Page 35

Noah’s POV

Claire was currently in Noah’s apartment for the second time that week. Noah being in Claire’s apartment had become normal, but he liked that she was beginning to enter his world instead of always inviting him into hers.

His family had just left, and Claire had shown up unannounced with dinner. Again.

Except this time her attempt to cook did not go very well, so he had a pizza delivered. Claire was so upset her dinner failed, but Noah insisted it wasn’t a big deal.

He thought it was kind of cute how upset she was. She wanted so badly to make him dinner and was so disappointed.

Huh. Since when did he think about Claire being cute?

“I burned it,” she had told him sheepishly.

Burned was an understatement. Whatever she’d intended to make had long since become an unidentifiable black rectangle.

“No, you just overcooked it a little bit,” he teased, trying to lighten her mood.

“It was on fire.”

“It was a little on fire.” He grinned. “Claire, you showed up after my family left and tried to make me dinner. I don’t care if the food survived.”

“The food did not survive.”

“Pizza is dinner too.”

“Pizza did not take me two hours.”

“Which is exactly why pizza was the smarter choice.”

Now they were sitting on the couch watching a movie with Biscuit between them like the professional third wheel he was.

Noah glanced over at her. He had spent months telling himself he was taking care of her because that’s who he was.

But he had come to realize he didn’t want to be just her helpful neighbor.

He hadn’t brought her coffee simply because he was thoughtful. He hadn’t fixed her bookshelf merely because fixing things came naturally to him. He hadn’t cooked for her only because she needed to eat.

He had done those things because she was Claire. Somehow, helping her had turned into wanting to be there for her. He didn’t know what to do with that.

He glanced at Claire again. She looked like she was falling asleep. He noticed how her coffee mug sat on his coffee table. Since when did she have her own mug here?

The reality was their lives had started overlapping. She had a mug in his apartment. He had dog toys in hers.

“Claire,” he whispered, “you’re falling asleep.”

“I’m not tired,” she mumbled.

“You’ve been blinking at the screen for five minutes.”

“I’m watching.”

“If you say so.”

She was asleep a few minutes later. Biscuit was asleep too, with his head on Claire’s lap. Noah quietly turned the movie off and grabbed a blanket. He slowly moved Biscuit and carefully covered Claire with the blanket.

He stayed there for another moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Not because he meant to stare. He was simply trying to understand how Claire Bennett had become comfortable enough to fall asleep beside him.

His Claire.