Chapter 24
Stella:
I spun around, my gaze snapping to Noah. If I opened that door, she would see him immediately. There would be questions. Assumptions. Judgment. Disaster.
The doorbell rang again, longer this time. Insistent.
"Stella?" My mother's voice filtered through the door, sharp with impatience. "I know you're home, darling. Your car is in the garage."
My mind raced through options. Hide Noah? Where? The bathroom? She'd want a tour, she always did. The closet? This wasn't a sitcom.
The bedroom.
It was the only room with a door she wouldn't immediately barge into. The only space I could claim was "messy" or "private." My sanctuary that she'd learned—mostly—to respect.
I moved before I could second-guess myself. Crossed the living room in quick, silent steps. Reached the couch. Looked down at Noah's sleeping face.
For half a second, I hesitated. Then my mother knocked again, harder, and instinct took over.
I leaned down, gripped his shoulder, and shook gently. "Noah."
Nothing.
I leaned closer, my face inches from his, and whispered urgently, "Noah. Noah, wake up."
He stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent.
The doorbell rang a third time, followed by a sharp knock.
"Noah!" I shook harder, panic climbing up my throat.
His eyes finally cracked open, unfocused and confused. When they landed on my face, so close to his, something flickered in their depths—surprise, maybe awareness—but I didn't have time to analyze it.
I clamped my hand over his mouth before he could speak. "Shh!"
His eyes went wide, suddenly very awake.
I leaned in closer, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. "My mother is at the door. You need to hide. Now."
Understanding dawned across his features, followed immediately by something that looked suspiciously like amusement. I felt his lips curve under my palm.
"This isn't funny," I hissed, pulling my hand back.
He sat up quickly—too quickly, wincing as he pressed a hand to his temple. His hand shot out automatically, grabbing his phone from where it had slid between the couch cushions. "Where?" he whispered back, his voice rough with sleep, shoving the phone into his pocket.
"My bedroom. Go."
I grabbed his arm to steady him, acutely aware of the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the solid muscle beneath.
"Go," I repeated, giving him a gentle push toward the hallway. "Stay quiet. Don't come out until I tell you."
I watched him slip into my bedroom and close the door softly behind him, then forced myself to take a deep breath.
I just had to get rid of my mother quickly, then figure out how to extract Noah from my apartment without anyone seeing him. Simple.
The doorbell rang again.
"Mother. Dad." I stepped aside, gesturing them in. "Sorry, I was in the bedroom organizing some files. Didn't hear you at first."
"Your father and I just got back from Napa this morning," she said, sweeping past me while my father followed with the shopping bag, setting it on the entry table. He gave me a brief kiss on the cheek—"Looking good, sweetheart"—before wandering toward the terrace.
"I'm going to check out that view you're always bragging about," he called over his shoulder, already pulling out his phone to take photos.
My mother barely acknowledged his departure, her attention already fixed on my living room. "Stella, what on earth happened here?"
I followed her stare to the couch. The throw blanket lay crumpled on the floor, the pillows were askew, and there was a distinct impression in the cushions where Noah had been sleeping moments ago.
"I had a late night," I said quickly. "Just fell asleep watching—"
"This is unacceptable." My mother was already moving toward the couch, picking up the blanket with two fingers as if it were contaminated. "You can't let yourself live like this, darling. What if someone important stopped by?"
Like you just did, I thought, but bit my tongue.
She began folding the blanket with brisk, efficient movements, her eyes scanning the rest of the space.
"You had company?" Her tone sharpened.
"Zoe came over last night," I said, grateful that at least this part was true. "We had some wine, talked late. She must have left that."
My mother's expression softened slightly. "Oh, Zoe. How is she? I heard she just got back from her honeymoon." She moved to the couch, plumping the pillows with practiced precision. "You two didn't fall asleep on the couch watching movies like college students, did you?"
"Something like that," I managed, my voice strained.
She made a disapproving sound but continued tidying.
The faint masculine scent still lingering in the air. The larger water glass on the end table. The—
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Then again. And again.
"Someone's eager to reach you," my mother remarked without looking up, still adjusting the pillows with precise movements.
"Probably the department group chat," I said quickly, moving toward the kitchen counter as if to tidy something. I pulled out my phone, angling my body away from her, and my stomach dropped as I saw Noah's messages lighting up the screen.
"Why am I hiding like a criminal? I could just say hi and leave."
"This is ridiculous. I'm coming out."
"Professor Morrison, this is highly unprofessional. Keeping a student trapped in your bedroom."
The last one almost made me laugh despite my panic. I typed back quickly with one hand while pretending to straighten a stack of mail with the other.
"Stay. Put. Will explain later."
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and turned around just as my mother finished with the couch, surveying her work with satisfaction before her eyes landed on me. "You look exhausted, darling. Are you sleeping enough?"
"I'm fine, Mom."
"Now, I brought you something from Napa. A little housewarming gift, even though you've been here for over a year." She pulled out an elegant box. "It's a lavender and eucalyptus diffuser. The woman at the boutique said it's wonderful for relaxation and sleep quality."
My blood turned to ice.
"You know where it would be perfect?" She was already moving toward the hallway, the box in her hands. "Your bedroom. The scent will help you sleep better, and lord knows you need it."
"Mom, wait—" I started after her, my heart in my throat.
But she was already halfway down the hall, her heels clicking purposefully toward my closed bedroom door, and I could do nothing but follow, my mind racing through increasingly desperate scenarios of how to stop her from opening that door and finding my nineteen-year-old student hiding in my bedroom.