16
The next morning Noah was gone. At least, he wasn't in bed when I rolled over and unconsciously reached out for him. The sheets were cold. He hadn't been in bed for some time.
My heart immediately began thumping hard in my chest. I knew that Noah would never have said the things he told me last night if it hadn't been for the alcohol. I chastised myself for letting him get that drunk. I should have known better. Noah was always so closed off. I hoped he wasn't upset with me, or with himself, for the things he'd said.
Soft strains of piano music filtered through the closed bedroom door. I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. After a quick shower I wrapped Noah's dark blue bathrobe around myself. It was ridiculously oversized on me.
Opening the door a crack and peeking out, I saw Noah sitting at the piano. He wasn't playing the song we'd been working on. It was an interesting melody, warm and peaceful somehow. My worry eased a little. He wasn't scowling and tossing things to the floor in a rage. Maybe last night had been some sort of important breakthrough between the two of us.
"That's a nice song," I said softly, padding out in my bare feet. "Something new?"
"Something old."
"Something borrowed, something blue?" I quipped.
"Don't make wedding jokes."
I made a face. Maybe I'd been wrong and Noah was in one of his moods. I made my way over to the kitchen and looked through the cupboards for something to eat for breakfast. For all that Noah and I had been humping like rabbits, I hadn't yet stayed overnight.
"Noah." I called out. "You literally have a carton of expired eggs, a jar of pickles and a bottle of mustard in your fridge. That's it."
"There's also a six pack of beer."
"I took that as a given."
"What are you doing snooping around anyway?"
I closed the fridge door and left the kitchen with my stomach rumbling. "I was looking for something to make us for breakfast."
"Cooking breakfast for me? How domestic." He didn't look up from the piano. In fact, he hadn't met my gaze once.
I went back to the bedroom and shimmied into my skirt and top from the day before. I grabbed my purse and cell phone, which had been dropped unceremoniously to the floor. I paused before picking up Noah's phone from the night stand, too.
I went back to the living room and shoved the phone in his face, interrupting his playing. "Here."
He nodded his head with a jerk, indicating I should leave it on top of the piano. I set it down and took a seat beside him on the piano bench. He didn't move over to make room for me, so I had to perch on the edge.
Mr. Cranky Pants was out in full force this morning.
"I could order something for breakfast," I said, trying to cheer him up. "Or we could go out somewhere. Do you know of any good brunch place around here?"
"Not hungry."
I suppressed the urge to sigh deeply. It was like we'd lost all the progress we'd made and were back to square one. I shouldn't have pushed him to open up. Maybe it was too soon.
"I might have some instant pancake mix in the back cupboard," he said grudgingly.
"I can work with that."
I went to the kitchen and set about making some pancakes. When they were done I put them on a plate and took them to the island counter with tall bar stools, the only dining room Noah's apartment had.
I turned to ask if he had any syrup hidden away somewhere. I stopped.
Noah's eyes were closed, his head bowed forward, messy hair falling over his cheekbones. His fingers fluttered over the keys in fluid motions. The song had changed while I'd been in the kitchen. The melody was slower, softer, more mournful. I was mesmerized, not only by the sorrowful strains, but by the way he played. His expression was relaxed and open. There was no tension between his brows, no scowl on his face. His lips were soft and slightly parted. He hummed to himself every few bars.
I found myself sitting on a bar stool, watching him. As the pancakes cooled, I took in every detail. Every slow, deep breath, every twitch of his eyelids, every movement of his lips.
Noah had said he wanted his audience to spontaneously orgasm when they heard our song. This one was different. There were no sensual undertones. The song was moving in its simplicity, yet impressive in its range. Unbidden tears stung the back of my eyes.
