Filed to story: The Things We Leave Unfinished Novel Free
I flinched. It wasn’t, though.
“Give it back!” Oliver wailed.
“It’s mine!” Danielle shrieked.
Both Hazel and I spun, but Danielle raced right past us, Oliver on her heels.
“For fuck’s sake,” Hazel muttered to the heavens, already moving.
“You cannot leave your door-oomph!” Noah’s voice bellowed from the entry.
Before we could make it out of the kitchen, Noah was already rounding the corner, a giggling kid under each arm. I didn’t notice the sheer size of those biceps. Nope. I didn’t. I also didn’t pay attention to the curve of his mouth or the straight-up sex appeal in his smile. It was inhuman to look that good this early in the morning.
“See what happens when you leave your door unlocked?” he asked, bouncing the kids slightly. “All sorts of wild creatures get in.”
Dani roared, which only made Noah smile wider.
No. No. No. No melting, no sighing, nothing. Nada.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be nice to strangers,” I groaned.
“Isn’t he your friend, Aunt Georgia?” Oliver argued.
Lord save me from small towns. The kids hadn’t ever met a stranger.
“Yeah, Aunt Georgia, are you saying we’re not friends?” Noah challenged with mockingly wide eyes. I rolled mine as he set the kids on their feet and offered his hand out to Hazel. “Hi. Noah Morelli. I’m guessing the cute kids are yours.” He laid the charm on thick, and it worked, given Hazel’s grin.
He gave her his real name.
“Hi, Noah. I’m Hazel, Georgia’s best friend.” She shook his hand and let go. “You’re good with kids.” Her eyebrows lifted.
“Only thanks to my sister. Best friend, huh?” He shot me a devious smile. “The one with the articles?”
Kill me right now.
“Guilty.” Her grin only widened.
“So, can you give me tips on getting a word in edgewise with that one?” He motioned toward me.
“Oh sure! You just have to let her-” She caught my glare and straightened her spine. “Sorry, no-points Noah, I’m team Georgia. Kids, we have to go right now.” Sorry, she mouthed at me as she hurried to the kids in the breakfast room.
“Don’t worry about the mess,” I said over my shoulder. She had enough on her plate without picking up my house. It wasn’t like I had much else to do today, and she needed the break. “Besides, don’t you have to open the center?”
“I hate to- Oh my God, I’m going to be so late!” She scooped a kid into each arm, then nearly skidded by, stopping to kiss my cheek. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Have a good day at work, dear,” I sang, dropping a banana in her oversize purse.
“It was nice to meet you, Noah!” she yelled back as she raced out the door.
“You too!”
The door shut with an audible wham.
“A banana?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“She always remembers to feed her kids breakfast, but she gets too busy to eat for herself,” I answered with a shrug as my phone buzzed.
Hazel: He gets about a dozen points for that maneuver with the kids.
“Traitor,” I muttered, sticking my phone in my back pocket without responding.
“So,” Noah said, tucking his hands into his front pockets.
“So,” I responded. “I’ve never scheduled a fight before.” The air between us could have crackled with all the anticipatory electricity flying about.
“Is that what you’d call this?” He smirked.
“What would you call it?” I put the coffee mugs in the dishwasher.
He gave it a moment’s thought. “A premeditated walk for the purpose of discovering a mutually beneficial path so we might navigate our personal and professional differences to attain a singular goal,” he mused. “If I had to call it something off the cuff.”
“Writers,” I muttered. “Then let’s walk ourselves back to the office.”
His eyes flared with delight. “I have a better idea. Let’s walk along the creek.”
I arched an eyebrow at him.
He put his hands up. “No climbing. I’m talking about the creek in your backyard-the one in the letters, right? I think better on my feet. Plus it takes breakable objects out of the equation if you want to throw something at me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll get my shoes.”
By the time I got back to the kitchen, now wearing hiking boots and a much more sensible T-shirt, he’d cleaned up the mess Hazel’s kids had left, and even I had to reluctantly admit he was scoring points.
Broody writer? Check.
Hot as hell? Check.
Good with kids? Double check.
My chest went all tight on me. This was so not good.
“You didn’t have to, but thank you,” I told him as we headed out the kitchen door and onto the patio.