Chapter 139: Hundred and Thirty Nine

The rain started as a drizzle just as I was packing up, but by the time Noah and I reached the lobby, it had turned into a full-blown storm. The windows rattled with the force of it, the sudden outpouring of water blurring out the city lights.

Of course. The one day I don’t have my car.

Earlier in the day, my car had stopped working. I really needed to invest in a new one at this point. And then, the sitter had cancelled, so I had to get Noah from school and bring him to the office.

Not like he minded. He had hung out with Declan a bunch. They designed some sort of report in his office while eating donuts.

As the rain got worse, Noah peered out the glass doors, his backpack hanging crookedly on one shoulder. “We’ll get soaked, Mommy.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I pressed my lips together, already calculating the miserable walk to the bus stop. “But it’s just rain. We’ll survive.”

“Not with my books,” he grumbled. “They’ll be mush.”

Before I could argue, a familiar voice drifted from behind us. “You’re not seriously considering dragging him through that, are you?”

I turned. Declan was leaning casually against the wall, keys dangling from his hand, his shirt sleeves rolled up as he stared at the two of us.

My stomach did that annoying flip it always does around him. “I wasn’t,” I started, then sighed. “Okay, maybe I was. We need to get home somehow. I don’t have my car.”

His eyes softened, and he smiled lightly. “I’ll drive you. Both of you. Come on, it’s not safe out there.”

Noah’s whole face lit up. “Really? In your car?”

Declan crouched a little, like he was telling Noah a secret. “You can even choose the music. Want in?”

“Totally,” Noah said without hesitation.

I didn’t even bother trying to argue after that.

The drive was quiet at first, just the rhythm of rain hammering the roof and the wipers squeaking back and forth. Noah chattered from the back seat about soccer practice, and Declan actually listened. like every word mattered. I’d

forgotten how good he was at that. At making people feel like they were the center of the universe.

Halfway home, he slowed near a glowing roadside café. “How about we wait it out a bit? Hot chocolate might make this storm feel less miserable.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Hot chocolate is your emergency plan?”

He flashed me a grin. “Worked on you before. Might still work.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with a smile.

Inside, the café smelled like cinnamon and sugar. It was warm and intensely lit up. There were a lot of kids here. Some couples. We squeezed into a corner booth, Noah wedged happily between us with a steaming mug almost bigger than his head.

“Careful,” I warned, already reaching for a napkin. But it was too late. He had a perfect chocolate mustache, and it looked so cute on him, my heart twisted.

Declan laughed, pushing a napkin across the table. “He’s officially one of us now.”

I leaned in, wiping Noah’s lip. “You’re a mess.”

“You always say that,” Noah giggled.

“Because it’s always true,” I teased, kissing the top of his head.

When I looked up, Declan was watching us, something soft flickering in his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just tilted his head slightly. “You two are…adorable.”

The word stuck in my chest. I had to look away, because if I didn’t, I might start crying right there over a half-empty cocoa.

At one point I shivered, feeling goosebumps appear on my arms at sudden gust of wind when someone opened the door near our booth. Declan didn’t even hesitate. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

I startled. “You’ll be cold.”

“I’ll live.” His voice was low, almost too gentle. “You need it more, dove.”

The jacket was warm, faintly smelling like him, his cologne, his sopa, and I pulled it tighter around me without meaning to.

By the time we were back in the car, the storm hadn’t let up. I had asked Declan to let me drive, and he could sit in the back with Noah.

I could hear them talking as I drove. Noah’s voice grew quieter with each mile, his words running into yawns.

“Little guy’s fading,” Declan said softly.

I turned in my seat and froze. Noah had leaned forward, his head resting against Declan’s shoulder. He was completely out.

Something in my chest cracked open. Declan didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t risk waking him. He just adjusted slightly, his eyes flicking briefly to mine.

The look we shared was wordless but heavy. Tender. Dangerous.

By the time we reached my apartment, Noah was fast asleep. Declan carried him inside with a care that made my throat ache. He laid him in his bed, tucking a blanket over him, watching him for a few long seconds.

When he finally left, he didn’t say much—just a quiet, “Goodnight, Willow,” and that same faint smile.

Later, long after I’d tucked gotten into bed, my phone buzzed.

A message from Declan.

Attached: a photo.

It was a selfie. Declan in the back seat, his arm angled just enough to catch the moment. Noah, fast asleep against his shoulder. Declan smiling, small and easy, like the kind of smile you don’t fake.

The caption read: He’s a good kid.

I stared at it for a long time, my chest tightening, my throat burning. It wasn’t just Noah in that photo. It was the three of us. And it felt too close to something I wasn’t sure I deserved.

And that nearly undid me.