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“What?”
They chuckle quietly, and Noah plants a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay.” Elijah looks at me. “Thanks, Liv. You were right.”
I wink at him knowingly, and Noah quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Never you mind, Mr. Steele.” I stand up. “Now, let’s let our little Nemo go to bed.”
“That’s for babies!”
I laugh, and Noah follows me out and back downstairs to the kitchen. I’m chuckling to myself when I turn around and see Noah grinning.
“What?”
“He’s really happy. You did well.”
I take a flamboyant bow. “Thank you. You did, too.”
Noah’s dinner is in the microwave, and I walk over to heat it back up. He takes a seat at the kitchen island, and when the appliance dings, I slide over his plate and offer him a fork.
“Order up.”
Noah looks at the spaghetti with massive meatballs and laughs. “He convinced you to let him make them, didn’t he?”
“He did. I checked his work after one and decided it was too much fun to stop him.”
“Fun, huh? Who knew I had time for that?”
“Oh, certainly not you.”
I stick my tongue out at him and shake my head.
Sitting down at the other end of the island, I enjoy a moment off my feet and take a swig from my water bottle. While the cool liquid is refreshing, I can sense Noah staring at me as I drink.
I try not to pay attention and just pull out my phone, scrolling through social media for a minute.
It goes quiet, and Noah eats quickly. When he’s cleaned his plate, he stands up and takes it to the sink.
I figure he’s going to leave it there, but he turns on the faucet and squirts some of the dish soap on it.
“What are you doing? I can add it to the next load.”
Noah glances over his shoulder at me. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve done great today. I didn’t mean to be so—”
“Rude?”
He glares at me but then smirks. “Yes.”
I give the look right back. “Well, thanks.”
As Noah shuts off the water, I hold my hand out for the plate, holding a dish towel in the other.
The warm ceramic hits my palm as Noah deposits it in my grip, and he turns around, resting against the counter. Quiet hangs in the air again as I dry off the plate, Noah staring at my hands.
Draping the towel over my shoulder, I turn and open the cupboard to return the clean dish. Reaching the shelf where it belongs is a stretch, and I go on my tiptoes to get the plate on the top of the stack.
Then Noah is behind me, reaching over my arm and guiding my hand to the proper place. When I come back down off my toes, my ass scrapes against his fly, and I’m immediately burning up.
