22. Noah

Jane Hayes is beautiful.She's smart and kind and a little goofy, but in a good way. If my brain wasn't completely occupied by Cat Keene, maybe I'd consider going out with her for real. But our date is—while not unpleasant—just fine. The entire time I'm thinking about blackberries and Cat's seed-studded teeth after she ate too many and grinned, squinting into the sunlight. I'm thinking about leaning toward her when we finished picking berries and how she let me. I'm thinking about her finger brushing my lip when she fed me a berry and it kills me. I'm dead. I just want Cat.

So badly, in fact, that even though I spent the whole drive home after the date with Jane telling myself to be chill, I'm sitting in my golf cart in front of my house and texting Cat.

Is it too late in the evening? Yes.

Do I care? No.

Noah

How'd that crumble work out?

Someone slides into the seat next to me and a smile spreads over my face, until I glance over and see that it's Celine.

Eww.

"Did you and Olive have fun at dinner?" I ask, willing my phone to buzz with an incoming message. A call. Anything to get me out of this conversation with my ex.

It's completely still.

"We stayed in," she says, pressing her shoulder into mine. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Um, let's see. Because of the awkward break up, or the fact that she cheated on me with some photographer, or the fact that every time I see her she talks about how much she misses the trips we'd go on or my apartment in the Upper West Side and not me. I don't say any of that because Celine isn't stupid. She messed up, she knows it, and she wants the perks of being my girlfriend again.

To be clear, I'm under no illusion that she actually wants to be my girlfriend. She just wants the perks.

I know this, because the first time she reached out to me after we broke up was just after Forbes did a feature announcing me as a billionaire.

She's the definition of a gold digger.

I didn't know that little tidbit in the beginning, when she was sweet and laughed at all my jokes and fit in so well with my family.

I know it now.

I've also figured out that women who fit in well with my family are the type of women I need to be wary of.

"Don't do this, Celine," I say, trying to gently turn her down.

"What?" she asks innocently. It sends a pang through my chest that I have to actively ignore.

"We aren't getting back together. You're wasting your time."

She straightens. "You're with that girl, aren't you? The one who works for you?"

"Cat and I are friends."

"If you stopped paying her, would she still be your friend?"

Celine is trying to dig at me, but it won't work. The truth is that I don't know the answer to her question. If I had never offered Cat a job, maybe we wouldn't have developed this friendship. But we have, so I don't have to think about that. Besides, that's not really the point Celine is trying to make. "She's not after my money."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know her."

Celine stands up and rolls her eyes. "It sounds like you're avoiding the question, which makes me believe you think she wouldn't be around if she wasn't getting a salary."

Her words send a pang through my stomach. "She's not greedy, Celine."

"Everyone's greedy."

"Cat isn't. She's facing a huge medical bill, and I'm just trying to help her out."

Celine's eyes flash. "So, like I said, she's after your money."

My gut ties itself into knots, tangling worse the longer this conversation goes. "I convinced her to take the job, not the other way around."

Skepticism moves across her face. Her straight nose wrinkles while she looks sidelong at me. "I'm sure she made it feel that way."

What?

Celine walks away, leaving me in my dark driveway with questions and doubts. No, that isn't fair. She's projecting herself onto Cat and they couldn't be more different.

I still feel unsettled.

My phone buzzes, indicating that a text came in two minutes ago.

Cat

About to pull it out of the oven, so I don't know yet

Noah

I'll help you taste test

Cat

Come over

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I back out of the driveway and go straight to Cat's house, immediately sloughing the discomfort Celine planted in me. I'm there in minutes.

When I arrive, knocking before letting myself into the house, she's not alone. Otto and his golf cart are gone, but there's another family at the table—two teenage boys and their parents—eating crumble with vanilla ice cream and groaning in pleasure.

Cat must not have heard me come in, because she's leaning against the wall in the dining room, grinning at her guests. She's wearing a pink checkered apron, her blonde hair up in a messy bun on her head. "Good, then?"

"I'll take seconds," the younger teen says around a full mouth.

"Manners," his mom scolds. "This is plenty, Miss Keene. Thanks for sharing with us."

"I don't mind at all." She catches my eye across the room and her smile grows. "Hey."

Just wants me for my money indeed. This girl doesn't have a single gold-digging bone in her body.

"Hey." I sling my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out for her while she crosses the room.

"Come on, let's get you a plate."

I follow her into the kitchen. She dishes up two plates of blackberry crumble, topping them with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. It smells like warm, tart, sugary, berry heaven in here, and my mouth is ready for a bite when she hands me the plate.

The crumble tastes as good as it smells. I lean against the counter, digging in. "This is heaven."

Her smile is so wide, you'd think I told her she was the most beautiful woman I know or something. She is, but I didn't say it. "It's my mom's recipe. She was such a good baker."

"You could sell this at the farmer's market, Cat. Seriously, it's good."

She leans against the counter, dragging her fork through the crumble and spearing a berry. "I don't need to sell it. I'd rather share it instead."

"Just like your jam. Do you often distribute it to old women?"

"Usually," she says around a bite. "My book club likes jam. I take jars to Mrs. Finnigan and Mrs. Rojas when I clean their houses, too. But I also give it to young people. Everyone likes jam," she adds defensively.

My plate is empty way too fast. Cat reaches for it, but I bump her out of the way with my hip and rinse my dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "That exceeded all my expectations." As did seeing her with her guests, wearing her cute apron with the white frills, her hair up off her face and her cheeks bright from the praise and probably the heat of the oven.

I can't look away from her. "I'll pay you for a jar."

She rolls her eyes. "You pay me enough. Take as much as you want."

That eats at me. The transactional component of our working relationship grates. I want her to treat me like anything but a boss. There's no way I'm taking her jam as though it's included in our assistant deal. "This isn't part of your PA responsibilities, Cat. I'd love a jar, but only if I can pay for it like a customer."

"No one else does."

She has me there. "But you give it to them freely. I'm asking for some. It's different."

Cat crosses the room where the jars of deep purple jam are sitting in rows on a dishtowel. She plucks one from the front and brings it to me. "As my friend, I'm giving you a jar for free, just like I do with all my other friends." She uncurls my fingers, then pushes the warm jar into my palm. "Happy birthday."

"My birthday isn't until September."

"Happy early birthday, then." Her hand is still on the back of mine, holding it in front of us. "How was the date?"

"Jane is great," I say, unable to tear my mind from her fingers pressing into my skin. "But she isn't you."

Cat's hands tighten. She's watching my face. I can see the turmoil jumping around in her head and the longer she doesn't speak, the more antsy I am to break the silence.

"How easy would it be for you to get away tomorrow?"

She drops my hand and steps back until she's leaning one hip against the counter and facing me. "I have to clean guest rooms, but I don't have anything else going on."

Is this asking too much? I don't know. But I want her with me tomorrow when I have to face my family. When was the last time I'd wanted anything so much?

"I have to attend a birthday party for my aunt on the mainland, and I was hoping you'd come. It's hard to face my family sometimes, but I think it would be easier with you there." I'm suddenly extremely self-conscious about presuming she's a good enough friend to come to a party like this with me. I fall back on our work-related relationship to smooth the weird, unlabeled emotions. We call that digging my own hole. Yes, I don't want her to see me as a boss, but maybe I don't know how to put myself out there without it. It's a crutch. "Christine said we can stop by and see all the finished ads while we're in the city, too. They have some printed, which is always the best medium to see them in."

"A family party? Like with your parents?"

I cringe. "They'll avoid each other, but they'll both be there." My breath already feels shallow at the thought of dealing with my parents in person. Okay. We're friends. She just said so herself. "It's selfish of me, but I was hoping you'd be there to make it better. If I have you, I have an excuse to not sit around with my mom all night and a reason to leave early."

She hikes up a blonde eyebrow. "I'm your scapegoat?"

"Only if you feel like you can sacrifice an entire day."

She looks at me, searching with her blue eyes. I can't tell if she's annoyed by my request or disturbed or confused or intrigued. She certainly doesn't look thrilled. Her face is stone. Granite. Carved from rock by a master of stoic, an impassive lack of feeling. "What time?"

My shoulders relax. She's willing. "We should head out by nine at the latest." I clear my throat. "It'll take about two and a half hours to get there."

She nods. "Okay, I can do that. I'll ask Otto to cover me if the Morgans aren't gone in time."

"We probably won't get home until really late. Like, early hours of the morning late."

Cat's eyes wrinkle suspiciously. "Okay. Will your entire family be there? All of your sisters?"

"Yeah. Actually?.?.?. Olive will be traveling with us, so if you don't want to come?.?.?."

She hesitates before shaking her head. "It's fine."

"I'll tell her to give you space."

"Thanks." She picks up a spoon and digs a bite out of the pan. "Will your aunt be okay with me crashing the party?"

"I get to bring a plus one, so you aren't crashing."

She peers up at me. "A plus one? How fancy is this shindig?"

"The invitation mentioned cocktail attire. Do you have something to wear, or should we shop before?—"

"I have something," she says, chuckling. "Even island girls go out sometimes. Occasionally. Okay, fine, very infrequently. But it happens."

"Probably more often than I do."

"Um, unlikely, Mr. Billionaire Hot Shot Ladies Man."

"That's a mouthful."

"It's also true. You can't hide from a giant Forbes spread."

A smile curves over my mouth. "I thought you got your info from BuzzFeed."

"They are equally reliable sources."

"Do either of them say how much of a nerd I am? Because I wasn't kidding about that secret lair, Cat."

She straightens, pushing away from the counter. "Say what? Where is it?"

"In my Manhattan apartment."

Her eyes go round. "You're serious right now. What's in it?"

"I want your respect too much to tell you that."

Her eyes gleam. "It has to do with whatever was on your computer monitors, doesn't it? Warlocks and Vikings and lots of code."

A scoff rips from my throat. Guess I didn't pull the plug fast enough. "You're unbelievable. How much did you see before I ripped out the power cord?"

"Just those things." Her smile twinkles with amusement. "It was enough to know that I have no idea what it was."

"Good."

"Come on," she says, stepping close and taking my arm in both of her hands. "Tell me what it is and I'll give you seconds."

My gaze drops to her lips before I realize that she means a second helping of dessert.

She notices.

"Maybe someday," I say, my voice hoarse, "after I've proven to you how cool I am first."

She gives my arm a pat and steps back. "You've already done that."

"We'll see after you meet my extended family," I mutter. "I'm really glad you're coming."

Cat looks at me warmly. "We'll have fun. I'll protect you from the aunts who want to squeeze your cheeks."

If only my aunts were so wholesome.

"My mom adores Celine, too. It'll be nice to have someone with me so she won't try to shove my ex in my face all night."

"You dated Celine?"

Have I not told her that? "For about six months, yeah. We broke up well over a year ago."

"She's friends with Olive?"

"It's how we met," I tell her. But she doesn't seem jealous. In fact, she doesn't even seem bothered. I'm glad she can sense—I hope—how Celine isn't a threat. How my gaze doesn't follow Celine around a room.

Cat smiles softly, nodding like she understands.

I imagine walking into the Apollo Lounge with her on my arm and being able to tell people she's with me. Can she tell I want this to be a real date? I don't say it outright, because I don't want to push her. When I hinted earlier that I'd rather have gone on a date with her instead of Jane, she didn't say anything.

Besides, I'm still her boss.

But there is that kiss, and that moment at the blackberry brambles, and I'm not ready to give up hope yet. I just need to wait out this job, and then I can ask her out for real.

Until then, I'm going to be the best platonic guy friend she's ever had.