Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,107

of it. The lesbian couple could go to town under that painting. Unlike the “swirly” or “scribbly” paintings I often did, this one had taken more work and time. Sure, it was an O’Keeffe knockoff, but it was beautiful, and not just an imitation. Oil this time, with more texture and detail than the great Georgia. Her style with a tiny bit of my own.

“It’s really pretty, Sadie,” Noah said, staring at the painting, his head tilted the slightest bit. “Very . . . detailed.” Then his dark eyes cut to me with a slight smile, and I felt my skin prickle with a blush. There was a bed right behind me. Just sayin’.

“Okay, hang it up, and Noah? It’s Noah, right? Let’s get you started on the window seat. You got the pictures I sent you, right? Can you match that? Did you bring wood?”

Yes, Noah, did you bring wood? God. I was ridiculous.

I hung the painting, chatted with the movers, wandered through the brownstone. What a lucky couple! I’d always been a Manhattanite, Brooklyn being too hip for me, but damn. The building was a block off Prospect Park on a street with fully leafed-out maples. All the windows were open, and the sun shone through the stained glass window on the landing, making it appear that Noah worked in a church.

He did look like an angel. Or maybe Joseph, Jesus’s dad. The carpenter dad, not the God dad. Or with that black, unruly hair, scruffy beard and olive skin, maybe Jesus himself.

“Stop looking at me,” he said without looking at me.

“Need a helper?” I asked.

“Sure. Sit there and don’t touch or do anything.” He cut me a look, and I felt it in my stomach. He had a black elastic on his wrist and, in a practiced movement I remembered well, pulled his hair back into a short ponytail to keep it out of his eyes as he worked. A few curls escaped.

Heathcliff hair. Jon Snow hair. Darcy hair. Damn you, Noah, I thought. You’ve only gotten better. Watching him work, his movements sure and confident, it hit me again that my wild boy was a man. A father, and who could be a better father than Noah?

“How’s your dad?” he asked, picking up on paternal vibes.

“He’s doing well,” I said. “He’s trying to talk, and write. I mean, he held a pen the other day, but he didn’t write anything. Still, he held it the right way. Mom said he said ‘horse’ the other day. And maybe ‘dog.’ He definitely responds to Pepper.”

“Good. He likes Marcus, too.”

“Everyone loves that baby.”

No response. He ran his hand over the walnut panel, which he’d already varnished. Lucky panel. “Pass me the hollow ground planer blade.”

“I heard the words, but they mean nothing to me.”

A flash of a smile. “Maybe you can walk around the block a couple times, hm?”

“Are you saying I’m in the way?”

“Yes. You’re in the way, Sadie.” His eyes met mine. “Take a walk, Special.”

Time stopped. That name. It sliced into my heart like a burning arrow.

“How’s it going here?” Janice said, racing up the stairs, her arms full of pillows. “Will you be finished by three, do you think? They’re having a housewarming party! Tonight! It’s just crazy! I have to stage the whole house, get fresh flowers and make all the beds and hang the towels and put this damn cow statue somewhere, what was I thinking when I ordered it, oh, and guess who doesn’t like fake orchids? My lesbians, that’s who!”

Good for the lesbians. “Can I help?” I asked. “I’m just in Noah’s way, and I’m great at making beds and such.”

“You’re an angel, Sadie! An angel! Noah, three o’clock?”

“No problem,” he said, looking back down at his work.

By three o’clock, the house was more or less in order, Noah was finished, Janice was thrilled with the window seat and now on her phone, yelling at someone. She handed us two envelopes, mouthed, Angels! and waved goodbye.

We walked out of the brownstone, despite the fact that I’d sort of been hoping to meet the owners and be invited to the party and end up snogging Noah on a pile of coats somewhere.

Noah opened his envelope. “Holy shit,” he said. “This is twenty percent more than my estimate.”

“She pays a rush fee. She’s a little crazy, but she’s kind of wonderful, too.”

“I should work here more often.”

Words I would’ve killed to hear once upon a time. I let it go, but the casual