Page 67 of Aria

“A what now?” Noah wondered. He poked his head in the closet for an extra pillow.

“Never mind. You’re clearly not the HGTV type.”

“No, I’m not,” Noah agreed with an amused chuckle. “But you’re welcome to decorate whenever you’re over. I suppose some color pops wouldn’t hurt in here. Maybe a ficus in the corner.”

“Definitely a ficus,” I smiled. “Those trees are so… happy.”

“Okay, Bob Ross.”

My grin stretched as I stepped over to the edge of the bed. “So, this is it, huh? My arrangements for the night? You know I don’t mind the couch.”

“Only a total douche would put a woman on the couch,” Noah said.

The king-sized bed did look appealing, and I didn’t have any fight in me to argue. With a reluctant shrug, I spun around to say goodnight, my smile still lingering.

But it dissolved when I discovered Noah standing much closer than I’d anticipated. A breath caught in my throat. A glimmer of moonlight shone through the cracked curtains, lighting up his silhouette. For one profound and disarming second, I thought that maybe…maybe… he was going to kiss me.

A strange tension burned low inside me as I stood there frozen, the back of my legs grazing the foot of the bed. Our eyes locked through the shadows, and I could see his own glinting with a sentiment I couldn’t place. Something heavy.

“Goodnight.” Noah handed me a fresh pillow, his voice cracking slightly.

Then, he was gone.

I released a breath, tightening my grip on the pillow. I didn’t know what that was, or what I wanted it to be. The air around me still felt charged. I placed a hand over my heart, as if that would somehow slow its hurried beats.

“Goodnight,” I finally whispered to the room. Turning around, I climbed onto the mattress, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to my feverish skin. I was about to place the pillow under my head, but changed my mind, tossing it to the floor, instead. Reaching beside me, I pulled one of Noah’s pillows underneath my cheek, breathing in deep. The scent of tobacco and sandalwood consumed me.

Purely Noah.

Closing my eyes, I smiled and tugged the comforter up to my chin. Despite my confrontation with Devon looming on the horizon, I felt content.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face, the anxiety and fear washing away.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

CHELSIE

“Wake up, seepy head!”

I startled awake, my eyes glazed with sleep. I tried to focus on the source of the disturbance, but was distracted by a familiar smell in the air. “Is that… pancakes?”

“Yes, Miss Chelsie! Daddy made us pancakes.”

My gaze landed on Sam, who was bouncing with excitement on the bed. Rubbing my eyes with a yawn, I smiled, “Hi, Sam.”

Sam bounced harder. “Are you excited for pancakes? I helped crack the eggs,” he said with pride.

It had been a long time since I’d awoken to the smell of pancakes. Devon was not the culinary type. Ancient memories danced through my mind of my father making Sunday morning pancakes and U2 playing through the speakers. I’d always lived for Sunday mornings.

“Comeon,” Sam begged, pulling at my arm. “They’re getting cold.”

My smile widened as I threw off the covers and followed Sam down the stairs, checking my appearance in the hallway mirror. I cringed at the knots in my hair, the smeared mascara, and yesterday’s clothing. I looked like a walking one-night stand, only I had no fun stories to go along with it. Running my fingers through my tangled mane, I frantically wiped at my raccoon eyes and straightened my shirt. Not much else I could do.

“Mornin’.” A familiar voice greeted me in the kitchen where Noah was plopping a stack of pancakes onto each plate. “Syrup is on the table. I kind of overdid it on the butter, but when it comes to pancakes, go big or go home, right?”

“I completely agree,” I grinned, my stomach growling. “It smells wonderful.”

“Old family recipe,” Noah explained with a wink, setting the plates down at each chair. “Cinnamon is the secret ingredient.”

---