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“I’m only joking.”
She was only partially joking.
“Please tell me you plan on feeding us, Noah. I’m dying here,” Antigone groaned, rubbing her stomach.
Noah’s eyes looked over all of us and then fell back on me, his eyebrow raised.
“I can totally see how you’re all related,” he replied. I flung a pillow at him. With one hand, he caught it.
“Throwing things won’t get you food any faster,” he joked.
“What will a hand—” Mayko started.
Reaching over to Mayko, my hand closed over her mouth before she embarrassed me even further. I loved her to death, but she purposely said things to get people riled up.
“Get dressed, and I’ll get you all out for the best breakfast in town,” he winked at me, closing the door behind him. I let go of Mayko, who only leered at me.
“I like him,” Antigone said, walking toward the closet.
“None of my stuff is in there—”
“What do you mean?” she questioned, lifting out a yellow dress of mine.
What? This was still Noah’s room.
Rising from the bed, I moved into the closet right beside her, and there, next to all of his leather jackets and button-down shirts were my clothes, which took up two-thirds of the closet. Even my shoes were all lined up perfectly.
I wasn’t sure if it was Ollie or Noah, but I didn’t care. Just seeing something as simple as a closet made me feel better.
Heading into the bathroom, it was the same thing. All my facial cleansers, lotions, and perfumes were sitting on the counter, and I knew that it was Noah. I had a system for setting up my bathroom, and Ollie knew it already.
This was all Noah.
We’d be in Chicago filming for a few more weeks. This suite was his home away from home, and he had actively moved me into his life.
It really was the little things that mattered.
Chapter Eight
Amelia
“You can open your eyes now,” he said to us.
Dropping my hands, I’m not sure what I expected to see, but shiny stainless steel pots and a freshly polished flatbed fully stocked with vegetables inside the hotel kitchen was not it. I glanced over to my sisters, who looked just as confused as me.
“I got it,” Mayko said, clapping. “You hired a personal chef to make us our breakfast?”
“Close,” Noah answered, reaching for a folded apron on the countertop and tying it around his waist.
“You? You’re cooking?” I’d never seen him cook anything. I’m not even sure I’d seen him operate a damn microwave.
“Doubting Thomas, please take your seats, and prepared to be amazed.” He motioned to the stools on the other side of the tables.
Each one of us made a face as we took our seats—me in the middle, Antigone to my left, and Mayko to my right.
“What’s on the menu, Chef Sloan?” Antigone sat up, her elbows on the table. She reached for a piece of bread, but he smacked her hand with a wooden spoon.
“You’ll regret it if you eat now,” he uttered softly, his eyes never leaving hers, that devilish smirk of his stuck to his face.
