Chapter 4 Noah
NOAH
Helping with wedding prep wasn’t exactly in my wheelhouse, but here I was, hauling boxes, setting up chairs, and trying hard not to get in anyone’s way.
Elia wasn’t much better. We both stared at lists and instructions as if they were written in some ancient code, leaning entirely on Claire to keep us in line.
Lucky for him, I’d banned him from anything physical, which meant he got the out-in-the-world jobs like talking to people, making calls, and handling logistics.
Besides, he knew this town inside and out, and let’s be real, no one was handing the important tasks to the new guy just yet.
“Noah, could you take Dylan for a bit?” Claire called out, her tablet in one hand, a bouquet in the other, and Dylan strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. As usual, Bobo the husky stuck close to her side.
“Of course,” I said, stepping in. I unbuckled the straps from Claire’s shoulders while she leaned forward slightly to help.
“Oah!” the kid announced in his signature greeting.
“Good to see you too, buddy,” I murmured as I slipped the carrier on.
Claire smirked. “Oh, and while you’re being helpful…mind hauling these boxes to the tent?”
I followed her gaze to the ever-growing lineup of tents and marquees. It seemed like a new one popped up every day, spreading across the property like a rabbit colony.
“This stack goes to that tent,” she pointed.
I squinted. “That one?”
She nodded. “That one.”
“Got it.”
Claire leaned down and kissed Dylan’s forehead. “Be good, okay? Mommy won’t be long.” Then she called over her shoulder, “Come on, Bo!” and the husky trotted after her, likely off to run through their usual routine—her way of easing Bobo’s separation anxiety—before stepping out.
Dylan babbled something important-sounding. Probably instructions on how I should carry the boxes.
The scent of something floral carried over the breeze—Claire’s magic touch as the place got dressed up for pre-wedding photos. It settled something in my chest. Not enough to fix what was broken, but enough to make me breathe easier.
“Right, Dylan?”
I adjusted my grip on the stack of boxes, shifting the weight. He let out a tiny coo.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Dylan waved his arms while babbling bossily.
“Alright, let’s get this thing inside the tent.”
I whistled as I walked, letting the quiet stretch, soaking it in.
This was better than a high-rise office and a job that never let me breathe.
I made it to the tent Claire had sent me to and shoved the flap open with my shoulder.
A loud, pissed-off scream tore out, aimed straight at me.
The top box wobbled, tipped, and hit the ground with a spectacular crash.
“What the fuck?” The voice, sharp and furious, belonged to a woman.
A woman who was mid-changing in front of a mirror.
Shit.
Her arms shot up, her hands flying to cover very bare skin as she bolted behind a standing mirror.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
It was her.
The bride-to-be.
“Sorry!” I threw my hands up, including the ones still holding boxes, which did exactly zero good. “Sorry! Sorry! Wrong tent!”
I slammed my eyes shut and spun around. Behind me, a storm unleashed.
“What made you think walking into a bridal changing room was a good idea?”
I winced. “Didn’t exactly think, ma’am. Just following orders.”
Dylan, the little traitor, picked that exact moment to squeal my name, “Oah!” Followed by something that might’ve been truck, puck, or whatever toddler-friendly curse he was going for.
Goddamn it, Dylan.
“Not helping, buddy,” I muttered under my breath.
The woman behind the mirror scoffed. “If you value your face, you’ll back out now.”
“I’m sorry! I’m going!” I fumbled for the exit, nearly taking down the entire tent in my haste.
My heart was hammering like it was trying to punch its way out, my brain replaying exactly what I’d just seen.
It was her. And she was gorgeous.
Like, drop-dead, jaw-on-the-floor, make-a-man-stupid gorgeous.
Gone was the cowgirl attire. In its place? A blue dress—half on, half off. Whether she was trying to put it on or rip it off was anyone’s guess.
Not that it mattered to my poor heart.
Because yeah, I backed out fast enough to save my face. But not fast enough to erase what I’d seen.
But one thing stuck with me. A blue dress. An interesting choice for a bride, but hey, modern weddings were full of surprises.
I dragged a hand down my face, still standing there like an idiot, while slowly, my pulse returned to something resembling normal. I was one step away from escaping this disaster when—
Her voice stopped me cold.
“Wait!”
I turned back, fighting the urge to cut and run. “Ma’am?” I spoke into the closed flap.
“I need help!”
I hesitated. “Of course.”
“Is Claire there?”
“Ah…no, ma’am. She just left.”
“Any other woman?”
“Unfortunately not.”
Silence. Then, a long-suffering sigh.
“Well…actually, could you help me?”
It took me a second to process. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”
“Are you Elia?”
“No. I’m his brother.”
A pause. Then, suspicion sharpened her voice. “I thought he didn’t have a brother!” Like she was grilling me in an interrogation room before deciding whether I was trustworthy.
“Well, he does,” I said, suppressing a laugh. “Name’s Noah. Noah Lucas.”
Another pause. Then—
“All right, Noah Lucas. Get in here and help me.”
I tentatively pushed the flap open again, stepping inside as if I were entering a crime scene.
“I’m covered up,” she said, still hiding behind the mirror. “You can open your eyes. I promise you won’t need therapy after.”
I managed to giggle at the comment, silently. I’d already seen way too much, but for Dylan’s sake, at least I wasn’t about to get a second helping.
“Okay,” I said, stepping closer.
Dylan chose that moment to babble excitedly. He so knew something was up.
“Shh, calm down, buddy,” I muttered, bouncing him slightly.
I peeked around the standing mirror.
She’d wrapped a scarf around herself, covering just enough to be decent. But my eyes still caught on her defined, bare shoulders.
Then she turned, gathering her hair with both hands. I’d noticed it the first time I saw her. It was dark enough to pass for black, but up close, the strands shimmered midnight espresso, rich and glossy against the pale sweep of her back.
“The zipper’s stuck,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I didn’t want to force it and risk ruining the dress.”
Then she glanced over her shoulder, meeting my gaze.
“Could you?” she asked.
My neck locked up.
She smelled clean and fresh. It’s not perfume and not lotion, just something naturally intoxicating that sent a warning straight to my brain.
I cleared my throat while adjusting Dylan in the carrier. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it,” I replied. I just had to remember how to breathe while I did.
I inched closer. One wrong move might send me straight to hell.
The dress was a masterpiece of silk, hugging her body like it had been poured on. She’d managed to get the halter neck over her head. I knew it was a halter because one of my exes had owned a thousand of these things. The bodice twisted to her left, and the zipper was stuck halfway.
And now my hands were supposed to touch it. Touch her.
Get it together, Lucas.
Leaning in, I studied the zipper close enough to see the problem, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.
“There’s a thread caught behind the zipper head,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
“Figured as much.”
“Stay still.”
I slid my fingers to the tiny snag, carefully working the thread free. The silk shifted beneath my fingers, rising and falling with her breath.
Dylan babbled again, cheering me on.
She laughed. “That baby is so cute. How old is he?”
“Um…” My mind drew a blank. “Just over a year. I think.”
“Oh geez! Mommy won’t be too happy that Daddy doesn’t know.”
I huffed. “Ah, no. He’s Elia’s son.”
“Oh, I see. On babysitting duty?”
“Something like that.”
My fingers brushed against another snag.
I winced. “Sorry. A strand of your hair is stuck too. Apologies in advance if this hurts.”
Even with her hands holding it up, the ends still tumbled down in waves.
Holy hell…
The things I imagined doing with that hair…yeah, there was no redemption for me.
“Do what you have to do,” she said.
Carefully, I freed the strand, unwinding it from the zipper’s tiny teeth. Every second dragged out, and the space between us felt way too tight.
Then, finally, the zipper gave way.
“There we go,” I said, stepping back so fast that you’d think she was armed.
“Thank you.” She stayed still, her back to me, the dress loosening down her waist.
I spun on my heel. Fast.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, clumsy as hell, as I strode toward the exit. “Congratulations, by the way.”
She laughed loudly.
What was so funny?
“It’s not my goddamn wedding. Thank God!” she said, still laughing.
I exhaled.
So she wasn’t the bride.
It didn’t make a difference to my nerves. If anything, this was worse. A real test of self-control. A man had thoughts. Standing here, staring at temptation in real time? Well. God help me.
I barely made it to the tent flap before I threw out a warning: “Be careful. There’s a box of broken plates near the entrance. I’ll come back for it when you’re done.”
She let out a laugh. “Sure.”
I pushed through the flap, stepping into the cool air and dragging in a much-needed breath.
What. The. Hell. Was. That?
I walked toward the next tent like a man who had just seen things.
Which I had.
Dylan kept chirping as if he were coaching me for next time, while I tried to remember how to act like a functioning adult.
A couple of guys assembling tables looked up as I approached. One of them jerked a thumb toward a corner. “Dinnerware goes there.”
“Got it.”
I set the stack down carefully, willing my hands to stop feeling weird. The broken ones could wait. I’d let Claire and Elia know, and hopefully, it wouldn’t turn into a whole thing.
I’d left the city life behind, thinking I’d spend my days ranching, breathing fresh air, and being a solid uncle.
Instead, I was breaking dishes, walking into half-naked women, and fumbling over a zipper like it was a goddamn bomb wire.
Just a little off track.
But hell, if I’d once survived live-tweeting a billionaire’s dog’s birthday party, complete with a personal sushi chef and a security detail for a poodle—
Then yeah, I could get through this.
“Hey, wanna help your uncle out?” I asked Dylan.
His grin said he was in.
I snapped a wefie.
Having this pint-sized outlaw on my lock screen would keep my priorities straight. Though the wedding tent in the background would make sure I never forgot what today was really about.
I glanced down at Dylan. “Well, buddy…looks like we’re still losing this one.”