Chapter 5
Lewis
When we arrived back at the shack, I was glad at least the heating worked properly.
“Okay, give me half an hour and I should have food ready,” I told him once I’d taken off my shoes and dropped the shopping bags on the kitchen counter.
“Thank you, Lewis.” Noah gave me a small smile. “Is it okay if I take a quick shower? I’m all gross from travelling.”
You want to strip naked behind a flimsy door? Bad idea, Bright.
“If you rather I helped with cooking, I can shower later, no problem,” he added, when I didn’t respond.
“No, don’t be silly. You’ll feel so much better afterwards.” I shooed him away.
“Thanks, Lewis.” He gave me a timid smile, grabbed some of his new clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.
I set water up for the spaghetti, sautéed the onions and courgettes, browned the mince, and added the tomato sauce.
In the cupboard, I found a clean tablecloth and dishes that were nicer than anything else in the entire shack.
Except for Noah.
They were a pretty bright blue colour and looked hand thrown. Together with handmade pitchers, a deeper shade of blue than the plates, and a blue candle holder, it gave an oddly mismatched, but homey feel.
He deserves that.
Noah returned a couple minutes later in a pair of black slacks and a slate grey knit jumper he’d pulled from the sales section. It hadn’t looked like anything special in the shop, but the subtle pattern turned a bland outfit into a fashion statement. Unlike me, who simply threw clothes together, he really had an eye for these kinds of things.
He paused in the act of towelling his hair dry, and stared at the table with the burning candle in the middle. Suddenly the idea of setting this up seemed stupid.
A candlelit dinner? What’s wrong with you, Sinclair?
“Wow, that looks so pretty, Lewis.” He tore his gaze away from the table to look at me. Tears sparkled in his warm brown eyes.
“Welcome home, Noah.”
“Oh shit.” He laughed, impatiently brushing the wetness out of his eyes. “That’s the nicest welcome I’ve ever got. Overkill, Lew.” Noah beamed over at me as more tears spilled down his freshly shaven cheeks.
“Hungry?” I asked, at a loss for what to do. Did he want me to comfort him? I’d gone a bit overboard already and wasn’t sure that touching him without an invitation was a good idea.
Yeah, no shit?
“Starving.” Noah struggled for a moment to get a grip on his emotions, hung the towel on the back of his chair, and followed my instructions when I motioned for him to take a seat.
Good boy.I grinned inwardly at myself, grabbed our plates, and then shovelled heaps of spaghetti topped with bolognese and grated parmesan cheese on them.
“It smells amazing, looks amazing, too.”
“Tuck in. Beer?” I opened the fridge and got out two of the pale ales.
“Yeah, thanks.” I flipped the tops off them, and handed him one. “Cheers.”
“Cheers. Really, thank you so much, Lewis. This was so kind of you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Yes, mention it! It’s not something I take for granted.” He hovered on the verge of saying more for another moment, then blushed, and lowered his eyes back on his plate.
