Page 35 of Noel
The milk is cold and creamy, and suddenly the simple meal feels comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.I glance up and find him watching me, leaning one hip against the counter, arms crossed, his half-sandwich still untouched.
“What?”I ask, self-conscious.
He shrugs, lips curving faintly.
“Just didn’t think someone could make PB&J look that good.”
My cheeks heat instantly.
“You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he says softly.“But you’re smiling.I’ll take the win.”
For a moment, the only sound is the soft crackle of the fire from the next room and the clink of our glasses as we set them down.
Something about the scene—simple, quiet, real—wraps around me like a memory that isn’t mine.
Something about this man makes me feel both safe and wildly unsteady.Like he’s the calm in the storm and the storm itself.
I know I should go upstairs, take a breath, get my head on straight.But instead, I linger there, fingers tracing the rim of my glass.
“It’s really pretty here, Noel,” I whisper.
He glances at me, eyes warm and unreadable.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat.“It is.”
For a heartbeat, I think he’s talking about the house.
But the way he’s looking at me—soft, intense, like he’s trying not to reach across the counter and pull me in—I’m not so sure.
So I smile instead, small and nervous, and gather my plate.
“Thanks for dinner.”
He nods.“Anytime.”
Chapter10
Holly
Noel’s House—Guest Room, Later That Night
The guest room smells faintly of cedar and wood polish.
It’s cozy—warm beige walls, thick flannel blankets, a little window that looks out over the yard where snow drifts quietly in the moonlight.
The kind of place you’d normally feel safe.
But I can’t sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I see that dead rose.
The curling petals.The messy handwriting.The way Noel’s jaw clenched when he read it.
And then—because my brain clearly hates me—every time I try to push that image away, I see him.
Noel Kane, ex–Special Forces, current bodyguard, accidental heart hazard.
