Page 63 of Nocturne

I nod, grateful for his consideration. He doesn’t take it personally. It’s refreshing. So many handsome men are quick to let their egos get in the way.

“It was good to see you, Ara. And you too, Cas.” He waves goodbye to the kid, offering a soft, genuine smile.

Seventeen

Ara

Parmesan yellow.

I hadn’t heard that name for a colour before I leased this house. But it suits the place—warm, inviting, and just a touch unusual.

The house itself feels like a dream: nestled in a charming cul-de-sac, with a front porch framed by flower bushes and a lone, elegant cypress tree standing sentinel at the side. Everything about it exudes quiet perfection—the symmetrical garden bordering the walkway, the grey clay tiles of the gable roof, and the white awnings that make it seem both timeless and welcoming.

Inside, it’s just the right size. The ground floor has a cosy living room, a guest bathroom, and a kitchen. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms, each with its own attached bath. The backdoor leads to a small patio and a patch of lawn that gently slopes toward the lake—the heart of this entire neighbourhood. The water stretches endlessly, mirroring the sky, serene and steady.

It’s not grand. I didn’t need grand. I needed comfort, familiarity, and a sense of community. And by some twist of luck, Ivy rents the house right across from mine.

That makes everything easier. No need to worry about babysitters for Cas when I’m working late in the lab—once he settles in and gets used to having Ivy around.

And somehow, this quiet little house already feels like home.

“Ughh,”

I press my shoulder against the Croton bin, straining to push it, but it doesn’t budge—not even an inch. In hindsight, I probably should have planted it in the oversized container on the porch instead of directly in the garden.

Now, the thought of hauling it over the porch steps makes me shudder. If I can’t even shift it from here, how on earth am I going to get it up there?

“Need some help?”

I yelp, jumping at the sudden voice behind me. My heart leaps into my throat as I spin around to find Eero leaning casually against the white fence, an amused smile playing on his handsome face.

Pressing a hand over my chest, I try to steady my thudding heartbeat.

I can't help but wonder how men like him manage to move so quietly. It’s as if they’ve mastered the art of creeping up on people.

Stealth training must be part of theircurriculum. Do they teach things like this along with all the other lessons in mafia school?

I should hope so, the concept of killing and trampling on people that come naturally to certain lineage scares the bejesus out of me.

"You scared me," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

Eero chuckles.

“I see you’ve got yourself in a bit of a situation,” he teases, pushing off the fence.

I sigh, casting a tired glare at the stubborn plant. “You think?”

Without another word, he walks over to the massive Croton, crouches slightly, and lifts the heavy container with ease—as if it weighs nothing at all. I blink, momentarily stunned by how effortlessly he manages what I’ve been struggling with for half an hour.

“Where do you want it,madam professor?” He glances over his shoulder with a smug grin.

I roll my eyes at the nickname.

“By the front door. On the right side.”

Eero carries the pot to the spot I pointed out and sets it down gently.

“Perfect,” I say, walking up to him. “Thanks. Seriously.”

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