Page 62 of We Can Do
I would love to have dinner with you tonight. Nothing would cheer me up more.
I set the phone in my lap and take what feels like the first real, deep breath of the entire day. Yes, things are difficult right now. My career is on shaky ground, my health is deteriorating, and I’m facing medical procedures I don’t want to think about.
But I’m starting to feel that with Noah in my life, I can weather just about anything.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Noah
“Annnd... voilà!” I place the lit candle on the table and stand back to admire my handiwork. The red-and-white checkered tablecloth—borrowed from his Lawrence’s uncle’s Italian restaurant—transforms my bland dining area into something that actually resembles a date spot. “How does it look?”
Lawrence steps back, his head tilting as he takes in the whole scene. The hastily-framed prints of old Italian tomato advertisements I found at a thrift shop yesterday catch the candlelight, their vintage colors somehow perfect against my otherwise blank walls. From my phone speaker, the soundtrack to Big Night fills the space—only the best foodie movie ever made, though Alexis would probably argue for Julie & Julia.
“Romantic,” he says, and there’s no trace of his usual teasing.
“Then it’s perfect. Hey...” I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how much his help means. “Thanks for helping me set this up, man. I know you’re not the biggest fan of Alexis?—”
“Of you and Alexis dating,” he corrects, holding up a finger. His expression shifts, something thoughtful crossing hisfeatures. “Alexis herself is cool, and actually... I might have been wrong about what I said.”
“Really?” My voice pitches in surprise, probably higher than I’d like.
He shrugs a shoulder, but I can tell this admission costs him something. “Yeah. You two seem to be balancing work and personal life pretty well. Maybe it can be done.”
I nod slowly, my chest warming with something I hadn’t expected—validation. As my only real friend in the area, he has no clue how much his approval means to me. These past months, his warnings about mixing business with pleasure have been a constant echo in my head. “I think we’re doing a pretty good job.”
“It makes me a little jealous.” He grins and folds his arms, leaning back against my kitchen counter. The old Formica creaks slightly under his weight.
“I can find someone to set you up with. Alexis has friends.” The thought of Alexis’s friend Devin crosses my mind. She’s the friend who came in with her when we had our first meeting several weeks ago.
He chuckles, the sound echoing in my sparse apartment. “Maybe another time. When you aren’t running me ragged downstairs.”
“I’m not sure when we’ll get a break from that,” I laugh, but there’s truth in it. The bakery consumes most of my waking hours, and even now, I can smell the lingering scent of today’s sourdough on my clothes.
“I thought you wanted to take her out tonight.” He shifts against the counter, his casual clothes a stark contrast to what he wears at work. “What happened?”
“She had a rough day. I thought she might not be up to a night on the town.”
The weight of not taking her on a proper date—dressing up, making reservations somewhere fancy, the whole production—sits heavy on my shoulders. But setting up my apartment to look like our own private restaurant feels right for tonight. The cheesiness of it all might even make her laugh, which is what I’m really hoping for.
“She had a disappointing doctor’s appointment,” I explain, adjusting a fork that’s already perfectly placed. “And one of her friends had a health scare.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah.” I move to the oven, checking the pizza I made from scratch. The cheese bubbles perfectly, the crust achieving that golden-brown color that means it’s almost ready. This is the first time I’ve ever used the apartment’s oven for anything other than storage, and it feels fitting that Alexis should be the reason. My fingers fidget with the oven mitt as I think about how this tiny space above the bakery is starting to feel less like a crash pad and more like a home—because of her.
Lawrence checks his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the candlelit room. “The milk delivery is here. You good?”
“Of course.” I grin, grateful for everything he’s done today. “Thank you for grabbing that.”
“Anytime.” He heads toward the door, pausing to shoot me a knowing look. “Have a good time tonight.”
“Yeah, I will.” The butterflies in my stomach start their familiar dance as he closes the door behind him.
Alexis and I haven’t seen each other in days—her reviewing schedule and my bakery hours creating a frustrating gap in our time together. After the hard day she’s had, I want everything tonight to be perfect. Not fancy, not elaborate, just... perfect for us.
I check the pizza again. The mozzarella has reached that ideal state of golden spots among the white, the fresh basil I scatteredon top releasing its aroma. Right on time—the exterior stairs are creaking under footsteps. My heart rate picks up. She’s here.
Opening the door before she can knock, I meet her on the threshold. The porch light casts a halo around her hair, and before she can get a word out, I pull her into my arms. My lips find hers in a kiss that’s been building for days. She melts against me, her familiar perfume—something light and floral—mixing with the cooking smells from my apartment. Her hands slide up my chest as I tighten my hold, never wanting to let her go.
