Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Alicia
We’ve been sitting here for over an hour, just talking about nothing important—his favorite running routes, my disastrous attempts at learning to cook when I first lived alone, the books we’ve been meaning to read.
Easy conversation interspersed with comfortable silence.
Then my phone lights up, shattering the quiet.
I stare at Dorian’s name on the screen, resentful of the interruption.
The temptation to ignore his call is great, but temptation is not the path to greatness.
“Let me get this,” I say to Noah, holding up the phone.
He checks his watch. “It’s lunchtime anyway. You up for grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
“Where are you ordering that from?”
His grin is slow. “I’ll make it. When you’re done with the call, join me in the kitchen.”
I lift the phone and swipe, but all my attention is on Noah as he leaves the room. Flannel shirt, corduroys, socks—completely casual, completely comfortable in my space.
“Dorian,” I say, forcing my focus back to the call.
“Hi. Checking in.”
“You know you don’t need to, right?”
“Underestimating your opponent is the best way to let them win.”
I laugh softly. “There’s no opponent. Just a woman who panicked facing a prison sentence.”
His silence is its own response. “You’re genuinely concerned about this network she mentioned.”
“Caroline is. It’s conceivable. A group of powerful, connected individuals who believe they know what’s best? Those groups exist. And if they feel endangered…” He trails off. “At any rate, you know I’m right.”
I don’t want to argue. And honestly, if it means keeping Stella safe, I can live with the security detail.
“What are you and Caroline up to this weekend?” The conversation shifts—farmer’s market, his father’s health, his upcoming London trip to visit a mutual friend, Stella’s school year.
Normal topics. But I can’t shake the feeling he’s circling something bigger.
“These shadowy people you’re worried about are more likely to be my clients than my enemies.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But you know how easily powerful people hide their messes. If Caroline’s right, you’re not out of their orbit yet. At least not until the hearings.”
I stare at the dark screen after the call ends, Dorian’s words echoing. A secret group. A hidden enemy. I shake it off, set the phone down, and follow my nose to the kitchen.
Two placemats are set on the kitchen island, and two bowls of tomato soup are set out. Noah’s at the stove, spatula in hand, watching over two sandwiches sizzling on the grill. Reality smells like butter and basil, not conspiracy.
It’s so...domestic. Unexpectedly intimate.
“Just in time,” he says, grinning.
“Where’d you get all this?” I ask.
“It’s all from my grocery run yesterday. Soup’s reheated—but it’s freshly made by a brand called Mama Calloway. We’ll see if it’s good. And the grilled cheese…this is a Bennett family recipe.”
“Stella would love this.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
Next time. The assumption is casual, unstudied–and I like it. “I’m pretty sure cooking detail isn’t on your list of job responsibilities.”
“I don’t mind. I like cooking. Reminds me of being home.”
“You know, you don’t need to hang out here all weekend. I’m not planning on going anywhere. This is a safe neighborhood. There have been no threats made. I’m good.”
“Where am I going to go in this weather?”
On the back patio, rain pelts the concrete and my covered patio furniture. It’s early afternoon and yet the sky is as dark as a typical evening.
“That’s a fair point.”
“If you want me out of your hair—”
“No,” I say quickly. “You’re more than welcome. It’s nice having you here.”
“What have you got planned for the rest of the afternoon?” He plates the grilled cheese with the smoothness of a short-order chef.
“Oh, I have a few work projects I need to tackle.”
“Working on the weekend?”
“I gave myself the morning to enjoy the rain.”
“Gotcha. And plans for tonight?”
“My friend Christine bailed. She’s not one for going out in bad weather.”
“Understandable.”
“Lazy,” I say, grinning. “Or maybe smart. But I don’t mind. I’d much rather stay in.”
“I’m thinking I might power up your media room that’s downstairs. Pop some popcorn. You want to join me?”
“Maybe.”
That maybe dangles in the back of my mind all afternoon as I catch up on email correspondence, review the accounting reports for Morgan & Company, and flick through news articles and trade reports.
By seven o’clock, the rain has intensified to a steady roar. I’ve accomplished more than expected, but my mind keeps drifting to Noah’s invitation. The house feels too quiet with just me on the second floor. I close my laptop and head downstairs.
The basement media room glows with soft amber light. Noah’s already there—popcorn on the coffee table, two glasses of water, throws pulled from the closet and draped over the sectional. He’s set this up. For us. The realization sends warmth through my chest.
“Perfect timing,” he says without looking up. “Action, thriller, or comedy?”
“Surprise me.” I settle into the opposite corner of the sectional, tucking my feet beneath me. “According to Stella, it’s always best if someone else picks.”
He scrolls through options, pausing occasionally. He selects something—The Fall Guy.
“Ryan Gosling. Can’t go wrong.”
“Stella made me watch this last month.”
“And?”
“And I fell asleep halfway through.”
“Want to pick something else?”
“No — I’d actually like to see the ending.”
He grins. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”
The movie plays, but I’m distracted. By the way he laughs. By how relaxed he looks, shoulders loose, defenses down. By the blue light from the screen catching the angles of his face. When our fingers brush reaching for popcorn, neither of us pulls away immediately.
When he laughs at a particularly ridiculous stunt, it’s genuine.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing.”
I’m far more aware of the man beside me than of the movie playing out on screen. I’d like to believe that’s because I’ve seen this before—but that’s not what this is, and I know it.
Ten years younger. Here for a job. I know exactly what this is, and I know better.
I should call Christine and curse her for canceling.
If she hadn’t, I’d be at a restaurant making small talk, not sitting here hyperaware of every shift in his posture, every casual brush of contact.
This is absurd. I’m over forty. I know better.
The movie plays on, but I swear the energy between us is palpable. Of course, it’s all in my head—one-sided attraction. At least, that’s what I need to believe. I don’t have time for a relationship, and I’m a single mom. It wouldn’t be remotely responsible.
When the stunt guy saves someone in a thunderstorm, Noah murmurs, “Unrealistic. But I guess that’s the point. You don’t do that with a helicopter.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Maybe.” His eyes meet mine, and the frisson of energy spreads through my chest. The sensation is ridiculous—more fitting for a teen on a date. “But yeah, I’ve got my pilot’s license. Wish I’d gone Air Force.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Wasn’t thinking through decisions particularly well at that point in my life.” He smiles. “Wrong recruiter caught me first.”
When I reach for popcorn again, his hand is already there. Our fingers tangle briefly before I pull back.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“Don’t be.”
I don’t look at him. But I heard him.
The air between us feels electric.
The storm outside rumbles like a restless animal, rain streaking the narrow windows near the ceiling. On-screen, the stuntman dives through fire, but I barely see it. All I can feel is the warmth radiating from the man next to me, the faint scent of cedar and clean soap.
“You always this quiet during movies?” Noah teases, voice low.
“Only when I’m enjoying them.”
He goes still. Not for long—just long enough to tell me something registered.
His gaze catches mine—steady, direct. For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. He leans slightly closer, like he might whisper something, and my pulse trips over itself. The air feels charged, humming. One more inch and—
What am I doing?
I don’t pull away.
Thunder cracks directly overhead. The lights flicker. Once. Twice.
Darkness.
Complete, absolute darkness.
“Stay there,” Noah says, his voice clipped. Professional. Alert.
I hear him stand, feel the shift of air as he moves. My heart pounds—not from fear of the dark, but from the sudden shift in his energy.
“Generator should kick in,” I say.
“Should have already.” His voice comes from near the hallway. “When did you last test it?”
“Is ‘never’ an acceptable answer?”
I hear him exhale—half amusement, half exasperation. “If it’s the truth. Stay here. I’ll check the panel.”
I reach for my phone and search for electrical outage updates. There’s no point in finding my electrical panel if everyone in Georgetown lost power.
“Ah…it’s in the closet, down here,” I say, getting up while scanning news articles, making my way to show him. Nothing’s coming up about an electrical outage, but it just happened. Maybe that’s why there’s no update.
Using my phone’s flashlight, I shine the light along the wall, looking for the narrow closet door.
Thunder shakes the foundation of the house.
“It’s in that closet,” I say.
Noah opens the door and flips the metal cover open. He uses his phone for a light.
“Hmm,” he says. “Okay. Power’s out, but on the chance the system’s compromised, I want you to come with me while I retrieve something from my room.”
A gun. He’s talking about a gun. He thinks something other than a storm—someone—could be behind this.
My heart hammers uncontrollably, but it’s just the storm. We’re all being paranoid.
When I reach out blindly, his hand finds mine. Warm. Steady. My fingers curl around his instinctively. For just a moment, that’s all there is.
Then the reality of where we’re going settles in. To his room. To get his gun.
Paranoid or not, I’d never admit this to Dorian, but right now I’m grateful he insisted on security. Grateful for Noah’s hand in mine, solid and sure. Grateful it’s him here in the dark with me. Especially him.