Page 60 of You Fall First

My brain immediately pictures him rolling around in his bed, kicking off sheets, and shirtless, which I absolutely should not be imagining in front of a four-year-old.

New rule: No fantasizing about Noah.

In front of anybody.

“What about you?” I drag my gaze down to Dutton. “Did you have sweet dreams?”

“I don’t know!” He careens to the couch where there’s a lineup of toys: a Buzz Lightyear action figure, a Woody doll, his plastic dinosaur in its egg, and Bugs. “We’re ready to play!”

“You gotta eat first, bud,” Noah says.

Dutton stomps his foot. “Play.”

“I’ll make pancakes,” I offer.

He shifts a wary stare over to me. “Plain?”

I move toward the kitchen. “Plain pancakes coming right up.”

“Feel free to poke around and find whatever you need,” Noah says.

“Okay, thanks.” Staring directly at the man has proven dangerous for my oxygen levels and blood pressure, so I avoid eye contact. “I’ll try not to snoop too much.”

“Snoop all you want,” he says. “I’ve got nothing to hide. And I left money in an envelope by the door, too.”

My traitorous eyes lift. “I probably won’t spend it.”

“Your call.” He drops his gaze, and his mouth curves. “Nice dress, by the way.”

“I brought a change of clothes in the car,” I say, suddenly self-conscious. “In case we end up at the playground.”

“Yes!” Dutton crows from the couch. “Playground!”

I don’t want Noah to think I wore this dress for him.

I did not wear this dress for him.

So I nod to indicate his scrubs. “What about you? Going to Havenwood?”

He looks down at his clothes. “Uh. Yep.”

Heat spreads across my cheeks. Obviously. That’s the whole reason I’m here. So Noah can work.

New rule: No more dumb questions, Jo.

“Do you have time for breakfast?” I ask, because that question isn’t dumb.

“I had coffee,” he says.

“That’s not food.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t have much appetite. Too busy to eat, I guess.”

I take a beat, note the tiredness in his eyes. The man has got so much on his plate. Expecting him to stick around only makes things worse.

“Dutton and I will be fine then,” I say. “Should I text you updates during the day?”

“I trust you,” he says, and the flush spreads from my cheeks to my throat. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and starts scrolling apps. “We should probably do the Find My thing, though,” he says. “Just in case.”