“When can we come out and see all the work you’ve done?” My mom asks.

“Come now,” I laugh.

“Honey, are you pulling my leg or are you serious? Because if you are serious I’ll pop on to the computer and book the next flight.”

My chest tightens. I’ve missed them so much. The moment I got my new mattress and box spring I knew it was finally time for them to come out. They can sleep on my new bed while I sleep on the sofa or my stacked air mattresses.

“Book it,” I whisper, my throat thick with emotion.

“Well shit. If you cry, I’m going to cry,” she whispers back.

My laugh is wobbly when I choke out, “You cussed.”

“It happens,” she laughs back. I can just picture her shrugging her shoulders and smiling.

There’s a knock at my door and my eyes move to the time display on my microwave. “Crap mom. We’ve been on the phone for an hour and Noah is here. I gotta go.”

“Will we get to meet him when we come out?”

I hurry to open the door. “Of course mama.”

Once my door is open I point to my phone and motion for Noah to come in.

“I can’t wait to meet him!” she shrieks.

I blush, hoping my parents don’t get the wrong idea about our friendship. As much as my feelings for Noah have grown, he only sees me as a friend and I need to be okay with that.

“Alright, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Big hugs and kisses from your dad and me until we can get there and hug you for real.”

“Okay, email me once you book something.”

“I will. Bye honey.”

I look up to lock eyes with Noah. “Bye.”

“How’s your mom?” He asks once I hang up.

“She and my dad are going to come out for a visit to see the house,” I explain, my face hurting from my grin.

“That’s great news,” he smiles.

It hits me how awful I would be to ask him to meet my parents since I’ve avoided meeting his family, minus Abby, who doesn’t count since I met her first.

“Do your parents still want to meet me?” I blurt.

He blinks, doesn’t do anything for a couple of seconds and then nods.

I had a couple of logical, I thought at the time, reasons for being scared about meeting them. I didn’t want to read too much into our friendship. When he first mentioned it, I had flashbacks to meeting Allen’s parents for the first time. It did not go well.

“Are they busy tonight?”

He cocks his head to the side and gives me a lopsided grin. “You want to meet my folks?”

I nod, my stomach flipping.

He keeps his eyes trained on me as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Hey Dad. Got any dinner plans?”

I try not to hyperventilate as I listen to him agree that we will meet his parents at some restaurant I’ve never heard of. Before he’s done talking I start heading for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” He calls out after me.

“I can’t wear this!” I shout. “I need to change.”

“What you’re wearing is fine,” he argues.

I skid to a stop. “Are you joking?”

His eyebrows go up an inch but he doesn’t respond. I roll my eyes and get moving. What I’m wearing is fine? That man has lost his mind. There’s no way on earth I can meet his parents wearing ratty old sweat pants and a tank top.

I need to change. Since we hadn’t started working yet I’m not sweaty. I tug on a comfortable cotton dress with three quarter sleeves. It’s not that fancy but it won’t wrinkle and I can dress it up a bit with a cute cardigan and ballet flats.

As soon as I’m dressed, I dash into my gorgeous bathroom to fix my hair and swipe on some mascara. It’s the best I can do on short notice.

Noah’s back is to me when I walk into the den. “All set.”

He turns at my words and stops dead. His gaze drops to my feet and then moves upward. When his eyes reach my face, he wets his lips. Holy crap. The last thing I need is for him to draw attention to his lips, his full sensual lips.

“You look—“

When he doesn’t finish his sentence I start to worry. Maybe what I think is cute he thinks is hideous. I had assumed he liked what I was wearing but that could be the face he makes when he’s disgusted by clothing.

“I look what?” I ask.

“Beautiful,” he rasps.

I gulp.

Okay, apparently he was not disgusted.

“Thank you,” I whisper and then add, “I’m nervous.”

He grabs my hand. “You have nothing to be nervous about.”

It’s not until he leads me to the passenger side of his truck that I realize he’s held my hand the entire way. Okay, he’s called me babe and held my hand other times, too, but hasn’t tried to make a move. Or is this a move?

My knees bounce as we drive. “Have you eaten here before?”

He grunts his assent. “Best frappes in Woodlake. I’ve been there a hundred times.”

“What’s a frappe?” I ask.

“Like a milkshake but better.”

“Sign me up,” I giggle.

When we park he points out his dad’s SUV. “They’re here.”

Suddenly nervous, I start to wring my hands together. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I murmur.

His response is nonverbal. He steps down from his truck, walks straight to my side, opens my door, and leans over me to unhook my belt before helping me down. Once my feet hit the ground his hand reclaims mine, giving it a squeeze.

The hostess grips the edge of her podium when she sees us. “Hi Noah.”

He lifts his chin in acknowledgement, and asks, “Hey Mindy. We’re meeting my folks.”

She turns, pointing with her breasts as much as she does with her hand. “Want me to walk you back?”

He doesn’t seem to notice but I do. Her body language towards Noah shouldn’t make me jealous but it does. I mean, I’m standing right here holding his hand.

He shakes his head. “No, thanks. We can manage.”

He leads me, his hand still wrapped tight around mine. I don’t know if he’s holding it to keep me from running. Why am I so nervous?

When he stops us at a table, I can see the family resemblance at once. Noah gets his build from his father and his coloring from his mother.

They both stand, Mr. Thompson offering me his hand and Mrs. Thompson coming to kiss my cheek.

“Hello.” Even I can hear the nerves in my voice. I swallow, the back of my neck beading with perspiration.

Mrs. Thompson’s eyes lock on our joined hands. With a gentle tug, I pull it free. He smoothly moves to pull out my chair.

“Finley, these are my parents, Daisy and Dennis.

Mom, Dad, this is Finley.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

“Please, no Mr. And Mrs. Thompson. You can call me Daisy and him Dennis or Denny,” Daisy says as she sits.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come to dinner before—“

My excuse is cut off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Some of my tension melts away. I’d built up meeting his family into this thing to be afraid of. Two minutes with them proved how wrong I was.

“Noah says you do customer service from your house for a travel company. Do they send you any fun places as a perk?” His dad asks once we’re settled.

I shake my head and smile warmly at him. “It’d be cool if they did, but sadly, no.”

“I’ve been trying to talk Dennis here into taking me on a cruise,” his mom complains.

His dad frowns at her. “I told you I’d go.”

Mrs. Thompson glares at him. “To Alaska? You told me to book a cruise to Alaska. I’ve seen enough snow and ice to last me a lifetime. I want to go somewhere tropical.”

His dad grumbles something about climates and sunstrokes as our server takes our drink orders.

I go for a chocolate frappe. Noah grins at me as I order it. My attention is pulled away from him when Mr. Thompson grunts. Mrs. Thompson is all smiles as she tucks her elbow to her side.

Did she just elbow him?

“I’ll take a chocolate frappe too,” Noah orders.

This time I don’t miss his mom elbow her husband.

“I see. I see,” he groans. “Stop poking me.”

“Shhh,” she whispers.

Noah presses his lips together and folds his arms across his chest.

“I’m only happy to see you looking so happy. It’s all a mother could hope for.”

Oh boy. Do they think we’re dating?

“Mom,” Noah warns.

She bugs her eyes at him.

“Oh leave your mom alone. It’s her job to pester you kids.”

They think we’re a couple. My eyes flash to Noah, who is cool as a cucumber next to me. Did he tell them we’re together?

With each minute that passes where Noah doesn’t set them straight, my anxiety grows. “Noah’s been explaining and showing us pictures of all the work you two have been doing on your house,” Mrs. Thompson boasts. “We’d love to see it in person sometime.”

“Mom,” Noah laughs. “You can’t just invite yourself like that.”

She purses her lips. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Of course you can come by,” I blurt, not wanting them to argue. Then without thinking better of it, I make it even worse. “My parents will be visiting soon. Maybe you could both come over for dinner.”

She elbows Mr. Thompson again. “We’d love to.”

Noah stretches his arm out to rest across the back of my chair.

“Abby said you were pretty and she was not lying.”

Oh wow. “Thank you.”

Noah’s hand squeezes my shoulder.

As wonderful as that feels, this is bad. If his parents think we’re together, do his brothers think the same thing? It’s one thing for him to be helping me with my house out of friendship, but another entirely as a girlfriend.

God, I don’t even want to know how they think I’m repaying him if that’s the case. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to go ahead and suggest a family dinner with my parents. What was I thinking? It will only perpetuate their assumption we’re in some sort of a relationship and I don’t even have a table for anyone to sit at during dinner.

My mom has been fishing for details about Noah every time we talk. Once she sees him in person she’ll have her heart set on him for me. The problem with that is I’m not ready for a relationship. Hell, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for a relationship. His parents are going to be upset when they learn we aren’t really a couple.

Noah and I need to talk but there’s no way we can now. For now, I smile, and answer his parents’ questions, and drink my frappe.

When the bill comes, Noah pays, shaking his head when I reach for my purse.

Noah and his damn need to pay for food. It dawns on me, he’s paid for every dinner I haven’t made myself. I stare at him.

‘What?’ he mouths.

My head is spinning too much to reply. When the server returns with the credit slip for him to sign, we all stand.

Noah reclaims my hand and his parents follow us out to the parking lot.

“It’s a good thing you two didn’t get into a car accident. Dealing with insurance companies wouldn’t be a healthy way to start a relationship,” Mrs. Thompson jokes, pulling me into a hug.

My eyes widen and it’s an effort not to gasp at her words. I had no idea Noah told her about the day we met, or that we were in a relationship. When she releases me, Mr. Thompson reaches out and gives my arm a squeeze. His movement reminding me of my dad. He’s not a hugger either.

Noah and I stand side by side and wave once their SUV pulls away. As soon as they turn onto the road I turn on Noah.

“They think we’re a couple.”

He shrugs.

My mouth drops open, panic setting in. “Why do your parent’s think we’re together?”

With his hand on the small of my back, he guides me to his truck. “Abby knows we’re not dating.”

He opens my door. What he doesn’t do is reply.

I climb in and stare as he rounds the hood to get in on his side. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

He shrugs, AGAIN, and pulls on his belt. “Noah. We can’t let them think we’re together.”

“Why not?” He breaks his silence by asking.

“Why not?” I repeat his words only louder and somewhat shrilly.

“What’s so bad about people thinking we’re dating?”

My mouth falls open. “It’s not the truth for one.”

He turns his head, his eyes laser focused on mine, the intensity in them bringing the temperature of the cab up at least ten degrees. “There’s an easy fix for that.”

“Yes,” I agree. “You should call them and set them straight.”

When he doesn’t say anything I lift my chin and add, “Right now.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple shifting. “I had a different idea.”

And then, Noah Thompson kisses me.

Kiss isn’t the right word. Well, technically it is but it isn’t. To describe it as only a kiss would be saying it was like any other kiss I’ve ever been given before. It was not.

The mechanics and required parts were all there, his lips, my lips, touching. It was most definitely a kiss, but at the same time it was absolutely not.

Could it be the way his fingers threaded into my hair? Or the warm soft fullness of his lips pressed to mine?

My heart racketed about like a pinball in my chest. Heat blossomed from my gut upward, creeping toward my neck. His lips part and he nips at my bottom lip before pressing firmly to mine again.

This moment, this sweet lip press that didn’t even involve tongues affected me more than any experience during my ten-year marriage.

It’s that thought that has me pull away, turning my face.

“Finley,” he calls.

I shake my head. “I want to go home.”

“Come on. Talk to me,” he begs.

I shake my head again, looking anywhere but at him. “Please take me home.”

Where only seconds ago the temperature in his truck was skyrocketing, it now plummets. The ride to my house is packed with uncomfortable silence broken more than once each time he pleads for me to talk to him.

I’m too upset and confused to do so. Each time he asks, I shake my head. He’s my friend. I’m not ready to wrap my brain around him being anything other than that right this second.

It’s one thing to be attracted to him. I had that under control. It’s better this way, if we’re friends no one will get hurt. We can keep working together and when my house is done, we can find another project. He said something about extending the deck off the back of his house.

Or we could do other things. I could cook for him and he can help me explore more of Woodlake. I haven’t ventured outside of the immediate area around my place. His parents seemed nice too. It’d be nice to see them again once he makes sure they know we aren’t dating.

Other than my neighbors, the only friends I’ve made here are Noah and Abby. I don’t want things to get weird with either of them. But after that more than a kiss, that ship might have sailed with Noah.

Why did he have to do that?

When he parks in front of my house I jump out. His footfalls echo behind me. He overtakes me at the front door.

“We have to talk about this.”

I glare at his boots. “I’d like some time to gather my thoughts first.”

Gentle fingers, pads rough from work, tip my chin up to look at him. “You’re pushing me away.”

Lines mar his forehead, a frown etched across his jawline.

“I can’t lose your friendship,” I whisper. All at once his face softens, the hardness vanishing.

“Do you know what my dad always calls my mom?”

He knows I don’t.

His thumb brushes across my jaw. “Best thing he ever did was marry his best friend.”

Does he think I’m his best friend and that we should get married?

My nose starts to sting and my lips part. “Am I your best friend?”

It’s silly to apply a term that evokes images of preteen girls and friendship bracelets to our relationship. What he’s come to mean to me transcends that.

I was in way over my head when I moved here. If he hadn’t of swooped in I would have drowned without him. I thought fixing this place up would fix me. Without his help, this project would have broken me at my core.

What Allen did to me shook my confidence and made me question my ability to trust again. I had a plan, a stupid sad plan to protect my heart by moving across the country to live in a place where no one knew me.

I wasn’t going to make friends. If I didn’t make friends there’d be no risk of getting attached to anyone. He ruined everything.

The right side of his mouth hitches up. “Yes.”

His thumb continues to move on my jaw, heat pools in my belly.

“No, I’m not,” I argue. “Jon is.”

He shakes his head, that smile of his widening. “I don’t spend every night with him or miss him every time I leave him.”

“Noah,” I murmur.

“Shhh,” he replies, his thumb moving away from my chin to slide across my bottom lip.

I gulp and stare up at him.

His gaze is locked on his thumb as it moves across my lip again.

“I wanted to kiss you the first time I saw you,” he admits.

“Here?” I breathe.

He shakes his head and moves closer to me. “You almost crashed into me.”

“That’s crazy.”

His thumb leaves my lip but stays warm on my skin as his face dips close to mine. “Only crazy thing is that I waited this long.”

I open my mouth to question his sanity. I was sick; I was exhausted, how could he possibly want to kiss me.

I’m cut off from saying anything when his mouth crashes into mine.