Page 29 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer (Summers in Seaside)

twenty-eight

. . .

Elle

“Is that Daddy?” Jill points outside the window. I pause pulling things out of the fridge to make our lunch to check.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“Noah stopped by earlier,” Amy starts.

I whirl on her. “With our friend here?” I hiss.

“Woohoo!” Jill is already racing for the front door. She flings it open so hard it bounces off the wall and slams shut. Kiki V-T rouses from her dog bed in the kitchen and looks up lazily.

“He, uh, stopped by when you were picking up Jill. And I think he was going to follow you to the school. He was worried something was wrong.”

“And you just thought to tell me now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! When should I have told you? While you were meeting with the principal, and your kid was being suspended? Or how about when you opened the garage door to show the entire world we have a dead body inside?—”

“I didn’t open the garage door, Jill did,” I interrupt.

“That’s hardly the point,” Amy says.

“Go stall him. Now!” I push her toward the door.

“You go stall him.” She pushes back.

“Amy, I can’t see him again, looking like this?!” I cry.

“You want to run and take a shower?”

“No, that’s too obvious.”

“Change your clothes, quickly, something casual, but cute.” She nods toward my laundry room. “I’ll double check everything in the garage, just in case.”

I waste zero time following her instructions.

By the time Noah steps up to the front door, I’ve sprayed the entry way and living room with air freshener twice and myself once, buried my murder leggings and t-shirt behind the washing machine in the back of the laundry room, and thrown on a reasonably clean romper from my ‘to be dry cleaned’ pile.

I get to the front door before he can knock and ready myself to open it.

Kiki V-T, certain that something exciting is happening, stands at my side waggling her butt impatiently.

I open the door before the kids can let him in.

Totally casual. Chill even. Not me trying to control the narrative. At all.

And then there he is.

Detective Noah Grant. Sunlight hitting his stupidly perfect jaw like a social media filter. Aviators, crisp white button-down, badge clipped to his belt in that way that somehow makes him hotter. As if solving crimes and knowing how to fold a fitted sheet wasn’t already an unfair combo.

“Hey,” he says, giving me that crooked smile that once led to two kids and fourteen years of emotionally stunted cohabitation.

My breath catches.

For a second, I almost forget the disaster unfolding around me.

The body in my garage hidden under my dirty laundry.

The messy group chat with the girls and the ring cam footage of me.

The kid who was just suspended from school.

The fact that the last time Noah and I were this close, we were married, and life was normal.

Kiki V-T settles onto her stomach with a whimper.

“Hi,” I manage, feeling the tension settle between us like an unwelcome guest.

“We, uh, brought lunch,” Noah says, his voice low and more tentative now.

We?

Jaq pushes up from behind him, holding take-out bags and my stomach twists at the sight of seeing the three of them together again.

Jill tucked under his arm all smiles and warmth, with Jaq on his other side, standing close but remaining stoic.

And Noah, the big shiny trophy in the middle looking as ruggedly handsome as ever.

What a jerk.

Jaq steps forward, their expression a mix of excitement and apprehension. “It’s McMillon’s” they announce, holding up a bag with a flourish, knowing it’s my favorite restaurant. “We were going to stop for burgers, but dad remembered McMillon’s so that’s what we got.”

“Oh wow. It smells incredible, thank you,” I say, forcing my gaze away from Noah’s piercing blue eyes. It’s too much—too many memories flooding back in an instant. The laughter we used to share over meals, the way he could make everything feel right even when it was so wrong.

Noah shifts on his feet, glancing at Jaq and then back at me. “I thought we could all eat together,” he suggests, his tone casual but laced with something deeper—an unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Yeah, of course, that sounds nice,” I reply, though my voice feels strained. I step aside to let them in, my heart racing as they cross the threshold into my space—our space.

He bends to say hi to Kiki V-T, who is playing coy.

“Hey, girl,” he says in that breathy, sexy baritone. The personification of all those hot guy memes floating around. She rolls to her back and splays her legs so can scratch her belly. “Good girl. Good girls get belly rubs, don’t they?”

If I laid on my back and splayed my legs, would he scratch my itch?

Stop it, Elle.

Noah’s presence fills the room with an energy that’s both comforting and unsettling.

Jaq starts unpacking the food, chattering about their day, but I can barely focus on their words.

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts—about Doug, about Jill’s suspension, about everything that’s changed since Noah originally left.

And then… it hits me.

“Jaq, what are you doing here?” I ask.

“I live here,” Jaq says.

I pin them with a ‘don’t fuck with me’ gaze. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“Because, Jill was suspended,” they say as though it makes perfect sense.

“You weren’t suspended,” I say.

“Oh, hey there, guys.” Amy steps in from the garage and stops, looking from me to Noah to the kids and back to me again.

“Amy, have a seat, we’ve got plenty of food,” Noah says as though he’s hosting a dinner party.

“Yes, Amy, sit.” I give her a look that does not allow for argument.

She sits.

“Jaq was just about to tell us why they aren’t in school,” I say to no one in particular.

“I wasn’t going to stay when Jill had to go,” Jaq says defensively. “Especially not when it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jill says.

“She’s right,” I say softening my voice. “It was not your fault.”

“You don’t even know what happened,” Jaq says.

“I know enough,” I say.

The room stays quiet while we pass around the food and fill our plates.

“So… what did happen?” Noah asks, breaking the silence that’s stretched too long.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jaq says, averting their eyes. “Can we just forget about it?”

“Jaq,” Jill whispers. “It’s dad.” She tilts her head toward Noah as though Jaq may not know who she’s talking about.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Jaq says, their voice rising.

“Fine,” Jill replies quickly, her eyes darting between us.

I can feel Noah’s gaze on me, searching for something—understanding, perhaps? But all I can offer is a tight-lipped smile as I pour drinks for everyone. The tension is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

As we sit down to eat, I steal a glance at Noah. He looks different—more mature, maybe a little worn—but those familiar features still tug at my heartstrings. I remind myself of all the reasons we fell apart, all the chaos that followed him out of our lives. The mess that his chosen career created.

So, what happened? Was he fired? Did the job end and he’s just waiting for a new one? Is her hurt?

“Hey Twins!” Amy interrupts my thoughts, their voice pulling me back to the moment.

“What do you say to a sleepover tonight with Gage and Amelia and baby Grace? That’d be fun, right, Elle?

” She’s referring to her nieces and nephew, who are like cousins to the kids.

The kids voice their excitement over the sudden change in routine.

“Sure,” I say absently, still caught in the web of unspoken words between Noah and me.

“I can take you over there after lunch?” Amy suggests. “Half-day at school, right?”

I open my mouth to say something about rewarding suspension and ditching school with sleepovers, and it’s a school night, and then remember why Amy is suggesting as much.

All it takes is one hot ex-husband to come onto the scene and I forget all about the dead body I need to bury. How pathetic is that?

Noah peers at me questioningly over the rim of his glass. There used to be a time when I could look back at him and he would understand everything I wanted to say. But this obviously isn’t that time.

He leans in close to me. “Hey, can we—” the chirp of his pager interrupts whatever he was going to say. He looks down at the device attached to his belt and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, ‘shit.’

“Was that your phone?” Jill asks.

“Yeah,” Noah says. “I’m being paged. So, if you want to a ride, we need to go.” He wipes at his mouth and stands. Then looks at me. “Sorry, I…”

“I know,” I say.

“Paged?” Jaq cackles in the background. It’s the first time I’ve heard them laugh in days. I’ve missed that sound.

“Can I call you later?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Noah smiles at that, hesitant at first, but then it blooms into that panty-melting heat-ray of seduction that is my weakness.

“Cover your eyes,” Amy hisses. “Don’t look directly at it.”

But it’s too late. I’m sucked in. She knows it. I know it.

Noah knows it if the way his gaze goes molten is any indication.

“That’s so old school,” Jaq continues. “Dad’s getting paged. Major time-warp, like, back to the nineties.”

“Word to your mother, yo,” Jill pipes in.

And the two collapse into giggles while I fall down a rabbit hole of memories and if onlys.