Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,60

because it was right in front of him.

I took a few cleansing breaths. Texted Alexander that I missed him.

It would just take some getting used to, seeing Noah again. He was my first love. Of course I still had a soft spot for him. There would always be a place in my heart for—

“Sadie! Can you come down here and hold the flashlight, please?”

“Coming!” I groped my way down the stairs. Lightbulbs. I definitely needed to buy some lightbulbs. Shouldn’t have dismissed Jules and her list quite so fast. Noah was at the hulking black thing (furnace, I assumed), doing something with his hands. Something manly and hard and dirty.

He handed me the flashlight, which I pointed in his eyes. “Sorry,” I said, shining the light at his feet.

“Your filter is filthy.”

“So are my . . . never mind. Filthy filter. Got it. Should I call someone? Or buy something?”

“You have someone.” Oh, my heart! “I’ll be right back.”

“Are you—” Nope. He was already up the stairs. I heard my front door bang closed.

I had to get a grip. Yes, he was gorgeous. What did I expect? That he’d become Nick Nolte in my absence? And yes, that brooding Jon Snow act was doing things to my lady parts.

But he had a child, and I had a serious, long-term, almost engagement going on, and Noah didn’t even want to be friends. I could respect that.

Except it seemed to trigger dirty thoughts that had the added benefit of irritating him, which, I had to admit, was kind of fun. Maybe I was just overtired. Maybe I needed something to distract me from Dad’s condition, which made me cry if I thought about anything other than a full recovery. Every time I thought about him, lost in his own brain, panic slithered around my heart.

Whatever the case, I shouldn’t mess with Noah.

But once, we’d been so happy together.

Noah came thumping down the stairs. “This is a furnace filter. You need to change it once a month on your model. Watch me so you can do it yourself next time.”

I watched. It didn’t seem difficult, not in those capable hands. That frickin’ beautiful hair. His soft voice. I bet he was a great dad.

“All done.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Finally, a normal sentence. “Are you seeing anyone these days?”

“Not your business.”

“Sorry.”

We went upstairs—him in front, which gave me a perfect view of his ass, and I’m sorry, how could I miss it? The radiators were clicking with what I assumed was heat.

“I appreciate this, Noah.”

“Don’t do any construction on this house without checking with me, all right? I might not like you anymore, but I don’t want you dying. Your mother would be crushed.”

“Or relieved. But yes, I see your point.”

He finally looked me in the eye, and his expression softened a little. “I really am sorry about your dad.”

“He’s getting better. You know, when it first happened, I was scared, but he’s . . . he’s good. He’s improving.”

“I brought Marcus over to see him the other day. You were at the grocery store, LeVon said. I hope that’s all right. We, uh . . . we visited him at Gaylord, too. Figured it would be okay.”

The image of my first love, bringing his beautiful baby to my father, punched me in the heart. “Thank you, Noah,” I whispered. My eyes were suddenly wet. “It’s really kind of you.”

He nodded once. “Well. Enjoy your new place.”

“Thanks. Have a nice night.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

And there it was, that tug of a smile on his beautiful face. Then he was gone, and my house was warmer because of him. The quiet settled around me, bringing with it all the memories of how Noah and I had failed each other.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sadie

I thought when Noah came to visit the city I was obsessed with, he’d understand. He’d never been to New York before, aside from the obligatory eighth-grade field trip. I wanted him to drink in the architecture, the life and pulse of the city. I thought he’d appreciate the glittering skyscrapers and gracious brownstones, the cobbled, uneven streets of SoHo, the thrum and rush of noise, the smells of street food and the variety, my God, the newness of every single block.

He came to visit for the first time on Columbus Day weekend of my freshman year. He didn’t love a thing. In fact, he hated it. “How can you live here?” he asked the second night, rubbing his forehead. “You can’t hear yourself think.