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After two hours of trying to follow the recipe perfectly and stressing over every measurement, she stopped at Noah’s door with tacos and knocked.

It felt weird. Noah had made quite a habit of hanging out in her apartment, but she didn’t go to his.

Noah answered the door, confusion written all over his face. “Hey, Claire.”

She paused for a moment. “Hi.” She walked in without further elaboration.

His apartment didn’t look how she expected. It didn’t look like a bachelor pad. It looked cozy. Warm. Bookshelves. Plants. Photos. A dog bed. A drafting table sat near the window. Rolled blueprints rested neatly in a basket beside it, and a half-finished scale model of a building occupied the corner. His laptop still displayed a floor plan.

A framed picture sat on the bookshelf. Noah stood beside a smiling woman with his arm around her.

Claire looked at it. “Your sister?”

Noah smiled. “Yeah, Emily.” He turned to look at her. “You’re in my apartment.”

“Nice observation.”

“Why?”

“I made you dinner.”

“You made me dinner?” he questioned.

“Don’t make this weird, Noah,” she warned. Apparently, that was her line now.

“You hate when I do nice things for you,” he said.

“I’m getting used to it.”

“So why are you bringing me food?”

“I knew you had a busy night. And you seemed tired earlier.”

“Careful, it almost seems like you care about me.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Of course not, I am simply returning a favor. I don’t like to owe people.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Claire. Nobody is making me cook for you. I do it because I want to.”

Because he wanted to. Claire stared at him. Nobody had ever said something like that so casually. At least, not until him. No score to settle. No favor to repay. Just because he wanted to. “Still, I felt like it was my turn,” she said.

“Did you already eat?”

“No.”

“You can stay and eat here,” he told her. “I actually just finished working.”

She sat down at the table with him. “So, you’re telling me I didn’t need to cook for you because you aren’t going to be working all night?”

“Nope.”

“I made you shrimp tacos for no reason.”

“Not for no reason, because you care about me.”

“Do not.”

“Wait, Claire.” Noah suddenly grew serious. “Did you say shrimp? I have a very serious shrimp allergy.”