Chapter 10
Noah
I stand in front of Rika's door, suddenly very aware of my hands and my posture. My palms are sweating, my heart hammering like I'm sixteen and picking up my prom date.
Ridiculous. This isn't a date. Rika made that crystal clear last night when she asked me.
This is just two adults going out as friends. Platonically.
Right.
I stare at the door for a second too long, then lift my hand and knock. A moment later, the door swings open.
And I forget how to breathe.
Rika stands in the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of her entryway, and she's stunning.
She's wearing a deep-blue wrap dress that clings to every curve I've been trying very hard not to think about all week.
The neckline dips in a V that shows just enough cleavage to make my mouth go dry and my brain stop functioning at full capacity.
Her pale-blue hair is loose, tumbling over her shoulders in soft waves that catch the light.
A delicate shawl in a lighter shade of blue drapes over her arms, and her wings, those gorgeous, shimmering wings, flutter slightly behind her.
She looks nervous too. Her cheeks are flushed, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her shawl. Adorable and sexy, all rolled into one.
"Hi," she says, her voice a little breathless.
"Hi." I manage to get the word out, though my brain is still trying to process the vision in front of me. "You look… wow."
Her cheeks flush deeper, and she smiles, a real, genuine smile that lights up her entire face. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."
I glance down at my dark jeans and button-down shirt, suddenly self-conscious. "Thanks. I wasn't sure what the dress code was for a not-date."
Rika laughs, and the sound does dangerous things to my insides. "You're perfect."
The word hangs in the air between us for a beat too long, and she clears her throat.
"I mean," she adds quickly, "your outfit is perfect. For dinner. At the Gnome."
"Right." I grin, unable to help myself. "You just can't admit how dazzling I am."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she grabs her purse from the entry table. "Let's go before I turn into a gremlin. I'm famished."
"A gremlin?" I step back like I'm making room for something sharp-toothed. "Do I need to bring snacks? Or holy water?"
"Snacks," she says promptly. "Definitely snacks."
I offer her my arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she takes it. The warmth of her hand on my forearm sends electricity shooting through my nervous system.
We walk to my SUV in comfortable silence, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on my arms. When I open the passenger door for her, she pauses, looking up at me with those clear, bright-blue eyes.
"Thank you," she says softly. "It's nice going out. I've been going crazy with the house all to myself."
"It's my pleasure," I say honestly. "I'm glad you asked."
Her smile turns shy, and something in my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger churns. The drive to the Wandering Gnome is filled with easy conversation. Rika tells me about a difficult client meeting, and I tell her about the latest incident at the mommy-and-me yoga class.
"Please tell me there was glitter," she says, eyes bright.
"There was." I keep my hands on the wheel like I'm not reliving the trauma. "There was also a toddler who tried to bite my shoe like it owed him money."
Rika laughs, delighted. "So you're saying you survived."
"Barely," I say. "I had to offer him a cookie for him to stop."
"If you die in the line of duty, I'll make sure there's a plaque," she says solemnly. "Here lies Noah Mercer. He died as he lived: covered in glitter and cookie crumbs."
I chuckle and wipe an invisible crumb from my lap. "That's disturbingly accurate."
"Stop," she says, still laughing. "You're going to make me snort."
"That's what I'm here for," I say before I can stop myself.
By the time we pull into the restaurant's parking lot, the nervous energy has settled into something warmer. More comfortable.
The Wandering Gnome is packed, like every Saturday night, filled with the warm buzz of conversation and clinking glasses.
Candles flicker in amber glass holders, casting dancing shadows across the exposed wooden beams overhead.
The scent of roasted garlic and fresh bread mingles with the mulled cider Mathilda, the gnome proprietor, is famous for.
We're sitting across from each other in a cozy corner booth, and I'm trying not to stare at Rika across the table, but it's a losing battle.
She looks absolutely devastating. Her wings are relaxed, shimmering faintly behind her, and when she laughs at something I just said, her whole face lights up in a way that makes my chest feel too tight.
I'm so screwed.
I'm trying very hard to focus on my braised short ribs instead of the way the candlelight catches in her hair. I'm failing spectacularly.
Rika takes a sip of wine, her eyes sparkling with amusement as I tell her about my tea party tradition with the Jarvis children.
"So you really wore a tutu and a feather boa?" she asks.
"And a tiara," I confirm solemnly. "The whole ensemble."
"I need you to know," she says, leaning in a little, "that this information makes you at least thirty percent more dangerous."
"Dangerous?" I arch a brow. "I thought it made me wholesome."
"Oh, it's wholesome," she says. "That's why it's dangerous."
My throat goes tight in a way that has nothing to do with wine or candlelight.
She tips her head. "So, were you born in Saltford Bay?"
Rika rests her forearms on the edge of the table, eyes on me. She's genuinely curious and I try not to bask in her attention.
I fail.
"No," I say. "I came here to live with my Gramps when my parents passed. I was seven. Car accident."
Her fingers curl around the stem of her wineglass, but she doesn't lift it.
"Oh, Noah." Her voice softens. "I'm so sorry."
"It was hard," I admit, and my mouth feels too dry all at once. "But Gramps brought me here and made it his life's mission to raise me. He made sure I always felt loved and wanted."
Rika's gaze holds mine, steady and intent. "He sounds like an incredible man."
"He was." I manage a small smile. "He showed me that a man can and should be caring. I never got the sense that it wasn’t a man’s job to run around after-school activities or cook or clean. He did it all in his manly, growly way."
Rika's expression softens with understanding. "That's a beautiful way to remember him."
"He did a good job with me," I say. "At least, I like to think so."
Heat spreads through my chest, sharp and unexpected. As she takes a sip of wine, I can't help but watch the way her lips close around the rim.
"You're amazing with the kids," she adds, like she's trying to make my heart stutter. "The way Matthew relaxes around you? The way Zoe actually listens when you don't even raise your voice?" She gives a little shake of her head. "He would have been proud of you."
"He never expected me to be a nanny," I say, chuckling. "He was the man with a plan, and I didn't exactly follow the plan. But he was always supportive."
Her brows lift. "So why didn't you?"
I blink. "Why didn't I—"
"Follow your plan," she clarifies, leaning in just a little bit more, her wings giving the faintest flutter behind her. "To become a teacher."
I shrug, because it's easier than admitting how much this question still stings. Gramps asked it every chance he got, too.
"After graduation, a friend's sister needed emergency childcare," I say. "Like, right now or she'd lose her job. I took it on a temporary basis. Then when she got back on her feet, I was offered another position." I glance down at the table. "And then another."
Rika's expression doesn't go pity-soft. It turns thoughtful. Like she's piecing me together.
"I loved it," I quickly add. "I still do. I'm good at it, but it’s always temporary." My fingers tighten on my water glass. "I kept telling myself I'd go back to teaching eventually, and then eight years passed."
"Because you were needed," she says.
"Yeah." The word comes out quiet. Honest. "And because it was easier to be needed than to figure out what I want."
Rika's eyes soften at the edges. "So what do you want now?"
I draw in a breath. The answer is clearer than it's ever been.
"That teaching position at the middle school…" I say. "I want it. I'm ready for it."
Her face brightens in a way that feels like a hand on my back.
"I really hope you get it," she says. "Even though it means I'll have to find another nanny next fall if you do."
"Maybe not," I say, and I hear the edge of something warmer in my own voice. "We could work around my schedule. It's not like I'm going to drop off the face of the Earth."
Her mouth quirks. "So you're saying I can't get rid of you that easily."
I smile. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
And the truth under it is immediate and startling: I don't even want to think about leaving Rika and the kids. I know it's ridiculous. But the idea of walking away makes me feel unsteady. A little sick.
Like I belong with them. As crazy as it sounds.
The server chooses that exact moment to appear with our desserts. Plates land on the table. The spell cracks.
I tell myself to focus on the food.
I fail within thirty seconds.
Because when I offer her a bite of my chocolate lava cake, she doesn't take it politely with her fork. She leans in and closes her lips around my spoon like it's the most natural thing in the world.
My entire body lights up.
Her eyes flutter shut as she tastes it, and a soft, satisfied sound escapes her throat. It’s quiet, barely audible over the restaurant noise, but I hear it like a gunshot.
My cock goes hard instantly.
Jesus Christ.
I take a long drink of water and pretend it's because I'm thirsty, not because I need something cold to keep me from doing something stupid in the middle of the Wandering Gnome.
When the server brings the check, I snag it before she can.
"I've got it," I say.