“I could get used to this,” I say, and Noah turns at the sound of my voice. “Having dinner ready for me after I get home and settle in.”
“It is nice,” he agrees. We stare at each other for a long moment. “It’s almost done; sit down. Do you want a drink?” He walks over to one of the bags of food he brought with him. “I got red and white.”
“White,” I say as I walk over to the cabinet that has the wine glasses. They're on the top shelf, and I feel Noah come up behind me.
"I’ve got it." He easily plucks two glasses off the top shelf, and I laugh.
"I could get used to that too."
Noah doesn't laugh. In fact, his expression isn't one I've seen before, and I'm not sure what to make of it. Deciding to ignore it, I pour both of us a glass.
"Sit," he orders before nodding to one of the chairs at the table. "Tell me about your day."
I take a sip of the wine and start to talk. It’s amazing how easy it is to talk to him, and the conversation flows from my work over to the town of Cheerful. Then I talk about Tilly and her man. While we talk, Noah brings the food over, and we eat side by side. He mostly listens, but as soon as I start to slow, he asks more questions.
Soon enough my plate is empty and I’m on my second glass of wine. I’m delightfully full as he asks me about having pets.
“I’d love to have a cat,” I say. “They’re adorable, but I worry that I can’t give them the time and attention they need. I couldn’t take them to work with me the way Tilly does. I don’t think people would be okay with the idea of a cat roaming the kitchen.”
“Because of the hair?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“You could get one of those hairless ones,” Noah suggests.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s kind of cold around here.”
“You could get it sweaters.”
Why does my mind jump to Noah holding a hairless cat with a pink Christmas sweater? The image makes me smile.
“Are you trying to figure out a way I can have a cat in my kitchen?” I laugh at the way he’s working to figure it out.
“You seem to really want one.”
Noah stands from the table and starts to grab the dirty dishes. I get mine and follow him to help clean up. I might be able to bake, but Noah can freaking cook. It really is a different talent.
"We can want many things but know we'll never have them," I say.
"What do you mean?" He takes my plate from me before I can make it to the sink. "Let me get this."
"You cooked."
"And you hate to clean."
"How—"
"You told me."
"Right, I haven't shut up, have I?" I’m not sure if this is a date, but I know you have to leave room for the other person to talk.
"I like listening. If you haven't noticed, I'm not a man of many words."
"That is a shocking revelation!" I tease with laughter.
"Yeah." His lips turn up on one side. That might actually be a smile for Noah. "That's why I haven't mentioned what sent you running from the kitchen and that?—"
"I didn't run,” I say, cutting him off. “I walked quickly."
