Page 70 of The Workaholic Down the Hall

There was no way I was going to move Sophie when she was happy. “Thanks. If I don't hear her cry, just come get me.”

I walked up stairs, careful not to stomp out my annoyance on the steps. I wasn't even tired and, yet, I was being forced back to my room because Noah couldn't take a hint and leave. I needed him to leave, because I couldn't be around him without wanting to lean against him, to feel his arms around me, to let him hold me.

I needed him to not be around so much, to not be so helpful, to not make me think he might want me and not just Sophie. I growled under my breath and hurried into my room. There was nothing there, except a few books I'd been reading, and I felt the need to do something to work off this frustration and annoyance. Sleep wasn't going to happen when I felt this way, and I wasn't in the mood to lay around and try to read.

I dressed in several layers of clothing and pulled on my sneakers. I hurried back downstairs, stopping in the living room without looking directly at Noah. I couldn't. He had his feet up on the coffee table, Sophie in his lap. He was bouncing her and chatting with her about landscape design like she was an adult. I knew, if I looked at him, I'd see the way his jeans stretched over his sculpted legs and the way his biceps bulged as he held our daughter. I'd see the love in his expression as he looked at her, and I'd lose a bit more of the distance I'd been managing to keep between us.

“I'm going for a walk,” I said.

He straightened, dropping his feet to the floor. Sophie cooed with happiness for the little bounce she'd just gotten. “I'll come with you.”

“No. You stay here with Sophie. It's too cold outside for her.”

I walked toward the door, daring him to argue with me. “We can bundle her up really well,” he said. “It would probably be good for her to get outside.”

“No.” I spoke more forcefully than I'd meant to, but come on. I pulled in a deep breath and tried to soften my voice. “I mean, I just really want to get a walk in before the snow piles up and you have to leave. Getting her all bundled up will take time.”

Noah nodded, but his smile seemed forced. I didn't care. I wouldn't care. I hurried outside before he changed his mind. I stomped down the long driveway to the road. It wasn't the safest place to walk, but it was better than walking in the deep wet grass on the side of the road.

I could move out of the way if I saw a car coming, but it made no sense to take a stroller out there, too. What had Noah been thinking?

I walked fast and hard, working off my frustration at first and then just enjoying the exercise. I'd been cooped up in that house for way, way too long. It felt good to get out and move my muscles.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Noah

I bounced Sophie in my arms and walked to the window for the millionth time. Sophie whimpered and her little face scrunched up like she was gearing up to scream. I changed the bounce to a sway, and she settled down. She'd taken the bottle and been happy for a while, but she'd gotten fussier and fussier as the afternoon wore on. Maybe she could sense my tension and worry. Or maybe she just missed her mama.

“It's okay,” I said in a soft voice. “She's just out for a walk. She'll be back soon.”

And, if she wasn't, I'd strap Sophie in her car seat and we'd go out looking for her. She'd been gone over an hour and the snow was not only sticking to the road, but had accumulated about half an inch. Mom had already called to say she was going to stay at Carrie and Cody's rather than attempt the trek up the mountain. I knew Aubrey would hate it, but I was staying there. I wouldn't leave her alone in a snow storm.

Sophie whimpered again and I shifted her so her chin was on my shoulder, her belly against my chest. I didn't understand why Aubrey was so opposed to me staying over. I was there all the time, what difference did it make if I stayed the night?

At least, that's what I told myself. I knew it would make a difference to me to be sleeping in the same house as her, to be thinking about her warm in bed just a couple doors down from me, to fight the urge to get up and make the short trip to her bed. I sighed. I missed holding her and I missed kissing her and I missed her sleeping peacefully in my arms. I missed her looking at me like she cared for me, like she wasn't holding anything back. Instead, she barely looked at me at all anymore and, the more I was around, the more I tried to prove that I wasn't going to leave, that I cared for her, the more distant she became.

Finally, I saw a flash of blue, the bright blue of her winter hat, through the falling snow. Relief washed through me so hard I felt light-headed. My urge was to yell at her for worrying me, to ask her what the hell she'd been thinking, but I didn't think yelling would help my cause. I breathed deep and pushed my anger and fear down and away. She didn't need to hear it. She had every right to go for a walk, just maybe not an hour-long walk in the snow and ice.

The front door opened and closed with a thud. I heard shoes hit the floor and, moments later, a red-faced, rosy-cheeked Aubrey walked into the room. Her eyes were bright, but she looked angry, maybe worried. I knew if I played this the wrong way, she'd take Sophie to her room and I wouldn't see her or Aubrey again that evening. And I needed to see her again, how else could I convince her to give me a chance?

“How was your walk?” I asked, making sure my tone was light.

She didn't quite meet my eyes. “It was a bit longer than I'd intended. It felt so good to get out and walk that I lost track of how far I'd gone until I had to turn around and come back. I hope you weren't worried.”

“Not at all.”

When her frown returned and her brow wrinkled, I knew I'd said the wrong thing again. But I couldn't take it back, couldn't admit how worried I'd been, without dredging up the fear and anger I'd buried.

“How was Sophie?” she asked.

“She was great.” I handed her over when Aubrey reached for her.

“You probably want to get going. I'm sorry I didn't get back before the roads were covered.”

If I told her I was staying because I didn't want her to be alone, she'd shove me out the door. “The tires on my truck are nearly bald. I don't trust them on this snow.”

She gaped at me. “You have four-wheel drive.”

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