Page 74 of Double Fault

His warm chuckle filters through the evening air as he strokes her soft brown hair.

“I didn’t know you were home.”

I sit up carefully, surprised to find the sun so low in the sky.

“Are you hungry? I started dinner.”

She scoops up her blanket and book, then wanders toward the back door. “What are you making?”

With a smile, Noah follows. “Just some pasta. Nothing fancy.”

Nothing fancy turns out to behomemadefettucine Alfredo. While Maddie and I were absorbed in our books on the back lawn, he was in here making pasta from scratch and hanging thestrands on every available surface. Fresh sauce simmers on the stove, and the smell of garlic permeates the air.

I’m embarrassed to admit even to myself that I’d give almost anything to have seen that man kneading dough.

“All that’s left to do is cook the pasta and put the garlic bread in the oven. Wash your hands, Maddie, then you can help.”

“You can help too, if you want,” Noah says as Maddie scurries to the sink.

“Sure.”

Once I’ve washed up, he puts me to work cutting up a fresh baguette and spreading a garlic and herb butter on it before popping it into the oven.

When we sit at the kitchen table, the warm glow of the light over the island illuminates the space. Noah lit a few candles, as well, making the room feel warm and inviting.

My chest tightens as we sit there together, eating the delicious meal.

As a girl, this was all I wanted. Afamily. Noah and Maddie aren’t my family, but for a moment I let myself pretend. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so alone.

CHAPTER 20

NOAH

I losein the quarterfinals in Monte Carlo. It’s a massive blow to my ego after doing the same at the Miami Open.

I shouldn’t take it so hard. I’m just coming back after a long break and a devastating couple of years. But it hurts, knowing that the last time I was here, I came out on top. I’ve been the best, so naturally, I want tostaythe best.

At the masters in Rome, I finish second.

Still, not good enough.

Not for me.

My negative thoughts are disrupted when Sabrina pushes back the curtains in the hotel suite. She stands there, hands on her hips, taking in the view of Paris. We’re here for Roland-Garros, the second grand slam of the season. I’m determined to win this time, to stay out of my head.

“Does the tour ever take you anywhere that isn’t absolutely gorgeous?” She doesn’t turn around. No, she angles her head to the side like that will help her enjoy the view. Her neck is long and bare, her hair pulled up into a bun that makes her curls spring every which way.

In three giant steps, I cross the room. I come to a stop beside her, and though I know I shouldn’t do it, I’m helpless to stopmyself, so I brush my fingers gently over the soft skin that’s taunting me.

She shivers at the touch, curious dark eyes meeting mine. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

Our eyes hold for the length of five heartbeats. We’re only pulled apart when Maddie comes tumbling out of the bedroom.

I step away quickly, putting a few feet between us, nearly tripping over a chair in the process.

My face heats. Fuck. How embarrassing would that be? To break a wrist because I was trying to get away from my daughter’s nanny?

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