Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Alicia
On Monday, Stella climbs out of a blue Rivian.
“Larry, I’m going to need to drop off. Jane will wrap up.”
It’s a client conference call, and I don’t wait for a response.
I’m down the stairs and opening the front door before Stella’s feet hit the front step.
“There you are. How’d it go?” I’m reaching for her overnight bag. She keeps clothes at both houses, but she spends more time here and often carries a duffel bag with her to her father’s.
“Good.” She gives me a quick hug and then rushes through the house, headed straight to the stairs. “Bye, Jessica,” she calls.
At that, my attention turns to Jessica. She’s parked—illegally—on the curb in front of my house.
“Thanks for bringing her home. Did Richard get caught up with work?” He usually texts me when he’s running late.
I begrudgingly allowed him to be the one to pick Stella up from school—it seemed only fair, given I usually drop her off.
But this morning, he dropped her off. But it’s not a big deal, and there’s no reason to squabble like children.
“Yes, he got hung up, so he called me. I don’t mind. With raising kids, it takes a village, right?”
She smiles and inside I cringe, but step outside the front door, pulling it closed to keep the chill out.
She continues, presumably defending Richard. “We all have flexible schedules, but unexpected things come up. Happens to the best of us, right?”
She’s stepped closer, onto the bottom step, and I should probably invite her in, but instead I ask, “What is it that you do?”
Richard really hasn’t told me much about her, but then again, I haven’t asked.
“Oh, I’m in pharmaceutical sales. My territory is the northeast, so I travel quite a bit, but I also have a team under me. That helps—you know, cut down on the travel.”
“Right,” I nod. “I’m sure.”
“You travel to Manhattan quite a bit, don’t you?”
I inhale, taking in the woman before me. She’s dressed like any of my friends would be, in a professional business suit—but unlike my friends, she’s dating my ex—and that really should not be a problem.
“I go into the city quite a bit. The flight to LaGuardia runs more frequently than the train.”
“So it’s usually a day trip for you then?”
“Well, yeah. I have Stella during the week.”
“Right, well you know, Richard and I don’t mind keeping her on a weeknight.”
“Oh, I know.” It’s also not your business—not yet.
She averts her gaze, looking down the street to her right.
“Richard’s been really worried.”
“About?”
She wraps her arms around her middle, and I mirror her—the wind is brisk and unlike her, I’m not wearing a trench coat.
“Well, you know, the murder investigation. How are you holding up?”
“Me?”
“I mean, you’ve got security, you must be worried, right?”
“The security has nothing to do with…” I’m not even sure where to go with this because I’m not about to tell Jessica what project I worked on that has my friends worried enough to insist on security.
“Right. Of course. I guess you had them before didn’t you? I just get things mixed up sometimes.”
She smiles and lightly giggles and it rubs me the wrong way—but in all fairness, everything she does rubs me the wrong way lately, and I probably need to spend some self-reflection time to determine why.
“Richard’s just worried that if someone might come after you, they might come after Stella. And I know the custody arrangement is spelled out but it would seem to me that if Stella’s safety were in question, you’d overlook that—temporarily at least—and let her stay where it’s safest.”
“Stella is—”
“I’m not meaning to get involved where I’m not wanted, but sometimes, I mean, you know Richard, he’s not always great at representing his interests.”
“The Richard I know is excellent at representing his interests. He’s a lawyer.”
She giggles—again. “If I’m honest, I don’t like seeing him worried. He’s a good man, you know?”
“Yes.” What else am I supposed to say to that? “Thank you for bringing Stella home.” Ready to end this conversation, I add a pleasant, “Goodnight.” I stay in the doorway—one hand on the frame, Stella already inside.
“Anytime. I just love her.”
Jessica smiles and slowly turns down the brick path, her heels clicking with each step. The sound echoes in the evening air—sharp, deliberate, confident. Her car beeps, lights flash, and a second later the Rivian eases away from the curb.
I close the door and lean against it for a second, palms flat against the cool wood. A child can never have too much love, I remind myself. Gratitude, not irritation. That’s the mantra. Still, the scent of Jessica’s perfume lingers, and it takes a deliberate breath to shake it off.
Upstairs, Stella’s sprawled on her bed, half-listening, half-typing, perfectly unbothered. Her world is intact. Mine feels slightly off-kilter.
“Chicken parm for dinner. You good with that?”
“Sure. That’s fine.” She barely glances up.
“The weekend was good?”
“Yeah.”
“And dinner last night?”
She tilts her head back in what’s the equivalent of a full-body eyeroll. “Mom…it lasted forever. It should’ve been a date night for the two of them. I don’t know why I had to be there.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Some place that takes forever and sets out a dozen silverware options.”
“You knew what to do with each of those forks and knives, right?”
“And the spoons, Mom. Doesn’t mean I liked it.”
“As long as you behaved.”
“I’m just glad I don’t have to go there this coming weekend. And speaking of, you remember I’ve got Madeline’s birthday sleepover this Friday, right?”
“Of course. I haven’t forgotten.”
“We need to buy her a birthday gift.”
“Right. You don’t have play practice Wednesday, right?”
She nods.
“We’ll do it then.” I slip out my phone and make a notation on my calendar. When I look up, Stella’s back to messaging friends on her iPad. “Dinner in twenty.”
I don’t wait for a response. I’ll try and get more out of her later.
When I descend the stairs again, the house smells of simmering tomato sauce and garlic.
I focus on the familiar rhythm—chop, stir, taste—grateful for the mundane.
It’s easier to think about dinner than about the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago, Noah’s hands were on my skin, his mouth everywhere, my name on his lips.
Stella’s tennis shoe is in the middle of a step, and I nearly go down, catching myself on the banister. Right. Boundaries. Stella’s home, and whatever happened yesterday exists in a separate compartment now. I’m excellent at compartmentalizing. Even if my body hasn’t quite gotten the memo yet.
Noah approaches from the front hall, shoulders filling the space, and my body registers his presence before my mind catches up—muscle memory from last night making me hyperaware of how close he’s standing. I force my voice to be steady.
“Hi,” I say. “When did you get back?”
His eyes meet mine briefly, and there’s something there—recognition, heat, careful restraint—before he blinks it away.
Noah followed me to the office this morning, met with Gabriel, and then went on his way to meetings.
“About ten minutes ago. Relieved Gabe. Did a loop around the property.” He studies me briefly, and I wonder if he’s thinking about last night too—wondering how we navigate this now that Stella’s home.
But there’s something else in the way he’s hesitating that sets me on edge.
“Did you know you left your liftgate open?”
“That’s not possible. I didn’t get anything out of it.” The defensiveness in my voice surprises me. “Was anything taken?”
He shakes his head. “Was anything in there?”
I try to remember. “I don’t think so.”
“All I saw was an emergency medical kit tucked to the side. And the bag that came with the car for the chargers.”
That fits. “Maybe someone was checking for packages.” The thought feels flimsy even as I say it. My car’s behind the gate; no one should’ve been close enough to touch it. “You think someone climbed the fence?” I ask quietly.
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ll check the perimeter tapes. Are you in for the night?”
I nod. “Dinner with Stella, then emails. The usual.”
“Set the alarm,” he says, already turning for the stairs.
“Chicken parm if you’re hungry.”
“Already ate.” He glances back once, something unreadable passing across his face. “But thanks.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing into the lower level where the screens flicker blue and the world outside disappears.
The house feels different once he’s out of sight—like the air has thinned. I ladle sauce onto plates, but my thoughts bounce between the car, and Jessica’s easy smile, and the way she’d said they don’t mind keeping Stella.
It takes me until Stella’s in bed, her door cracked open, before I give in and go find Noah.
Downstairs, faint light spills from the security room. Noah’s seated in front of the monitors, sleeves rolled to his forearms, focus absolute.
For a moment I just watch him—the steady precision, the way his shoulders fill the chair, the contrast to the chaos always threatening to seep into my world. My fingers remember the feel of those shoulders. My mouth remembers—
Stop.
I clear my throat. “You find anything?”
He swivels slightly, not startled but aware. His gaze travels over me—quick, assessing—and I wonder if he’s remembering too. If he’s thinking about how different this feels now.
“Not yet. Cameras don’t cover where you parked.”
“That’s…comforting,” I murmur.
He exhales through his nose, a sound that’s half-sigh, half-quiet laugh. “I’ll adjust the angles.”
I cross my arms, mostly to keep from fidgeting. We haven’t talked about yesterday. Haven’t acknowledged it beyond those loaded glances. And with Stella upstairs, this isn’t the time.
“Do you think someone was in the carport?”
“Could’ve been nothing.” His tone is steady, but I hear the could more than the nothing. “Could’ve been curiosity. Or opportunity.”
I nod, pulse ticking faster—though whether from the trunk situation or from standing this close to him, I’m not entirely sure.
“Jessica mentioned earlier that Richard’s worried someone might come after me. I brushed it off.”
Noah looks up then, eyes steady on mine. Something passes between us—concern, yes, but also that same heat from earlier. Banked but present.
“You did the right thing.”
“By brushing it off?”
“By not letting her see it rattled you.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “You think it did?”
“I think you wouldn’t be down here if it didn’t.”
He’s not wrong. But there’s more than one reason I’m down here, and we both know it.
His gaze holds mine a beat longer than necessary, and I feel it everywhere—that pull, that wanting. Then he deliberately turns back to the monitors.
“I’ll keep checking the footage,” he says. Professional. Careful. “You should get some sleep.”
“Yeah.” I don’t move immediately. “Goodnight, Noah.”
“Goodnight, Alicia.”
When I climb the stairs, his calm, unflinching presence follows me—along with the memory of how very different he was last night when that control finally broke.