Page 49

Moving back and forth over the edge of the frame. Slow. Careful. Like he was afraid it might break.

There was glitter all over his hand, and he didn’t wipe it off.

Me: I think we broke him a little.

Josie: In a good way?

Me: I think so.

Me: I hope so.

Josie: Noelle Rose.

Me: What?

Josie: You’re falling for your husband.

I read the text three times.

Me: I’ve known him for twenty minutes.

Josie: You’ve known him for a month.

Josie: You told me what kind of coffee he drinks. You know what voice he does for the bulldozer.

Me: The bulldozer is British. It doesn’t mean anything.

Josie: Uh huh.

I lock my phone and press it against my chest.

It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.

He’s my husband, but he isn’t my husband-husband. He made that very clear. In writing. On twenty-three pages.

And I agreed. I signed every one of them.

I mean, any woman would find him attractive. He’s noticeably attractive. It’s just an observation. It doesn’t mean anything.

So I’ll be warm, and I’ll be kind, and I’ll be good to that little boy. I’ll keep making cookies and hanging lights and putting things on his very expensive refrigerator.

And I will absolutely not think about the way Maverick looked at me across that island.

Like he was surprised.

Like he hadn’t expected me to be real either.

“Noelle!”

Shiloh’s voice comes bouncing down the hall.

“Daddy wants to see the whole house!”

Oh no.

The whole house.

I scramble up off the rice bucket, smooth down my sweater, and check my reflection in the side of a stainless steel canister. Flushed. Wide-eyed. A smear of flour on my jaw.