He gives me a playful roll of his eyes.
I keep my pace slower for him, but still, by the time we loop back toward the apartment, his shirt clings to his muscles with sweat, and his hair is matted to his temples. He bends over, hands on his knees, muttering, “Never again,” but then smirks at me through his lashes, adding, “well, until tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Like we’re going to do this every day. I’m smiling, too.
Back in the apartment, I lean against the island while Noah moves easily around the kitchen. What strikes me most is how quietly he moves. He’s not as tall as me, maybe four inches shorter than my six-foot-three, but he’s all muscle, much broader than I am. So I can tell he’s putting effort into moving quietly.
And I know why. He doesn’t want to startle me. I wish he didn’t have to think about that. I watch him make us both tea. He doesn’t look like he minds moving carefully, but I mind. He shouldn’t have to shrink himself because my body is wired to fear sudden noises.
He catches me looking and tilts his head. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I say, not knowing how to explain my thoughts right now.
He doesn’t press, just leans against the counter beside me, closer than usual. I don’t move away.
The apartment is too quiet.
Noah is at Aiden’s tonight, and though it’s only been a couple of weeks of him living here, I already notice the difference when he’s not around. He’s folded himself into the space without me realizing it. I’ve started to look forward to seeing him in the evening, just sitting on the sofa quietly watching a movie.
I try reading, but the words slip past me. I try writing in my journal, but nothing comes. My thoughts circle, instead. Around the way Noah looked at my website like it mattered. Around the way his laugh sounds. Around the careful quiet he carries in my space. He seems so different, like the last year changed him, matured him. But somehow, he’s still entirelyNoah.
A knock at the door startles me hard enough that my tea sloshes over my knuckles. It’s cold. How long have I been sitting here?
I’m not expecting anyone, but when I open the door, Abbie and Ciarán are standing there. Abbie has a paper bag that smells like Thai, and Ciarán has a bottle of wine he waves like a victory flag.
“Evening,” Ciarán announces, kicking off his boots with a dramatic sigh. “We come bearing food and the reminder that isolation is not chic.”
I blink. “You could have called.”
“We did,” Abbie says, brushing past him to set the food on the counter. “You didn’t answer. So we came anyway.”
Seriously, how long was I spaced out on the sofa? I didn’t even hear my phone ring. I shake my head, but a reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. They’ve always been like this—intrusive in the best way, not giving me the option to fade away completely.
We settle in the living room. Ciarán sprawls across the couch like a cat, Abbie curls into the armchair, and I tuck myself into the corner with a plate of noodles balanced on my knee.
“So,” Abbie begins, eyeing me over her fork. “How’s cohabitation with Mr. Gym Bro going?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not a bro.”
“Fine, you’re right,” she amends. “Mr. Handsome Gym Owner, then.”
Ciarán fans himself. “Oh, he is handsome, isn’t he? All those muscles, that dark golden mane. Does he grunt when he lifts heavy things? Please god, tell me he does. Maybe he could give a demonstration?”
“Ciarán, don’t talk about him like that,” I mutter, heat rising in my cheeks. Noah is more than his looks and the gym, he’s sweet and kind.
Abbie smirks, narrowing her eyes playfully at him. “Yeah, Ciarán, don’t do that.”
He looks affronted. “Excuse me, Miss Abbie Dawson, you are the one who said, and I quote,‘I’d like that man to crush me between his thighs like I’m a pumpkin.’”
My chin hits my chest as I let out a groan of frustration, which only makes them laugh harder.
But the teasing simmers when Abbie leans forward. “Seriously, Gabe. How’s it going?”
I hesitate. My instinct is to deflect, to say fine and move on. But their faces are expectant.
“It’s… better than I thought it would be,” I admit slowly. “It’s been weirdly easy. I think if it had been anyone else, an actual stranger, I’d be struggling. But Noah seems to—I dunno—fit, I guess. I like living with him.”
Abbie’s expression warms, and Ciarán nods.
