Page 58 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
I can feel Noah’s gaze on me, searching for something—understanding, perhaps? But all I can offer is a tight-lipped smile as I pour drinks for everyone. The tension is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.
As we sit down to eat, I steal a glance at Noah. He looks different—more mature, maybe a little worn—but those familiar features still tug at my heartstrings. I remind myself of all the reasons we fell apart, all the chaos that followed him out of our lives. The mess that his chosen career created.
So, what happened? Was he fired? Did the job end and he’s just waiting for a new one? Is her hurt?
“Hey Twins!” Amy interrupts my thoughts, their voice pulling me back to the moment. “What do you say to a sleepover tonight with Gage and Amelia and baby Grace? That’d be fun, right, Elle?” She’s referring to her nieces and nephew, who are like cousins to the kids. The kids voice their excitement over the sudden change in routine.
“Sure,” I say absently, still caught in the web of unspoken words between Noah and me.
“I can take you over there after lunch?” Amy suggests. “Half-day at school, right?”
I open my mouth to say something about rewarding suspension and ditching school with sleepovers, and it’s a school night, and then remember why Amy is suggesting as much.
All it takes is one hot ex-husband to come onto the scene and I forget all about the dead body I need to bury. How pathetic is that?
Noah peers at me questioningly over the rim of his glass. There used to be a time when I could look back at him and he would understand everything I wanted to say. But this obviously isn’t that time.
He leans in close to me. “Hey, can we—” the chirp of his pager interrupts whatever he was going to say. He looks down at the device attached to his belt and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, ‘shit.’
“Was that your phone?” Jill asks.
“Yeah,” Noah says. “I’m being paged. So, if you want to a ride, we need to go.” He wipes at his mouth and stands. Then looks at me. “Sorry, I…”
“I know,” I say.
“Paged?” Jaq cackles in the background. It’s the first time I’ve heard them laugh in days. I’ve missed that sound.
“Can I call you later?” he asks.
“Sure.”
Noah smiles at that, hesitant at first, but then it blooms into that panty-melting heat-ray of seduction that is my weakness.
“Cover your eyes,” Amy hisses. “Don’t look directly at it.”
But it’s too late. I’m sucked in. She knows it. I know it.
Noah knows it if the way his gaze goes molten is any indication.
“That’s so old school,” Jaq continues. “Dad’s getting paged. Major time-warp, like, back to the nineties.”
“Word to your mother, yo,” Jill pipes in.
And the two collapse into giggles while I fall down a rabbit hole of memories and if onlys.
twenty-nine
. . .
Elle
The doorbell yanksme out of sleep I don’t remember falling into.
One minute, I’m curled on the couch in Noah’s old T-shirt, watching birds in the sunlight through the slice in the blinds. The next, I’m jolting awake with a line of drool on my cheek. For a split second I don’t remember where I am, or why my neck feels like I fell asleep on a brick. Then I register the couch, the stale air freshener, the faint ticking of the clock, and—oh, right—the corpse in my garage.
I swipe at my face, trying to erase the nap wrinkles, and shuffle to the door. When I swing it open, Noah is standing there like the universe’s cruelest wake-up call.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, leaning one broad shoulder against the doorframe, casual as if he doesn’t look like trouble incarnate.
