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  “Sounds great.” She handed the phone back and took a step away. She didn’t trust herself to be too close. If she wasn’t careful, she’d go in for another kiss, the likely outcome be damned. “Hey, listen, you obviously don’t have to come tomorrow. With Uncle Art and Aunt Bessie at the table, plus a few of the others, it won’t be a good time.”

  “I’m sure I’ll need a break from my own family by then.” He slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped closer. She stepped away. “I’ll make sure to be stuffed by the time dessert rolls around.”

  “It won’t matter. You’ll have to eat some. You’ve really backed yourself into a corner on that one.”

  “Ah, but you’ll have to eat it, too. You know, because you guys eat it all the time. That means you must love it.”

  She opened her mouth to retaliate, but he was right. “Crap.” She laughed. “I ensnared myself with my own joke.”

  “Amateur,” he said softly, taking another step closer.

  Her stomach flipped for the millionth time. Her perspiration issue was in full force. She looked up into his eyes, her butt now backed up against the cabinet, nowhere to go. Part of her didn’t want to go anywhere, but the rest of her—the scared part—wanted to be anywhere else. His sweet breath showered her face. Electricity filled the air between their bodies, giving her goosebumps.

  “Yup. That’s how it starts,” Ellen said. Cynthia jumped, startled. Ellen had returned to her former position, standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, glaring at Noah. “I’m married now, with two kids, thanks for asking, Noah. It was really fun catching up. I’m so glad you asked me to, rather than spending all your time with my younger, single sister.”

  “Wow, Ellen. You really know how to welcome in a blast from your past.” Cynthia pushed Noah’s arm to turn him toward the back door. “Real friendly.”

  “If you keep going on like this, you’ll see,” Ellen said. “Then it’ll be me making fun of you.”

  Cynthia opened the door and stepped out, greeted by the chilly air. “Sorry about that,” she said, but Ellen’s words, so similar to her own thoughts, stung. That’s how it starts. The kiss, the leaning, the long looks—apparently it was a seduction technique he had perfected. And she was falling for it hook, line, and sinker, even though she had sworn she wouldn’t.

  What an absolute mess.

  “Do you want to go to the swings again?” Noah asked.

  Cynthia stopped just outside of the door, staring at the rosebushes, thinking about where she was in life. She blew out a breath. She needed to use her head for once. “You know what…I think I might just hang out here, if that’s cool.”

  Surprise flitted across his face. “Cynthia, look, about Ellen—”

  Cynthia held up her hand. “It’s cool. I was around for all that. It’s fine. But I’m exhausted, and I really need to spend some time working on my job situation. You know, the ‘not having one’ part. People might not be hiring now, but I can still do some research. As fun as it is around here, I don’t want to be here forever.” She smiled, trying to ease the sting.

  He nodded slowly, shifting a little on his feet. “Sure. Have a good night, okay? Oh, and…here.” He handed over his phone. “Put your number in there.” When she hesitated, he said, “Your mother said so.”

  “Do you want me to pretend I don’t know the code, or…”

  “I watch porn in a private browser. I’m good. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Yikes. TMI.”

  He laughed. “Kidding.”

  “You’re totally not,” she muttered, having a hot flash. She definitely needed to get back inside. Alone. She tapped in her number, pressed the call button, and then hung up. “I have your number, too, so I’ll text you tomorrow with whatever my mother tells me to send. While she hovers over me to make sure I do it right, of course.”

  “Awesome. I’ll get the text, read it, and then answer, all while enjoying my privacy.”

  “Yup. Great. Rub it in.”

  He laughed, but then his eyes took on a familiar intensity. Her middle turned to mush, and the ache between her thighs begged her to step forward and end the torture.

  “Bye,” she said, turning around quickly and stepping toward the door. Her foot hit a loose rock, the dang decorative ones that Aunt Bessie had kicked up with her wheelchair last night when she’d tried to escape with butter. Cynthia tilted off balance. She had time for a swear word before she fell. Her face smacked into the decorative glass of the door; her shoulder hit the wood of the frame. She started to slide down the surface.

  “Uh oh. I gotcha.” Strong hands grabbed under her pits.

  “No, no, no!” She tried to twist away, realizing that she’d rather fall than bear the embarrassment of revealing her sweating problem to him. He was too strong, though, and he hefted her up.

  Seriously? Who grabbed falling women by their armpits?

  “I’m good,” she said, struggling away. “Sorry…about the…” Oh dear God, it was just getting worse. “So I’ll just…” She turned the door handle, her face burning and her pride long gone. So much for a quick exit. With a final “Thanks, sorry,” she shut the door behind her, breathing heavily.

  “Don’t trust him, Cynthia,” Ellen said.

  Cynthia jumped. The last thing she’d expected was for Ellen to hang around like a poltergeist.

  “Don’t trust him,” her sister said again. “He’s not the type of guy that can be tied down. Do you know how many actual girlfriends he had throughout all of high school?”

  Cynthia exhaled all the breath from her lungs, emotionally exhausted. “No. And I don’t care.”

  “Three. That’s it. The rest of the time he spent playing the field.”

  Cynthia frowned. “Oh. I didn’t think he’d had any.”

  “He practically didn’t. He only had three.”

  “Well…that was one more than me.”

  “That’s different. You couldn’t get a guy. He could get any girl he wanted.”

  “Don’t break it to me gently, Ellen, it’ll be too mushy.” Cynthia slouched as she walked toward the kitchen entrance. “Did he cheat on the girlfriends?”

  A crease formed between Ellen’s over-tweezed brows. “Not like he had the time. He was only with them for a short while. The longest relationship was only a year, and that was in tenth grade.”

  “Number one, any amount of time is long enough to cheat. I’m pretty sure I don’t have to tell you that. And number two, my longest relationship in high school was eight months, and that was in ninth grade. So this chat isn’t exactly stroking my ego.”

  “He screwed around a lot, Cynthia.”

  “So did you, Ellen. So did I, but it was in college when guys stopped laughing at me and trying to throw me in trash cans.”

  “Are you hearing what I’m telling you? He’s a slut. He’s bad news. You need to steer clear.”

  “Awesome. Good pep talk.” Cynthia walked past her sister, strung out and tired of fighting the pull of Noah. Even now, she felt a tug in her middle, urging her to run after him and cling to his side. It wasn’t just the phenomenal kiss. This had started on their other visit to the grocery store, the one where she’d literally run into him. With each moment since, the need to be near him had magnified, and she suspected it would continue to do so.

  “I’m in an awful fix,” she muttered to herself as she walked through the house, heading toward her room.

  “Sometimes—”

  Cynthia jumped for the second time in five minutes, only then seeing Aunt Bessie loitering in the shadow of the stairs.

  “—it is our perceptions that are the problem.”

  Cynthia stared at her aunt, sitting still in a random place in the house, poised to jump-scare anyone passing by.

  It wasn’t just Cynthia’s perception that Aunt Bessie was batshit crazy—that was really happening.

  “Thanks, Aunt Bessie,” Cynthia mumbled, continuing up the stairs.

  “Often, the risk is
worth the reward,” Aunt Bessie called after her. “Wait until tomorrow, then seize the day!”

  Thirteen

  Good morning, Noah sent to Cynthia via text the next day. He looked down at the string of texts from the night before. They’d stayed up late into the night shooting messages back and forth. It had been so innocent, like they were each other’s first middle school crush.

  “Noah,” his mother called up the stairs.

  His phone chimed. I’m tired. Go away, Cynthia texted back.

  Grinning, he sent, What time do you have to go to the store? before opening his door and walking to the upstairs landing.

  “Yeah?” he called down at his mother.

  She looked up at him from the ground floor, her face twisted with anxiety. “Your father wants you to come down. We have a visitor.”

  Noah had gotten another pass last night—his father had spent the evening talking with Greg about his practice. The small lulls in the conversation had quickly been filled in by Tia chatting about golf and sports. The news that they had a visitor, especially one who made his mom look like that, probably meant bad things.

  “I’ll be right down,” he said, turning back into his room to finish getting dressed.

  Another text from Cynthia came in. Don’t know yet. My mom won’t spring it on me until the most inopportune time.

  One more came in as he buttoned up his shirt.

  This neighborhood has a collection of nice cars, but your house is ridiculous. What’s with the Lambo?

  Cold shot through his middle and flash-froze his limbs. His heart started to hammer in his chest.

  He took two fast steps to his bedroom window and looked out. Because of the roof, he could only see part of the car, but he trusted Cynthia. Besides, it made sense—this explained his father’s silence on the career subject the last couple of days.

  Noah was being set up.

  Can you break me out of here??? he texted back. Then, wondering if Cynthia would take it as a joke, added, I’m not kidding. Help!

  He stared at the screen, seeing that she was typing.

  Sweat accumulating on his upper lip, he put on his watch and shoes and hesitated, staring down at the phone clutched tightly in his hand.

  Why? Who is that? Do I need a mask and a machete?

  He smiled despite the situation. My old boss probably already has those things. They were likely gifts from some criminal he kept out of jail.

  Knowing that if he kept his father and Jim waiting, things would only be worse, he headed downstairs like a man walking to a torture chamber. Greg, Tia, and the kids were nowhere in sight. He wouldn’t be able to use them as a distraction.

  “In the den, honey,” his mother said softly as she caught him on her way to the kitchen. “No matter what you decide, I’m proud of you.”

  Noah’s heart sank. He nodded with a tight throat and continued his funeral march.

  Noah’s dad sat in the recliner with a tall glass filled with what looked like a Bloody Mary. Jim sat adjacent on the couch, his gut covering his belt, his slicked-back hair the same dyed brown, and his eyes small and shrewd.

  “Noah,” Jim said as he stood. Even dressed down in slacks and a button-up shirt, Jim had a way about him that screamed, I’m filthy rich and successful, and you don’t matter. “How have the years treated you?”

  Noah took the outstretched hand, the grip firm. “Great. Can’t complain. How are you?”

  “I’m good, good. Real good. The firm is on a roll. High-profile cases and lots of money coming in. You’re missing out.”

  “Jim was just in the neighborhood and thought he’d stop by,” Noah’s dad said with a hard gaze. “Sit.”

  “That’s great,” Noah said to Jim, taking the recliner across from his father’s. At least it put a coffee table between them.

  “Noah, would you like a Bloody Mary or something to drink?” his mom asked from the doorway.

  A glance at his watch said it was only eight in the morning. “No thanks, Mom.”

  “Have something. Get him a Bloody Mary,” Noah’s dad said, gesturing her out of the den.

  “Mom, I’m fine,” Noah said with an edge to his voice. He was old enough not to get pushed around by the two men sitting in this room.

  “So what are you up to these days, Noah?” Jim asked as Alice left the room, ignoring the awkward moment.

  “He’s a male model,” Noah’s dad said, the disapproval plain. “He poses for book covers, of all things.”

  Surprise lit Jim’s expression. “Is that right? A male model. Huh. Are you able to support yourself on that, Noah?”

  Noah shifted in his seat, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. He knew better than to take it out and look at it. He’d be at war with his father if he did that. “I’m a fitness model with a sponsorship, and do quite well, actually.”

  Jim’s brow furrowed, a look he always made right before delivering a polarizing argument. “Modeling only lasts as long as youth, and for you, that isn’t much longer. How will you possibly support yourself after that career comes to its natural conclusion?”

  “That’s what I keep telling him,” Noah’s dad said, leaning forward. “He’s not thinking about the long term. He’s sitting on a high-dollar education, and yet he’s pissing his life away running around half-naked. That’s no future.”

  Silence fell, Noah refusing to enter the debate. Not only did he know he’d never win with the two of them ganging up on him, but he didn’t want to accidentally say something to hint at how he’d earned the majority of his money. There were worse things than being a fitness model, and in his father’s eyes, being a prostitute was probably rock bottom.

  Jim studied Noah, those dark eyes calculating. “And when the modeling jobs do stop, what then?”

  Noah shrugged. “I haven’t sworn off law—I’m just not sure which branch I’d like to go into. I’d prefer to put guilty men in jail, not keep them out.”

  “When you have a family to support, you choose the one that pays,” his dad said with a hard voice. “You choose the one that will set you up for a future.”

  Noah took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. He knew his dad pushed so hard because he cared. Because he worried for both of his kids’ futures. He’d said that before. Noah could understand—after all, his dad was getting up there in years. His days of being able to provide were drawing to a close. But while it came from a place of goodness, it was obtuse at best.

  “Your father is right,” Jim said with a silky voice. A sly grin lit up his face. “But we don’t need to convince you of that, do we? That’s your Range Rover out there, is it not? And that’s a Breitling watch on your wrist. Your clothes sell an image, Noah. Just like mine do. It’s an image of monetary success. You like the finer things in life, like we all do. And you have the means to get them. Right now, you can do that by modeling, sure. You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’re making that angle work for you. But when the money dries up, you’ll need to devote your gifts to more sustainable pursuits, and your father is right—you’ll want to look for something that can support your lifestyle. When that time comes, I hope you’ll knock on my door, Noah.”

  “He will,” Noah’s dad said with a stubborn set to his jaw.

  “Hey.” Cynthia’s light, musical voice cracked open the pressurized atmosphere in the den.

  Noah sucked in a sweet breath as he turned her way. She wore a flowing white dress, accenting her breasts and hugging her curves before cascading down around her legs. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and down to her middle in a tame, natural wave. A light dusting of makeup enhanced her luminous eyes and high cheekbones, set off by the deep red lipstick on her full lips. She couldn’t have looked more beautiful, and it wasn’t because of the hot outfit. Her aura was haughty, self-important, and, above all, confident. The attitude she projected implied she was the best, or maybe smartest, in the room.

  It was absolutely perfect for the situation. He had no idea how she’d known it woul
d be.

  She sauntered forward, and her dress swirled around her legs like a live thing. “Hi, Dan, Noah.” Her gaze touched on Jim but slid away just as quickly, her expression unconcerned. The woman could sell you don’t matter better than anyone Noah had ever seen. Jim would hate it. “Sorry to intrude, but Noah mentioned I should stop by this morning so I could borrow his…Fitbit. I’m in the market and wanted to check it out.”

  “Yes, of course.” Noah stood, as did Jim.

  “Noah, you didn’t introduce your pretty guest.” Jim’s smile was sleazy as his gaze raked over Cynthia’s body.

  Something primal awoke in Noah’s middle. Rage welled up, his need to protect Cynthia from Jim’s roaming eyes taking over his being.

  He took two easy steps to her side before reaching his arm around her middle and pulling her in close. “This is Cynthia Bell. She’s visiting her parents for Thanksgiving. Cynthia, this is Jim, a partner at Golding, Hill, and Crest. A law firm based primarily out of San Francisco.”

  “We’re nationwide,” Jim said, stepping forward to shake her hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”

  She barely touched her fingers to his before pulling her hand away daintily. “It doesn’t ring a bell… But I rarely pay attention to those matters.” Cynthia’s mouth twitched, as though she was trying to smile for the sake of politeness but just couldn’t bring herself to do it for someone so unimportant.

  “Hurry back, Noah,” his dad said.

  “Nonsense, Dan. Can’t you see he’s busy?” Jim stayed standing, that shrewd gaze following Noah out of the room. “Just remember, Noah.” Noah slowed and looked back. “All men are innocent until proven guilty. The court decides, not us. As long as we provide the best possible defense for our clients, our consciences are clear. Remember that when Cynthia wants an extravagant wedding and a house overlooking the bay. I can help you provide that kind of life.”

  Noah guided her out of the room and to the stairs, cold tremors running through his body.