Page 17 of When Love And Destiny Collide

"Hi, I'm Davey. Do you want to play?"

It takes them no more than five seconds to warm up to each other. We watch them eagerly head off to explore the treehouse together. I wish meeting new people could be as effortless for adults as it is for kids.

Cara and I sit on the bench chatting while Patrick and Noah dive into an animated discussion about the intricacies of treehouse construction.

I let my gaze linger on Noah, admiring his good looks. He's tall and strong, his biceps flexing under the sleeves of his T-shirt. His jeans hug his hips in all the right—. Wait, what am I thinking? I quickly look away, taking a deep breath, sensing the blush creeping up my cheeks.

"You like him," Cara says matter-of-factly.

I turn to Cara, who has just caught me totally checking out my annoyingly handsome landlord.

"No!" I protest defensively. "Me? No!"

"I know that look," she says with a sly smile.

"What look?" I ask unconvincingly.

"You have the same look Sharon had thirty-plus years ago when she and Jon fell in love."

"Fell in love? Wait a minute. I literally just met him."

"That doesn't matter," she replies with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "He's a bit older than you and has a son. Are you sure you're ready to take that on?"

I'm speechless. I don't even know how to respond.

"He's my landlord," I finally say. "That's it, so please don't repeat what you just said. Especially not to Sharon."

"If you want people to believe that," she counters, "you might want to stop looking at him that way."

"Looking at him, how?" I ask, feeling chastised.

"The same way he's looking at you."

***

Cara's words weigh heavily on my mind as I get ready for bed. After she and Patrick left, I felt something had shifted between Noah and me. There's a new tension I can't quite place, and it unnerves me.

The knock on my door startles me. The clock reads ten-thirty. I take a peek out the window before opening the door.

"Hi," I say, greeting my ruggedly attractive neighbor.

"Can I come in?"

"Where's Davey?" I ask, stepping outside.

"He went to bed a couple of hours ago."

"Maybe we should go back to the house," I suggest, thinking of a sleeping Davey.

"Okay," he says, then points at me and adds, "Do you want to throw something else on?"

"What?" I ask, confused. Looking down, I realize I'm clad in a very thin and very short jersey nightie.

"Oh my gosh!" I exclaim, feeling completely exposed. "Yeah, hold on."

I leave him standing in the doorway and dash back inside to grab my robe. When I return, the amused look on his face only deepens my embarrassment.

"What's so funny?" I ask, tying the belt around my waist.

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