Cynthia looked around in confusion when the rapid-fire questions stopped and Noah’s expression shifted from one of nervous delight to one of embarrassment and anxiety.

No, not just Noah’s expression. Everyone’s.

The last thing that had been talked about was getting a lawyer.

Cynthia looked at Noah, whose eyes had found an extremely interesting spot on the floor to study. His reaction had been similar when she’d brought up his excellent score on the bar exam earlier, at the grocery store.

Mr. Perfect had a couple skeletons jigging around in his closet. How very interesting.

Cynthia bit her lip as the silence stretched on, quickly turning oppressive. She could easily make an excuse and get out of there, leaving Noah at the mercy of his father, but she’d already thrust Noah at the rudest, biggest blowhard in the world—her uncle. Plus, she’d been the recipient of gentlemanly behavior that gave her butterflies. Leaving him now felt like abandonment.

“That job didn’t pay enough for a wrongful termination suit,” she said into the suddenly pressurized room. “Besides, I was stealing Post-its. And paperclips. Occasionally a pen or two. They didn’t have very good pens, or I would’ve taken more. I prefer to sneak into hotels and steal those. If only hotels had Post-its.”

Tia let out a loud breath, followed by a shaky laugh.

“Anyway. Thanks, Tia. I owe you one,” Cynthia said, throwing her a thumbs-up. “Noah, would you mind walking me home? Or lending me some shoes so I don’t have to attempt another jaunt in heels? I don’t want to bother Tia for a second round of repairs.”

“Noah, walk that poor girl home,” Alice said, making a shooing gesture.

“Sure, yeah,” Noah said, gratitude plain on his face. He didn’t look at his dad as he moved across the kitchen toward Cynthia. “No problem.”

“Just be back for dinner.” Alice checked the thin gold watch on her wrist. “I’m planning for five.”

Noah nodded and held out his arm for Cynthia. It was a very debonair thing to do, which she would have normally made a joke about, but given Dan’s hard eyes and Alice’s worried look, she figured it would be best to play it safe and stay mute.

“How are your knees?” Noah asked as they left the house.

Cynthia looked down the street, spotting her dad’s SUV in the driveway and her crappy Honda parked on the curb. She groaned and looked in the other direction.

“What?” Noah asked. “Do you need to be carried?”

“What time is it?” She patted herself, looking for her phone. Belatedly she remembered that she’d left it behind because she didn’t have any pockets. Also because her mother had shooed her out of the house before she could form a coherent thought.

“Ten after three. Why?”

Cynthia faced away from her house. “Do you want to go swing at the park or something? My dad and brothers-in-law are all home from golf. Aunt Bessie hates each of them in turns—well, when she doesn’t hate all of them at the same time—which she makes pretty clear. Uncle Art is in constant competition with them, so that gets obnoxious, and the women of the house mostly ignore the men entirely. This holiday is seriously no fun. It’s like childhood, times three.”

“Do you need to let them know you’re not coming home for a while? Will they be worried?” Noah offered his phone.

She waved it away and started walking toward the park, hating that she was still in the heels. They weren’t very comfortable. “They’ll assume that I’m with you. Oh, by the way, what’s your least favorite dessert?”

“Why do you keep asking that? It’s the oddest question.”

“Why?”

He kept pace with her, often glancing down at her knees. “People don’t usually ask what someone’s least favorite things are. Especially when it comes to dessert. Ohhh.” He nodded. “You bake, right, and you’re planning to present me with a buffet of… Well, no, you’d ask for my favorites, not least favorites. I’m still confused.”

She laughed. “I’d think you’d be used to it after the day we’ve had. Least favorite. Give it to me.”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Give me yours.”

“Easy. Cupcakes.”

“What?” He shot her an incredulous look. “Cupcakes?”

She made a show of popping her eardrum. “No need to screech quite so loudly. I’m right here, after all.”

“Cupcakes? You’re joking. It’s…mini…cake. It’s cake in a to-go container. It’s probably the best dessert there is.”

“How many times do you get up from dinner and think, now, if only I could take a dessert on the road, instead of sitting here and eating like a lunatic, I’d be all set?”

He laughed, deep and loud, his whole body shaking. “Sadly, it happens.”

“Wow. No wonder there’s no fat on you.”

“How do you know there’s no fat on me?” He looked down at himself. “I’m wearing loose…ish clothes.”

“That is a good point,” she said, looking him over. “Strip so I can see if I’m right.”

He ran two large hands down his chest, continuing on to his perfectly flat stomach. His eyes took on a focused look as he stared at her, waking up the butterflies in her stomach and sending them spiraling through her middle. Again.

A look like that would inspire hot flashes in any woman.

Maybe she did need to apologize to Ellen. Because Noah was much too proficient in the art of inspiring lust. It was a telltale sign that, while he had clearly matured, he was as much of a panty dropper as ever. And that was a huge detour sign.

Thankfully, she had to look where she was going or risk tripping on something, giving her a reason to tear her eyes away.

“Pecan pie,” he said after a tension-filled moment that he probably hadn’t even noticed.

“Pecan pie. Good one.” She nodded thoughtfully as they turned the corner to the right. “Though I had some when I visited Virginia, and it was much better than the ones I typically have here. It could be a regional thing.”

“Then my least favorite is pecan pie made by a very bad cook.”

“Or a chain grocery store.”

“Yes. Exactly, yes.” He chuckled to himself for a moment.

She limped to a stop and grabbed his arm for stability. It flexed under her palm, a huge muscle straining his bloodstained white dress shirt, which he hadn’t had time to change in their quick exodus from his house.

“You definitely shouldn’t consider killing me tonight, by the way. Or letting me out of your sight to get killed by a random passerby.” She bent to slip off her shoe. The back was rubbing against her heel and the burn of a developing blister pained her with every step. “With everyone knowing we were together, and my blood on your shirt? Oh man. Easy conviction. Although…” She switched hands, holding on to him, and grabbed her other shoe. “With me looking like I do, and you looking like you do, and with your connections… Damn.” She sighed and shook her head before straightening up.

“What?” he asked with glittering eyes and a lopsided smile.

“What do you mean, what?” She gave him a dead stare. “Clearly they’ll blame the victim. I look like a crazed, wild woman. They’ll probably say I attacked you, and you defended yourself admirably. They’ll throw you a hero’s wreath. The crowds will cheer.”

“No.” He was laughing with body chuckles again, shaking his head. “That’s a serious matter. You shouldn’t joke about it.”

“Noah, look, you just have to call these things out. There’s no point beating around the bush.”

He walked beside her, staggering, before wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes.

“Keep it together, man,” she said under her breath, seeing a woman look out the window at them. “If you keep staggering around the place, they’ll think I snuck into the rich area, drugged a golden boy, and am now luring him back to my lair. Just to be absolutely clear here, they would not victim-blame you. So let’s just keep a low profile. I said low profile!” She grabbed his arm to stop him from staggering again.

He leaned his hands against his knees, still shaking with laughter. “Who the fuck are you, Cynthia?”

“Oh my… He swears.” She patted his back. “I won’t tell Alice, don’t worry. She’ll never know.” She stopped beside him for a moment, now rubbing his back. “I’m just joshing, by the way. My mom did tell you that I level out… Oh, wait. Yeah, she lied. Sorry. But this is about as bad as it gets.”

He straightened up and wiped his eyes again. He was giving her that penetrating look again, the Panty Dropper Look, but this time there was a softness behind it that she hadn’t seen before. Butterflies didn’t erupt this time. Instead, her middle melted and slid down to her feet.

“Anyway.” Frazzled, not sure what was going on with her, she hurried on, only a block from the park now. The cement was cold under her feet. Perhaps walking to the park had been a terrible idea. Especially barefoot.

“Did you really steal office supplies?” he asked as he caught up to her. The woman in the window was watching their progress.

“Honestly…kinda, yeah. I mean, I don’t rob companies blind or anything. I’m not running around, stuffing things in my pockets. But I have this weird obsession with Post-its. So occasionally…” She shrugged. “A Post-it pack or two might end up in my purse. I’m only human.”

“Not pens?”

“No. And I don’t sneak into hotels to steal pens, either. That was for effect. Just Post-its. They’re my vice of choice.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, as though forced to speak by the Lasso of Truth, he said, “I take matches. Any matches I find, I pocket them.”

“You must have a field day in Vegas.”

He laughed. “I do, yes. Like…it’s probably crazy, but I take every box or pack of matches I see and hide them away into my suitcase as soon as I can.”

Her smile was so big that it nearly strained her face. “Why?”

He shrugged helplessly. “No reason.”

She could see the park and the outline of a children’s play structure, but couldn’t feel her toes at this point. She sped up. “You should’ve said cigars, because then I would’ve let it go. But you didn’t, and now I’ll be forced to guess.” She twisted her mouth to the side. “It can’t be because you’re a survivalist. You’d want lighters for that.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Your hobbling is more pronounced. Are you okay?”

“I’m great, yeah. You’re not a survivalist, and you don’t smoke cigars. Or cigarettes, because you would’ve lit up by now.”

“Forget it. It’s really not a big deal.”

“On the contrary, now it is a very big deal. All these skeletons, Noah. I am amazed. So, let’s see…” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s for the bathroom, isn’t it? Ew. It’s to clear the stink.”

Red infused his cheeks. “No…”

“Gross.” She shook with giggles. “Is that why you’re still single? Because you need so many matches?”

He was laughing again, and his face deepened in color. “It’s not that. I take baths, okay? I have candles by my tub, and I light them when I take baths.”

The grass was freezing on her feet as they walked over a small berm to the playground beyond. “You take baths?”

He shrugged. “They’re relaxing.”

“I know they’re relaxing. They’re awesome. Why would you be embarrassed about taking baths?”

He shrugged again as they made it to the swings. He paused to make sure she was settled on her swing, glancing at her knees as he did so, before choosing his own. “It’s not manly to admit you take baths in candlelight.”

“Guys are so dumb about that stuff. Won’t get a mani-pedi, won’t relax in a bath, won’t get massages and facials—”

“I get massages.”

“Oh, I see. Massages are fine, but sitting in warm water surrounded by a scented candle or two is not?”

“No. Haven’t you been paying attention? Candles aren’t manly.”

She slipped her shoes back on for warmth. “Unless you’re using them to woo a girl, I imagine?”

“Correct. Because, as everyone knows, the candles are for the girl. As is the wooing.”

“So that passes the manly test?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’re ridiculous.” She shivered in her light jacket. Goosebumps covered her legs. She sighed, because she knew it wouldn’t be long before the cold drove her indoors.

She glanced over at Noah, lightly swinging and looking out over the grass. His handsome face held a lingering smile. His biceps bulged, straining his shirt as his strong hands clutched the chains of the swing. He was so incredibly sexy. And funny. And…kind.

It blew her mind. How could this possibly be the same Noah she’d grown up with? How could this be the same guy who hadn’t worried about using women?

Although maybe she’d gotten it wrong…maybe that was still his MO. It wasn’t like he’d be tempted to put the moves on her. Her hair was as wild as her personality, her clothes were silly for the situation, and she’d face-planted while walking through her own yard. None of those things screamed sex appeal. Maybe that was why it was so easy to hang out with him. She got the cool guy without the womanizer. It was the perfect setup.

Well…almost the perfect setup. There were a few little problems, like the butterflies and the melting middle. Oh, and the electricity surges whenever he leaned close to her, showering her in his heat. And the tremors she felt whenever he touched her.

She blew out a breath. Hopefully she could ignore all of that. The one thing she couldn’t do was end up like Ellen. There would be no I told you so, you idiot in her future.