Page 65 of Double Fault

“I pay attention to flavors.” I’ve been fending for myself since I was a kid, so I learned early on which flavors worked well together and did my best to make anything I could scrounge up taste good.

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

I may not have been in the mood for coffee, but now that I’ve tasted this, I’ll absolutely drink the whole thing.

The front door opens, and Fisher calls out a cheery “hello?”

“Kitchen,” Noah calls, just like he did when I arrived.

Fisher pops around the corner, hair mussed from the wind. “Morning, Sabrina.” He gives me a nod, then eyes Noah. “You ready?”

Across from me, Noah picks up his smoothie and nods to me. “Let me know how she is.” With that, he follows Fisher out to the training court.

Things are okay between us, I guess. We haven’t really addressed the elephant in the room—elephants, I suppose, if we’re counting our make-out session on the couch and how he stayed up when he thought I was with Elias. Looks like we’re both too chickenshit to broach the subject.

I don’t want to admit that I liked kissing him. That memories of the way we dry-humped each other haunt me.

Really, why bother bringing it up? It can never happen again. He’s my boss and I need this job. Hooking up would only complicate things.

Has he slept with anyone since his wife passed? That thought has plagued me for weeks. He clearly loved his wife with his whole heart and is still grieving, so it wouldn’t surprise me if hehasn’t. If that’s the case, though, what does it mean if hewantsto have sex with me?

By the time I’ve finished my coffee and rinsed the mug in the massive workstation sink, Maddie is padding down the stairs and I’ve worked myself into a tizzy over Noah. When she enters the kitchen, her brown hair is a wild rat’s nest around her head and one leg of her pajama bottoms has ridden up to her knee.

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” She pushes a stool out and climbs up, looking the way she typically does when she wakes. Hopefully that means she’s feeling better. “I’m hungry. Can I have waffles?”

Not daring to bring up her rough night, I give her a smile. “Sure thing.”

As I step out of the pantry carrying flour and sugar and oil, she frowns. “They’re in the freezer.”

I set the ingredients down and put my hands on my hips. “You would choose frozen waffles over the real thing?”

She stifles a yawn. “I mean, the real thing is better but?—”

I clap my hands. “No buts, missy.”

She giggles, a little light entering her tired eyes.

Feeling lighter now, I pull out a mixing bowl from the drawer. “Do you want to help me?”

With an eager nod, she hops off the stool. Then she scurries around the island. The second she skids to a halt beside me, she turns and darts away. “Wait,” she says, running toward the pantry. “We need aprons.”

She pulls them off the hook inside the pantry door, and when she returns, she hesitates for a second before handing me the larger one.

“It was my mom’s,” she says softly, her voice threaded with pain.

I hold it up and survey the floral pattern. “Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing it?”

She nods, swallowing. “Yeah. I want you to.”

I put it over my head and tie the straps, then help her do the same.

We go back to the pantry for baking powder and salt, then pull milk, eggs, and butter from the fridge.

I snap pictures as we work and send them to Noah, hoping it’ll alleviate his worries. He won’t see them right away, but at least they’ll be there waiting for him when he has a minute to check in.

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