and gentle, trailing over skin no one’s touched in so long I’d nearly forgotten what it felt like.
And yet there was a softness in him, too, like he knew how easily I could shatter, like he could sense every crack beneath the surface but held me like I wasn’t broken at all.
His voice plays over in my head, the murmur of my name painting over old scars I thought I’d forgotten. And his eyes…God, his eyes, the way they settled on me like I wasn’t some wandering stranger passing through but the missing piece to something he hadn’t realized he’d lost.
Like I belonged. To him.
It’s ridiculous. One touch, one kiss, and I’m adrift, untethered from everything I’ve spent years building to keep myself safe.
But no matter how I try to anchor myself back to the present, to the rhythm of ordinary life, the memory of him loops through me, quiet, constant, and impossible to outrun.
Before I know it, the day was over, and the sky softening to that late afternoon honey-gold, and I found myself standing in front of Parker’s class, watching them spill out in a tumble of tiny sneakers and bright backpacks.
His face lit up the moment he spotted me, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild like it always is when he’s had a good day. He barrels straight for me, launching himself against my side with all the force a five-year-old can manage. I'm happy his first day was a success.
But when I tried to corral him to head home he rebelled.
“Mom! It’s T-ball day! Mrs. Darden said she told you!” His voice wobbled, and his lips trembled; he was so close to crying.
I mentally kicked myself. How could I have forgotten that his homeroom teacher did mention it in the morning when I dropped him off?
"Oh right, I forgot for a minute," I told him and his relief was immediate.
His excitement made me forget, for a second, that I’ve spent the whole day fighting thoughts of a man I barely know but can’t seem to shake, and I almost made my son cry.
He soon forgets the mini-episode as we headed toward the field with Parker’s little hand swinging in mine. His chatter fills the air, all about his new teacher, the snack schedule, and the new kid who brought blue Gatorade and instantly earned celebrity status.
I nod along, offering the right sounds in the right places, but to my chagrin, I’m not fully with him again. I’m somewhere else entirely.
I’m with Noah .
His name threads through the quiet spaces between Parker’s words, uninvited but impossible to shake. There’s something about him I can’t seem to pin down. Something solid and worn-in, like the old farmhouse he calls home. Something that feels like it could be dangerous if I let it.
We’re only a few steps from the field when Parker tugs at my hand, sharp and sudden. I glance down, and he’s already gazing up at me, eyes wide and serious, that little crease between his brows that only shows when he’s been thinking hard about something.
Have I done something wrong again?
“Mom.” His voice is softer this time. He waves his hand downward, beckoning for me to move closer.
I blink, caught off guard, but I do as he asks, crouching so we’re eye to eye. His fingers find the ends of my hair, toying with the loose strands like he does when he’s nervous or thinking too much for a five-year-old.
“You’re thinking about Noah, aren’t you?”
The question doesn’t come out with the usual lightness of a child guessing what’s for dinner. It lands sure and steady, like a statement he already knows the answer to. I forget to breathe for a second.
I open my mouth, scrambling for some easy excuse. Something light. Something that won’t open the door to questions I’m not ready to answer, questions I don’t even know how to answer for myself.
“What?” I breathe
“I mean Mr. Bennet.” He says, making me blink in surprise, my brain scrambling to come up with some kind of explanation. But before I can find the words, Parker leans forward, arms winding around my neck, squeezing with all the love in his little body.
“It’s okay, Mom.” His voice is soft against my ear, but every word sounds too mature, coming from him. “I like it when you’re happy. Mr. Bennett makes you happy.”
My voice catches, the words evaporating before they can form. His tiny hands cup my cheeks when he pulls back like he’s anchoring me to this moment. His smile is small but certain.
“And I like it when he hugs you.” He nods like he’s solving the puzzle for both of us. “You’ve been smiling more since we got here. I feel safe here and with him.”
Does that mean he saw us last night?
I don’t know what to say. There’s a lump lodged behind my ribs that won’t let words pass, only this strange, aching warmth that makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time.
But once again, before I can figure out how to respond, Parker’s already grabbing my hand again, tugging me toward the field like the conversation never happened.
“Come on, Mom! We’re gonna be late!”
Parker tugs at my hand, all wiry limbs and uncontainable excitement, and I let him pull me along, legs moving on autopilot while my heart lags behind. His little sneakers kick up the dry grass, the afternoon sun warming the back of my neck, but all I can think of is what he just said.
That quiet, fearless truth only a child could deliver, and maybe...I’m not as good at pretending as I thought.
When the field finally stretches out expansively before us, Parker drops my hand and takes off like a shot, his backpack bouncing with each step. I should call after him, remind him not to run, but the words catch somewhere behind my teeth.
My eyes trail him, soft with affection, until movement along the baseline snaps me out of the daze.
Noah .
What is he doing on the field? In the same breath, Mrs. Darden’s voice flits through my mind, something she’d casually mentioned this morning as I signed Parker in: You’ll love the T-ball coach. Town’s fire chief used to be a college baseball star, full scholarship, the whole nine yards.
I haven’t connected the dots until now. I hadn’t let myself.
Of course, it’s him.
The same man whose shirt I’d slipped out of this morning. The same man whose hands had left invisible fingerprints all over my skin. And now, here he is, standing in the middle of a sunlit field like the night we almost shared never happened at all.
Like I’m not standing here fighting the urge to walk or - God help me - run straight to him.
Parker doesn’t seem to share my hesitation. He barrels toward Noah once he reaches the field at full speed, with no brakes. His voice carries across the field, high and unguarded.
“Coach Noah!”
Noah turns at the sound of it, his mouth tugging into the kind of smile I’ve never seen him wear before…soft, unguarded, like it snuck up on him. His arms open in time to catch Parker as he leaps, and without missing a beat, he swings him up, easy and effortless, like he’s done it a hundred times.
Parker’s laughter bubbles out, bright and full, and the sound sinks its teeth into me.
Something inside me shifts. The sight of them, Noah’s strong hands steady around my son, Parker’s little head thrown back in pure, unfiltered joy, knocks the air right out of me.
I press a hand to my stomach, as if that might settle my emotions, but it doesn’t. Because at that moment, all I can see is the man who makes my son feel safe. The man who makes me feel...
I tear my gaze away before the thought can finish, but the damage is already done.
“Kate!”
My name, light and warm, shakes me from the moment. I blink and turn toward the sound, finding Emily waving from the sidelines, one arm lifted high, the other balancing a tray of juice boxes. Her smile is easy, like we’ve known each other longer than the few short words we’d shared this morning.
Grateful for the distraction, anything to anchor me back to solid ground, I make my way toward her, the crunch of dry grass underfoot a steady metronome to my scrambling thoughts.
“Hey,” I greet, breath still unsteady but managing a smile. “Need an extra pair of hands?”
Emily doesn’t wait for me to finish before pressing a pack of napkins into my palm. “You read my mind,” she says, then leans in conspiratorially. “We’re always short on snack moms.”
I glance at the folding table where a few women are already unpacking bags of pretzels, fruit slices, and water bottles. I feel the heat of self-consciousness creep into my cheeks.
“I didn’t know,” I murmur in a low voice, “I didn’t bring anything. I should’ve. Next time, I will, I promise.”
Emily waves a hand like she’s brushing the guilt right off my shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t expected on your first day; besides, there’s more than enough.”