10. Noah #2
I don’t turn toward her, but I feel the way her body shifts, the way her breaths shallow out, the way her fingers curl tighter in her lap like they’ve got something to say, and she won’t let them. It’s stupid how easy it is to forget that this woman is still practically a stranger.
But there’s nothing unfamiliar about the intensity of her silence, about the way her presence fills the space inside this truck, making the cab feel both too small and too overwhelming all at once.
When I finally ease the truck up the long gravel path to the cottage, the tires crunch to a stop, and before I’ve even killed the engine, Kate’s already unbuckling her seatbelt. Quick, like the truck has gotten too small for her. Too tight. Too charged.
I switch off the engine and glance over, watching her shift toward the door, her hands already moving to unclip Parker from his seatbelt. I open my door and climb out just as she does, stepping around the truck to meet her.
“Let me carry him,” I say, voice lower than I mean it to be.
She hesitates, arms tightening around Parker’s small, sleeping weight as if she isn’t sure whether to trust me with this or with something else entirely.
But I see the flicker of exhaustion in her eyes, the kind that only shows when the adrenaline of a long day starts to wear off.
Finally, she gives a soft, reluctant nod.
I move in close, closer than I should. There's barely a breath of space between us now, her body's warmth radiating into mine, pulling me in like gravity. The faint scent of her hits me then, soft, like sun-soaked cotton, with a whisper of vanilla lingering in the air.
It’s light and delicate, but it clings to me, wrapping around my senses and leaving me dizzy. I try to focus and tell myself I’m only here to help, but it’s impossible to ignore the way my pulse quickens.
I slide my arms beneath Parker carefully, his weight settling into mine. As I lift him from her hold, my hand brushes lightly against her breast, a fleeting touch that neither of us mentions.
It’s an accident, a momentary slip, but it feels like everything stops.
Her skin is warm, too warm. Soft beneath my arm. For a split second, I feel the rise of her breath beneath my palm, her body shifting with mine. The brush of my arm shouldn’t mean anything, shouldn’t even register, but the sensation sends a jolt through me.
I freeze, muscles locking up because that simple touch feels like a betrayal. Like I’ve crossed some invisible line I didn’t know existed.
Her breath hitches. Just a whisper of a sound, but it’s enough.
It’s enough to make the air between us thick, as though we’re both suddenly holding our breath, afraid of what might happen if we don’t.
Her eyes flick up to mine, expanded and uncertain, and for a split second, we’re not even at the same pace anymore.
There’s something unspoken there, something in the way she stares at me. Not fear, not quite desire, but a charged tension that crackles between us, like she’s bracing for something she doesn’t want to stop.
Her pulse drums through me like a second heartbeat. And in that heartbeat, when nothing but air and restraint keeps us apart, I want to close the distance. To touch her on purpose. To stop pretending I don’t crave it.
But then, she exhales softly, the breath that she’d been holding on to, and I realize that my arm is still lingering too close, too long, against the soft swell of her breast. I jerk it away, almost violently, like it’s burned me.
The sudden coldness is stark, but I don’t dare move further. I’m frozen, suspended in this moment, waiting for her to say something, anything. Her lips part, and for the briefest moment, I think she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. She just lowers her gaze.
I clear my throat, trying to regain some composure. "I got him," I manage, my voice rougher than I want it to be. “I’ll take him inside.”
I shift Parker’s weight, trying like hell to focus on the kid, not the woman standing inches from me. Kate lingers for half a beat, her gaze flicking up to meet mine, unspoken words swimming in the quiet between us.
“You want to come in for a drink?” she asks softly, voice smooth but a little tight around the edges, like the invitation costs her more courage than she planned on spending.
God, I want to. I want to do more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. But the part of me that’s still got a grip on common sense knows better. Knows that if I cross that threshold tonight, I might not walk back out the same.
I shake my head once, steady but slow. “Better not,” I murmur. “Not tonight.”
Something flickers in her eyes — relief or disappointment, I can’t tell.
She steps back, giving me space as she leads the way toward the cottage.
I follow, careful with Parker’s head resting against my shoulder, the kid so deep asleep he barely stirs when Kate reaches for the door and holds it open.
Inside, the porch light spills a warm glow onto the steps, and I follow Kate to his room, where I gently lower Parker onto the bed. Kate brushes a hand over her son’s hair, smoothing it back, her expression softening into something that twists a little deeper inside me.
She turns back to me, and for a second, neither of us moves. The air between us hums with everything unsaid.
“Goodnight, Noah,” she says at last, her voice barely more than a whisper.