Chapter 21
Rika
Some days like today, I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting on the worn post, and just watch.
The kitchen is alive with motion and sound.
Noah is at the stove, his broad shoulders moving with confidence as he flips eggs in the pan.
Zoe is slumped at the table, scrolling through her phone with one hand while shoving a piece of toast into her mouth with the other.
Matthew is bouncing in his chair, chattering nonstop about this new robot TV show while Mr. Gears sits propped against him on the chair.
Morning sunlight slants through the window above the sink, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The coffee maker gurgles its final notes. The scent of butter and eggs and fresh toast fills the air.
This is perfect. More than perfect. This is mine. My family. My happiness.
And it feels whole.
Noah glances up, catching me watching, and his hazel eyes warm with appreciation as he takes in my outfit. Just looking at him makes my stomach flip even after four months of waking up beside him.
I have a confession to make. I didn't make him wait to move in with me. How could I? After that morning in the driveway of his grandfather's house, I swore to myself that I wouldn't let him sleep another day out of my bed.
And I didn't. I have no regrets either.
This morning, he's wearing dark jeans and a charcoal sports jacket over a crisp white shirt, and he looks unfairly handsome in that effortless way that should be illegal before eight a.m.
"Morning, beautiful," he says.
Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I'm grateful Zoe is too absorbed in her phone to notice. I cross to the coffee maker and pour myself a mug, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic.
"Morning." I lean against the counter, taking him in properly now. There's a nervous energy radiating off him. His movements are just a touch too quick, his smile just a bit too bright. "You okay?"
"Fine." He plates eggs with practiced ease and slides them in front of the kids. "Just, you know. First-day jitters."
My heart squeezes. Right. Today is Noah's first day teaching at Saltford Bay Middle School.
"You'll nail it. The kids will love you."
"At least I know this kiddo loves me and my lame jokes, right, buddy?"
I watch as he ruffles Matthew's green hair in passing, the gesture so natural and unconscious it makes my throat tight in the best possible way.
"Robots are definitely cooler than dinosaurs," Matthew announces, continuing a conversation I apparently missed the beginning of. "Because robots can have lasers AND jetpacks. Dinosaurs just have teeth."
"Counterpoint," Noah says, pointing his spatula for emphasis. "T. rex. Lots of teeth."
Matthew considers this seriously. "Okay, but what if the robot was shaped like a T. rex and also had lasers?"
"Now you're thinking like an engineer. I love it."
Zoe doesn't look up from her phone, but I see the corner of her mouth twitch. She's listening, even if she's pretending not to.
I take a long sip of coffee and let the warmth spread through me as I watch them.
Noah catches my eye over Matthew's head and grins, and I know he's reading every thought crossing my face. He always can.
"What?" I ask, feigning innocence.
"Nothing." His grin widens. "You just look happy."
"I am happy," I say simply.
Noah turns to Zoe, who's now scrolling through what appears to be her class schedule on her phone. "Hey, Zo. Want to ride to school with me this morning? First day for both of us. Could be fun."
Zoe's head snaps up so fast I'm surprised she doesn't give herself whiplash.
Her expression shifts from neutral to horrified in a heartbeat. She stares at Noah like he's just suggested they show up to school in matching outfits.
"Absolutely not," she says flatly. "I am not advertising to the entire school that the new English teacher is my stepdad. I will literally die of embarrassment."
I can't help it. I laugh. The sound bursts out of me, bright and surprised, and I have to set my coffee mug down before I spill it.
Noah tries to look wounded, pressing one hand to his chest in mock offense.
"Embarrassed of me?"
Zoe rolls her eyes so hard I worry they might actually get stuck.
"You don't get it. Middle school is a jungle. I can't show any weaknesses."
Then she turns to me, her expression shifting to pleading. "Mom. Please tell me you're driving us."
I hold up my hands in surrender, still smiling. "I've got it. Don't worry."
Zoe exhales in visible relief. "Thank you."
Matthew, oblivious to the teenage drama unfolding around him, grins up at Noah with pure, uncomplicated affection.
"I think it's cool you're gonna be a teacher when I get to middle school, Noah. I won't be embarrassed if you drive me, I promise."
Noah's face splits into a wide grin. "Thanks, buddy. That means a lot."
Matthew beams.
"Alright, troops," I say, clapping my hands together. "Finish up. We leave in ten minutes."
Zoe and Matthew grumble in unison but obey, shoveling eggs into their mouths with the single-minded focus of children who know better than to test me on school-morning deadlines.
They thunder upstairs to grab their backpacks, their footsteps shaking the ceiling overhead.
The kitchen goes quiet.
Suddenly, it's just Noah and me, standing in the warm morning light, the coffee maker humming softly in the background.
Noah steps closer, his expression shifting from playful to serious. "Hey. Have you heard anything from Mitchell about Thanksgiving break yet? It's been at least a month and a half since he took the kids."
I sigh, setting my mug down on the counter. "I texted him twice last week. No response."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing." I cross my arms, annoyance shooting through my body. "I haven't heard from him at all since Jasmine left him for that private equity guy. He's gone completely radio silent. Even with the kids."
Noah's jaw tightens, and I can see the frustration and disbelief written all over his face. His hands curl into fists at his sides, then deliberately relax.
"I will never understand how he can just not show up for them," he says quietly. "They're incredible kids. How does he not see that?"
My throat tightens. I reach up and cup his face, my thumb brushing over the clean, freshly shaved skin of his jaw.
"I know. But that's his loss. The kids are okay. Better than okay. They're happy."
My voice catches slightly on the last word, and Noah's expression softens. He covers my hand with his, holding it against his cheek.
"I'll try reaching out to him again," I continue. "But honestly? If he doesn't want to be part of their lives, I'm not going to beg him anymore. They deserve better than a father who only shows up when it's convenient."
"They do," Noah says quietly. "And so do you."
The words settle over me, warm and solid and real.
I used to think I didn't deserve better. That maybe Mitchell was right, that I was too cold, too difficult, too much work.
But standing here in my kitchen with Noah looking at me like I'm something precious, I'm starting to believe otherwise.
I lift myself on the tips of my toes and kiss him.
It starts soft and sweet, just a press of lips. But then Noah's hands settle on my waist, pulling me flush against him, and the kiss deepens.
His mouth is warm and familiar, tasting faintly of coffee. One of his hands slides up my back, his fingers threading through my hair, and I make a soft sound against his mouth that I'd be embarrassed about if I had any capacity for rational thought right now.
I thread my fingers through his hair, loving the way it's still slightly damp from his shower, the way he groans low in his throat when I tug gently at the strands.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing harder. Noah rests his forehead against mine, his eyes dark and heated.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Rika Everdeen?" he murmurs. "Because I have to warn you, you're playing with fire."
I laugh softly, my hands sliding down to rest against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat beneath my palms, strong and steady.
"Such a bad boy," I tease, then my eyes land on a white envelope on the kitchen counter and my chest squeezes. "You're not going to have any regrets about selling your gramps' house?"
The offer was accepted two weeks ago, and I know it's been bittersweet for him. Noah's expression softens, and he pulls me close again, burying his face in my hair.
"I don't regret a damn thing," he says right against my ear. "My only regret is that we have to go to work instead of going back upstairs."
Heat floods my cheeks, and I laugh, swatting his chest lightly. "Behave."
"I'm serious." He grins, that playful light returning to his eyes. "We could call in sick. Spend the day in bed."
"You are not calling in sick on your first day of teaching," I say firmly, but I'm smiling.
Noah sighs dramatically. "Fine. Tonight."
"Tonight," I agree.
He kisses me again, quick and possessive, and I feel the promise in it.
Noah pulls back, studying my face, and his grin fades into something quieter. More tender.
"You're smiling," he says.
"I smile all the time," I protest.
"Yeah, you do." He tucks a strand of pale-blue hair behind my ear, his touch gentle.
For years, I convinced myself that happiness was something other people got to have. That I'd used up my quota when I was seventeen and stupid and thought Mitchell Lark was my only choice.
But standing here in my kitchen with Noah looking at me like I'm his entire world, I'm starting to believe I was wrong.
Maybe happiness isn't something you earn or deserve.
Maybe it's something you choose.
Every day. Over and over again.