Page 232 of Hot for the Boss

“Yes,” I say finally. “I worry about Emma. She’s so…”

“Like Tim. Very serious. You’re doing the right things to encourage her to be a kid while she can.”

I nod. “She just has so little to be happy about. Kids tease her for being so smart. I try to be both Mom and Dad but⁠—”

“It’s not the same as her having an active father-figure, is it?”

“No. I had such a special bond with my dad before he passed away. It kills me that Em and Cass don’t have the same thing.”

“Maybe you’ll remarry someday.”

“I won’t.”

“Never say never.”

Noah looks at me, straight at me, deep in my eyes. His icy blue eyes sizzle with something, and my heart skips a beat. Why does he care if I remarry?

I stare back, focusing for a moment on his hair, which falls just to his collar, waving slightly as it brushes his forehead and ears. His mouth snares my gaze next, followed by the width of his shoulders. Familiarity tugs at me, not because he seems like himself in that moment. But as darkness descends and shadows envelop the yard, he reminds me of Mr. Mysterious. Different voice, but so many other things are so similar.

No. Impossible. Stupid, wishful thinking.

“Mom, can I have a cookie?” Emma asks, wrapped in a big orange beach towel.

“Sure, they’re in the house. Dry off and take Cass with you. Give her a cookie from the storage container with the red lid. That batch doesn’t have nuts. Sit at the kitchen table. No wet feet on Noah’s carpet.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Emma grabs her little sister’s hand and takes the instructions to heart.

“Wait,” Noah says softly to Emma. “You’re six now?”

She thrusts up her little chin. “Almost seven.”

“Did you know that almost-seven-year-old girls are magical?” he asks solemnly.

Emma hesitates, her wet brown curls draped over her shoulders. “That’s not true. There’s no such thing as magic.”

“There is. Girls your age, they have magic, usually in their ears. Can I look in yours?”

An even longer pause this time, still looking skeptical. “Will it hurt?”

“Not a bit. Close your eyes.”

For another moment, Emma pauses, then she complies, her little lashes fluttering down to rosy cheeks.

My heart clenches. Since the divorce, Emma has been so afraid and mistrusting. She seems sure that everything good will be taken from her. She doesn’t want to be babied, as if she’s decided that she’ll never let herself down but everyone else might.

Noah lifts his hand and sweeps it behind her ear. When it emerges again and Emma opens her eyes, there’s a twinkling light between his fingers, winking right up at my older daughter.

And miracle of miracles, Emma smiles. “How’d you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything. It was your magic.”

“I didn’t know I was magical,” she breathes as if the idea excites her.

“There should always be magic when you’re young, before you have grown-up responsibilities, like jobs and taxes. Enjoy your magic, Emma.”

My daughter cocks her head and regards Noah with a considering expression before a little smile emerges. “I like being magical.”

“How much magic you let into your life is up to you.”