I kissed him.
One deep, deliberate kiss on the narrow landing.
His fingers gathered the front of my shirt. His mouth opened beneath mine, and for a few dangerous seconds, the apartment above us seemed much farther away than a single flight of stairs.
When I pulled back, his breathing had changed.
“Go rest.”
“Bossy.”
“Upstairs.”
He smiled as he began to climb.
I watched until the apartment door closed behind him.
Then I returned to work and spent the rest of the afternoon attempting not to think about the bed above my head.
I failed comprehensively.
At closing time, Noah came downstairs.
He had slept for three hours, eaten the soup I had left in the refrigerator, and showered. His hair was damp. He wore dark sweatpants and a soft black shirt that followed the lean line of his body.
Caleb and Owen were returning tools to their cabinets.
Noah joined the final security check without being asked.
No one mentioned the phone call.
The system had stored it.
He did not have to.
After Caleb and Owen left, I stood in the office trying to complete an email to a supplier whose definition of “urgent dispatch” differed significantly from mine.
Noah appeared in the doorway.
“Marian can handle that on Wednesday.”
“She hasn’t started yet.”
“Practice delegating.”
I saved the draft and turned off the computer.
“Head?”
“One.”
“Energy?”
“Enough.”
“Fear?”
“Some.”
