Kiss Me Tonight (Kiss Me 2)

Preston shared a look with me and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Stop being childish, Preston,” Mom snapped. “Where’s the strangest place you’ve ever rescued a cat from?”

“Me?” Preston asked.

“Not you.” Mom tutted. “Noah.”

I shot Noah an apologetic look. The crazy wasn’t just confined to my great aunt.

“Probably a chimney,” he said slowly. “We had to get an actual chimney sweep in to help coax it out.”

“How the hell does a cat get stuck in a chimney?” I asked.

“They’re cats, dear,” Mom replied. “They’d get stuck in a cardboard box if they felt like it.”

Noah nodded in agreement. “We have a repeat customer here in town. We’re not actually sure if her cat really does get stuck or not, because she calls every Thursday at two-fifteen to report him stuck up a tree.”

“Why do you go?” Preston questioned. “If it’s not stuck.”

“Chief says she’s old and alone and none of her family live nearby, so he thinks she calls to have someone to talk to for ten minutes.”

I frowned. “That’s sad.”

“Some people are like that.” Mom pushed her dark hair from her face. “They like their own company, but she probably also gets her food delivered and other visits through the week. Wait—is that Mrs. Kensington?”

Preston snapped his fingers. “Yep. I deliver her flowers every Friday morning, and she’s always got a story about her cat getting stuck somewhere.”

Noah grinned. “Yep. And he’s always stuck in a tree, no matter what else she says.”

Mom finished her wine with a smile. “Right, if we’re all done, I’ll clear the table.”

“I’ll help,” I said, standing up.

“Is there anything I can do?” Noah asked.

“Yes,” Mom said. “Sit there and look pretty.”

I met his eyes and bit down onto my lower lip to fight a smile. It was a good effort, but my mom never accepted help. She was only taking mine now because I knew she wanted to talk about Noah in the kitchen while we loaded the dishwasher.

It took us two trips to get all the dishes from the banquet she’d cooked into the kitchen and onto the side. Preston joined us briefly to shovel another bite of green bean casserole into his mouth straight from the casserole dish and grab two beers from the fridge.

Mom stopped and looked at me when we were alone. “Noah’s nice.”

“Get a pole, Mom, it’ll be easier for you to fish with.” I couldn’t stop my smile, though. “He is nice. I really like him.”

She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Me, too, honey. He seems to get along well with Preston and your father.”

“Yeah. Football does tend to be a good thing to bond over for men.” I shrugged and removed the cutlery basket from the dishwasher so I could load it. “I just want him to feel at home in Creek Falls.”

“You afraid he’ll leave?”

“No,” I answered too quickly. “He just hasn’t been here long, that’s all, and—”

Mom stepped in front of me and pried the wooden spoon from my hand. She rested her warm hands on my upper arms and looked down at me. “Sweetheart, you can admit that you’re afraid he’ll leave. His family are all in Maine, and even buying a house isn’t putting down roots these days. I can see that you really like him, more than I think you’ve liked anyone else you’ve ever brought home.”

I swallowed because she’d hit the nail on the head. It was a fear I hadn’t even recognized—the fear of Noah deciding he didn’t like Creek Falls after all and going home to Maine.

He wasn’t from here. It wasn’t his home. He didn’t have anyone here who would give him a reason to stay. It wasn’t even like he had a job that was exclusive to the area. There were always stations who needed firefighters, weren’t there? Even volunteers?

“Stop it.” Mom tapped my cheek. “You’re overthinking. I can see it in your eyes, Reagan.”

I sighed and picked up the wooden spoon she’d just taken from me. “I’m not used to feeling like this, Mom.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“About him? Or this?”

“This. He’s here and he’s being nice about your crotchety old aunt, so I’m assuming he knows you like him.”

I smiled. “Yeah, we already discussed that. We’re not putting any labels on it until we’ve spent more time together.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve stayed at his house several times in the last two weeks.”

“Three times,” I said. “And yes, thank you, your darling son already pointed that out.”

She laughed, hauling the big casserole dish into the dishwasher. “I understand. There’s so much pressure now to label things. I like that you’re taking your time with it and getting to know each other. That shows real maturity from the both of you.”

Always a bonus, I guess.

“What are you doing tonight?”

I shrugged one shoulder and handed her the cutlery basket. “I’m not sure. He’s on the early shift tomorrow, so probably just take a walk and chat.”