Then he glances to his left. His face takes on a shocked, surprised expression that would be comical if it didn't make me want to melt down and disappear on the spot.
Our eyes meet.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
"Rika?" His voice is rough, relaxed, and it does absolutely obscene things to my nervous system.
Words tumble out of me in a breathless rush, tripping over each other in my desperation to explain and escape.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I mean, I did mean to sneak in, just not sneak up on you." I'm rambling. I know I'm rambling. But I can't stop. "Matthew forgot Mr. Gears at your place, and he can't sleep without it."
There’s a short pause where I think my heart really will jump through my throat and out of my body. Then my brain finally spits out something useful.
"I did try to call and knock."
My lungs finally run out of air, and I hold up the toy in front of me with outstretched arms. As if it's evidence that I have a legitimate reason for being here. As if this will somehow erase the fact that I just got an eyeful of my children's nanny in nothing but a towel.
Noah recovers first. One hand drops to his towel, tightening it slightly at his hip in a gesture that draws my gaze right back to the spot I'm desperately trying not to stare at.
Then he laughs, a warm, easy sound that fills the room and makes me flush even hotter.
"Hey, it's okay," he says, his voice still rough and amused. "You didn't sneak up on me. I just didn't expect company."
He takes a step closer, and my back presses harder against the wall even though I'm already flush against it. He's so tall. I have to tilt my head all the way back to meet his eyes, and the movement puts his chest at my eye level.
Which is not helping.
At all.
"I found Mr. Gears behind the sofa before stepping in the shower," Noah adds, his lips quirking in a grin that's both playful and devastating. "I was about to bring him up to you."
A beat of silence stretches between us. I should say something. Thank him. Make a joke. Literally anything other than stand here staring at him like I've forgotten how words work.
"You know, the kids are gone all week at Mitchell's," I hear myself say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Maybe if you're free, we could go out. Grab a bite at the Wandering Gnome? If you want. No pressure."
Oh God. What am I doing?
Noah's eyebrow lifts, and I see the corner of his mouth twitch. Heat floods my face so fast I'm surprised I don't combust on the spot.
"It's not a date! No! No, it's just dinner. As friends. Very much not a date." Words spill over each other and out of my mouth in my desperate need to clarify. Or to die. I could die right now. "Just, you know, eating food. Together. As people who know each other. Platonically."
"Platonically," Noah repeats, and there's laughter in his voice now, warm and rich and entirely too appealing.
"Exactly. Completely platonic. Just… dinner."
He holds my gaze for a long moment, those hazel eyes dancing with amusement, and I want to melt into the hardwood floor and disappear forever.
Then he nods slowly. "Alright."
I blink. "Alright?"
"Yeah. Dinner. Tomorrow night. Not a date." His grin widens. "Sounds good."
"Oh. Okay. Good. Great." I'm nodding too enthusiastically now, my wings doing nervous little flutters behind my back. "I'll see you then. Let's say around eight?"
"Looking forward to it."
He's still smiling at me, and I'm still standing here like an idiot, clutching Matthew's toy to my chest like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
