The moment I open the door, I hear it. The sound of Noah moving around my space.
He’s in the kitchen, barefoot in grey sweats and a pink muscle tank that readsExercise? I thought you said extra frieson the back.My lips curve. His hair is a riot of dark gold catching the morning light, like he hasn’t done more than rake a hand through it. Two mugs are waiting on the counter, green and pink. Ciarán bought me all new mugs when I moved in here, made sure each one was colorful.
Noah turns when I step in, eyes flicking over me before giving me a shy grin. “I put the kettle on when I heard the main door open. Thought I’d make us tea.”
I stand there, sweat cooling on my back, damp shirt clinging to my chest. His gaze lingers a second too long, doesn’t it? I shift, self-consciously, tugging at the hem of my shirt. My cheeks are still hot—they always go red when I run, my ears, too. Sometimes even my chest if I push hard enough. Aiden’s the same. Fair skin that betrays us both with every rush of blood.
I must look like hell—flushed, hair sweaty, still breathing heavy. No wonder he’s looking at me like that.
I blink, trying to clear the fog of too little sleep. “Yeah. That’s... thanks.” My voice sounds rough even to my own ears, and I rub at the back of my neck.
He only gives me an easy smile, there’s a warmth in his eyes that I have to look away from. My gaze lands on the counter. He’s put the spoon directly onto it and not into the sink, and for a second, I feel panic surge. If I had done that…
He passes me one of the mugs, taking me out of that thought. He makes sure his fingers don’t brush mine like they did last night. It’s deliberate, and I appreciate it more than he can ever know. Funny how something so small can mean so much.
“I wasn’t sure what you normally drink after a run, so I hope this is okay,” he says, grin turning sheepish. “It’s my favorite, found some in your stash.”
The tea is hot, smelling faintly of mint. I give him a small smile in thanks.
We don’t talk much. Just wander to the balcony and sit like we do this every morning—me in the corner seat, Noah in the one beside it. The morning light is soft, filtering through the trees that border the edge of the property.
I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth envelop me.
This would be a good moment to make some excuse and leave. Pull back before the moment can feel too overwhelming. Avoid situations I find difficult or uncomfortable. But I don’t.
I stay. Because Noah isn’t some random visitor passing through, he’s been in my life for almost twenty years. And now he’s living here. In my space. And if I can’t learn to deal with that, every day will feel like this—tight, unsettled, impossible. I don’t want that. I want to be able to sit across from him without feeling nervous. I want to be brave enough to find myself again, the me who isn’t always terrified.
Noah shifts slightly, one foot brushing against mine under the table. The touch startles me, small as it is. My instinct is to move. Before I can, he catches my eye and gives a quick, apologetic smile.
“Sorry.” The word is simple, almost automatic, but it lands heavier on me than it should. He’s noticed. He cares enough to notice. I let out a slow breath and try to give him a reassuring smile in return.
“You run every day?” he asks after a while.
I nod. “Mostly. It helps.”
For a beat, he seems ready to push further, ask what exactly it helps with, then lets it go. I can’t decide if I’m glad ordisappointed he didn’t ask. He leans back, sunlight catching in his hair as he tilts his face toward it, easy in a way I don’t know how to be.
I watch him—the slope of his neck, the line of his jaw, the way the mug looks too small in his big hands. Strong cheekbones, a defined jaw, there’s nothing sharp in his features. His eyes are slightly almond-shaped and they narrow when he smiles, little lines appearing at the corners. He has one of those mouths made for smiling—wide, effortless, like it’s his natural setting. Full brows. Straight nose. He’s always looked warm. Approachable. I hope he’s still those things.
Then I look away before I get caught staring. It’s strange seeing him here again. Hard to equate this Noah with the boy who used to spend half his time in our house, loud and full of restless energy, trailing after Aiden or asking me a million questions. As the years went on, I saw him grow into the man he is, but even still, he’s different than he was a year ago.
There’s a calmness in him now, something quieter in the way he carries himself that I didn’t expect. I’m grateful for it.
I wonder what he thinks of me—if he looks across the table and still sees who I was, or if it’s obvious how much I’ve come apart since. How I’ve let myself become this withdrawn, lonely thing.
I take a deep breath and remind myself of the words Ciarán said to me when I left Kyle:Just because that man bruised you, it doesn’t mean he broke you.
But I think he did.
“I need to go to the store later,” I say absentmindedly. My fridge is usually empty or full of food my friends bring over, there’s no in-between. Most days, I try to eat well, but my appetite comes and goes. And the thought of going to the store… I clear my throat. “For groceries. I haven’t really stocked up in a bit. Is there anything you need?”
“I can come,” Noah says easily. “After work, if you want. I won’t be staying too late, just have to stick around for the plumbers to check everything over.”
I freeze, thrown by the offer. He can’t actually want to spend his time like that—standing in a grocery aisle with me. It doesn’t make sense. Why would he want to do that? Shouldn’t he be out, catching up with old friends, settling back into town? Not trailing along on errands with someone who can barely make conversation.
“Yeah,” I mumble, trying not to overthink it. “Okay.”
We go back to our tea, and I wait for the noise I’ve prepared myself for—the chatter, the energy, the presence that will make the apartment feel too small. But it doesn’t come. What settles between us is quiet. Calm. Noah doesn’t expect me to talk, doesn’t push at the silence. He just lets it be.
