Page 43 of Before We Fell

I headed toward the kitchen, wanting a glass of wine and an hour with a good book before turning in for the night to forget the disaster of dinner when the shrill tone of my phone startled me.

I dropped my purse, the contents spilled out on my floor through the unzipped main compartment.

Bending down, my hand curled over my phone and I turned it over.

My skin chilled. All the warmth of Shawn long since gone, I stared at my phone like it was a viper.

It was Noah.

He had no reason to call me and he’d already stolen enough of the night. I quickly gathered my lip gloss and keys, the two red pens that had rolled under my kitchen table and shoved it all back into my purse. I dropped everything onto the kitchen table and put my back to the now silent phone.

Noah needed to be ignored. He needed to be forgotten. My response to him was not only unnatural and unwelcome but dangerous and stupid.

Reaching into my cupboard, I grabbed a wineglass when the ringing started again. I hesitated, eyeing the phone as the screen lit up in earnest.

It could be Riley. Maybe something happened and he needed my help.

Caving, I hurried to my phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

“You alone?” Noah’s deep voice was tight and clipped.

My head jerked and my grip on the phone tightened. “Noah? Everything okay with Riley?”

“Are you alone?”

My gaze slid toward the back of my house. My curtains were closed, but that sensation of something being different slithered through me again, and even though I couldn’t see him, I felt him.

“Are you…are you watching me?”

My feet were already moving toward the back. The gray and blue patterned curtains swayed from the air conditioner.

“Answer your back door,” he growled. Yes,growledin my ear like I was an irreverent peasant and he was the Lord.

A loud thump hit the sliding door and since I was already there, I threw back my curtains.

Noah was there, lips pressed together, eyes shooting fire. Yet his stance was casual. Hands at his sides, phone in his hand, he was still wearing the clothes he’d had on at dinner although his shirt was untucked at one hip, making him seem more rumpled than I’d seen him yet.

He shoved a finger toward the handle.

Stupidly, I stood in front of him, separated by a locked glass door and my phone at my ear. “What are you doing here?” I asked into the phone.

Which was dumb, because his phone was still at his side.

His brows slowly arched and his mouth moved.Open your door.

I shook my head. “Go home.”

He shook his head, slower.

This was ridiculous. One meeting out of many didn’t erase how rude he was to me. One night, one moment where he confessed to wanting to kiss me, didn’t mean I had to put up with this.

My night had been bad enough and opening that door for him only risked making it worse. He couldn’t stand out there forever. Could he?

One corner of his lips lifted like he knew my thoughts. Smirking, he crossed his arms over his chest. A challenge. Who would hold out longer?

Undoubtedly, Noah was more stubborn than I could ever pretend to be.

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